The Snowman

Happy Hour

The last bit of road disappeared, losing its battle with the blizzard of falling snow. I focused on making sure my car didn't suffer the same fate. This vehicle and I had been together a very long time though. I could tell every time it even thought about trying to slip out from under me, and with a slight turn of the wheel and throttle control, there wouldn't be any spin outs. This white BMW and I had been everywhere, it was an older model at least for this year, without any of the useless modern day features. If you need a fucking light to notify you that someone is in your proximity, don't drive in the first place. Safety features, safety this and that. What was the fascination with trying to save everybody. One fucking idiot falls off a cliff, and now we've got to build a fence, and put up a sign reading warning. Well no shit, it's a cliff. If the world keeps down this path we'll all be in bubble wrap, rocking in a corner of a rubber room.

Unlike those kinds of people this car has never let me down, and its nice but modest look and interior suited me well. However, pushing it in this weather was not something I really wanted to do tonight. Thankfully I was near my destination where I'd be meeting my guest for the evening. The prominent, lit by floodlight, sign, came into view. The Red Atlantic. With its dirtied white lettering and bright red lobster it was a hard to miss sign, and certainly signified you were in Maine. I pulled into a parking spot. It was 2145. Enough time to finish up, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, by The Smiths. Soon the music faded out and I turned the car off before the last song on The Queen is Dead album started. Getting out of the car I pulled my suit taught fixing any unsat qualities in my appearance, and pulled my peacoat on top. It was freezing, but it was nice, refreshing in a way. Locking my car's doors I headed inside to meet my new friend.

It didn't take long to find him, posted up by the bar like I knew he would be. Middle aged man at least 20 years older than myself. Seemed to just be letting go of his dreams of getting that six pack as the beer belly was forming, but otherwise seemed fit. I took a seat leaving an empty chair between us. A pretty brunette bartender, who seemed to be lulled into a daydreaming state by the quietness of the tuesday night, blinked back to consciousness.

"Good evening sir, what can I get for you?" she asked with a half forced smile. Still a great one though, she was quite attractive.

"Jameson, neat, would be great, thank you." I responded, throwing her a smile back. My demeanor seemed to have lightened her up as the half forced smile became a very natural grin.

"You've got it. It's your lucky day going to be opening a new bottle."

"Glad to hear it." I gave her a nod. She turned and went to gather my drink. The man beside me hadn't moved more than just to nurse his rapidly diminishing glass of some kind of brown liquid. His death grip on the glass made it appear it would shatter at any moment. "Rough week?" I asked out loud, directed for him, but not towards him. The bartender started to turn, quickly realizing I was not asking her she turned back.

Reluctantly, he set down his glass, and turned to face me. I met his gaze,

"It's only Tuesday." He grunted out.

"Exactly my point." I eyed his alcohol.

This got me a small chuckle and grin from him, "Yeah been a bitch of a week, just like the past 51."

"Ah, I get that." I leveled with him.

"That's why you're here?"

"Oh no, actually out here for business tonight." The pretty brunette returned with my drink and smiled at my remark.

"Business?" He asked, confused. "Must be some fucking business." He added jealousy breaking through his otherwise monotone voice.

I glanced down at my watch, just turned 2200. I took a deep breath, "It is. It really is." I nodded and pulled out the special edition snub nose .38 special aiming it at his head and pulled the trigger. His eyes widened and then went blank as he fell backwards off the bar stool and landed hard on the ground dead. Brain matter and blood painted a wooden beam supporting the bar structure. Thankfully that wouldn't be my concern anymore. I holstered the 38 and returned to my recently delivered drink.

"Right on time, give or take a second or two." The woman complimented, but didn't look anywhere near my work.

"Thank you. All good to go here?"

"Of course."

I downed my drink, instantly reminded how good it was. Standing up to leave I hesitated to ask a very important question, "Think I could get your number?"

She exhaled quickly and smirked, "Sure thing, if you don't mind ending up like our friend over there."

I pressed my lips together, "Hmm, understood. Have a good night."

"You as well, drive safe, dangerous weather out there."

"You've got that right."

I exited the Red Atlantic, entered my BMW and flipped open my cell phone to read the text, Red Atlantic, how was your experience? I responded, Red Atlantic, 4 stars. Signaling that all went according to plan. Instantly I received a response of, enjoy your vacation. I started up the car and turned the music back up, starting the album over again. Copy, Snowman out.