Post by Carter Shaw on Jan 9, 2022 14:59:15 GMT -5
The bar was quiet. Carter Shaw wasn’t even sure why he was sitting there as he stood forward and let his eyes focus on a loose screw in the side paneling of a small refrigerator. Some pursuit of a social atmosphere conflicting with his absolute lack of desire to be social led him to this bar stool. The double pour of Talisker Scotch Single Malt resting in front of him, he could’ve drank for much cheaper from the couple bottles he had in his hotel room. The bartender made eye contact with him, sending over only a head nod as he had clearly decided this wasn’t a patron to interrupt until it was obvious. Shaw’s gaze didn’t break. He didn’t even notice the attention paid to him.
Vibrations broke his stirring silence, his cell phone from his right pocket. He reached out and accepted the phone call.
Shaw: Yeah…
His voice fought through cracks, like the first words spoken on an early morning. He pinched at his sinuses between the eyebrows, but it couldn’t breathe life into his dead eyes. He leaned back, breathing in deep, and took a big swig of the whiskey into front of him.
Shaw: I’m at…
His eyes roamed up slowly, panning the decor along the wall’s before finding one that appeared to state the name of the bar.
Shaw: Rocco’s…yeah, yeah, I’m ok, don’t worry.
The voice crackling through the other side was female.
Shaw: Just grabbing a drink, wanted to get out of the hotel room. All is good, I promise.
The eye detector test determined that was a lie.
Shaw: Garvey? Nah, he’s not here. I haven’t heard from him since the turn of the year. I'm not sure what’s going on, but I should’ve seen it coming. Nobody stays…yeah, that’s very sweet, but I’m not digging for compliments. I know the hole I’ve dug for myself, I guess I’ve just surrounded myself with too many shovels and not enough ladders.
His words tail off a bit, as if he’s speaking more to himself then to the person on the phone with him.
Shaw: I have no fucking clue. Almost feels a bit too fitting, huh. A “mystery partner”? If Torture wants to serve up poetic justice, no one will be by my side when that bell rings. Just Carter Shaw against the world.
He finishes off the whiskey, finally making eye contact with the bartender and raising the glass for another. Clearly not the first refill, as the bartender almost looks hesitant to serve him up again. But his words are clear, no apparent signs of intoxication. The sad, slumped nature seemed organic.
Shaw: Nah, I haven’t traveled in yet. Taking my time along the road this go around. Spendin’ the night in…
His eyes roam around again, but gives up quickly.
Shaw: Wherever the fuck I am. Here. I’m spending the night here. It’s a nice little place, Here. Listen, let me go, I’ve actually made a friend here that I’m interested in talking to a bit…No, no. Don’t worry, it’s not some beautiful barfly. I’d say he’s a 5 out of 10.
He lets a laugh slip between his lips, lacking genuinity as he attempts to joke off his demeanor.
Shaw: Yeah, see, I can make friends…Alright, talk to you later.
He hangs up, slipping the phone quickly back into his pocket. The freshly poured whiskey is placed in front of him from the bartender, and Shaw looks at him quickly.
Shaw: Thanks, friend.
He brings the glass in close, letting the scent slowly raise to his nose. His eyes rest forward again, this time taking to the mirror behind the display of liquor bottles. His eyes lock on his own, the most eye contact he’s made with anyone all week. He speaks under his breath, just enough that the scattered patrons in the bar see his lips move.
Shaw: Or are you the friend? I’m gettin’ a little sick of talking to you to be honest. You’d qualify for the 5 out of 10 bit, though…what the fuck do we do now?
He lifts his whiskey up towards his own reflection in the motion of a ‘cheers’.
Shaw: To you, my mystery partner. I was born with two shoulders for a reason, right?
Shooting the entire double of smoky Scotch, he slams the glass down on the bar, almost too hard as the bartender glances over quickly. Shaw raises a hand to calm him.
Shaw: Sorry. Practicing a speech.
Bartender: Can I close you out, Mr. Shaw?
Shaw: Close me out? If only you could get rid of me that easy. You could save me a few dollars though. Just give me a double of some cheap Canadian shit. Does the same job.
The request is granted as Shaw slides the glass away from his hand, letting both form fists in front of him as he slowly looks down at his Simply Put hoodie.
