brick wall and through the green front door.
Looking around inside, now that the place is less crowded than usual, I can actually see the brown and maroon tiles of the floor. I can almost see a glimmer of my reflection in the well-polished tiles. I see how sad I looked being here on these terms, but really I didn’t know which was worse, the fact that I was potentially willing to turn myself over for treasonous acts against my country or that I was looking for a person that I never met before that seems to know my secrets very well. It might be a joke Shane came up with. No, I refuse to entertain the idea any further. Going to jail is one thing no man plays with, even Shane. I stand in the entrance and scan the bar. I see the usual bartender, a few regulars and two women dancing alone. I walk slowly to the long side of the bar.
“Tommy Boy!” Shouts a welcoming Dan from the opposite end of the room. Dan was the bartender of the place. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, it was his usual apparel in the colder months, the warmer months too for that matter. I think he is the only Haitian I’ve ever seen wear flannel.
I respond with a nod and sit on the bar stool at the very end and wait. I look around again from the manager’s office to my left to the rest of the bar to my right. I look at my cell phone once more trying to see how much time has passed, but to my surprise the clock only reads 10:22 p.m. I put my cell phone away and see a shadow approach from my rear before I turn around and feel a heavy palm rest on my right shoulder. He uses my shoulder to ease his way onto the bar stool. It was him, the mysterious man I saw outside my motor pool earlier.
“Bartender!” shouts a familiar voice out of nowhere. It’s him. No doubt about that, the accent was the same that I heard before on the phone. It’s definitely the guy. He lifts the same hand from my shoulder and beckons for the bartender.
I couldn’t believe it. This guy has been watching me for months this whole time, and I thought nothing of him.
“What’ll it be for ya tonight, man?” Dan asked him.
“Uhh…I’ll have a Coke,” the mysterious John Todd says.
“Okay, a Coke and what else, rum?” Dan asked.
“No, not at all. Just a Coke will be fine,” Todd says, clarifying his non-alcoholic choice of beverage.
Dan looks at him then at me confused as to why this guy comes into a bar and asks for soda and non-alcoholic beverage. He frowns. “Fine, one Coke coming up, man.”
Getting a better look, I began to analyze him. His Caucasian face was somewhat wrinkled suggesting that he’s in his late forties maybe and been through his share of stress. Short half-spiky half-gelled back grayish white hair. Kind of looks like Anthony Hopkins. His glass-like grayish eyes stare straight ahead at the mirror along the wall behind the row of liquor bottles. I remain silent waiting to see what comes out next. But he remains there, just silent and poise, only increasing my curiosity.
“Quiet aren’t we?” he asks still waiting for his Coke. The nerve of this guy, it’s almost like he’s toying with me and I’m finding it hard at this point to keep my cool, but I manage. “I was expecting that this would be the point where you ask an array of questions.” Todd begins to take a deep breath and let it out slowly making charismatic motions and hand gestures. “How long have I been watching you, how do I know what the T.O.C is, who am I?” he asks back to back questions rhetorically. And I return with a rhetorical question.
“I thought you said you were John Todd?”
He turns his head then squints his eyes to study me. That question must have caught his attention.
Dan puts his drink in front of him and walks away.
“Okay, I’ll play your game,” I tell Todd. “The only question that really matters is…” I pause.
“Why are we here?” Todd asks, feeling privileged taking the words out of my mouth. He smiles and looks at his
Looking around inside, now that the place is less crowded than usual, I can actually see the brown and maroon tiles of the floor. I can almost see a glimmer of my reflection in the well-polished tiles. I see how sad I looked being here on these terms, but really I didn’t know which was worse, the fact that I was potentially willing to turn myself over for treasonous acts against my country or that I was looking for a person that I never met before that seems to know my secrets very well. It might be a joke Shane came up with. No, I refuse to entertain the idea any further. Going to jail is one thing no man plays with, even Shane. I stand in the entrance and scan the bar. I see the usual bartender, a few regulars and two women dancing alone. I walk slowly to the long side of the bar.
“Tommy Boy!” Shouts a welcoming Dan from the opposite end of the room. Dan was the bartender of the place. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans, it was his usual apparel in the colder months, the warmer months too for that matter. I think he is the only Haitian I’ve ever seen wear flannel.
I respond with a nod and sit on the bar stool at the very end and wait. I look around again from the manager’s office to my left to the rest of the bar to my right. I look at my cell phone once more trying to see how much time has passed, but to my surprise the clock only reads 10:22 p.m. I put my cell phone away and see a shadow approach from my rear before I turn around and feel a heavy palm rest on my right shoulder. He uses my shoulder to ease his way onto the bar stool. It was him, the mysterious man I saw outside my motor pool earlier.
“Bartender!” shouts a familiar voice out of nowhere. It’s him. No doubt about that, the accent was the same that I heard before on the phone. It’s definitely the guy. He lifts the same hand from my shoulder and beckons for the bartender.
I couldn’t believe it. This guy has been watching me for months this whole time, and I thought nothing of him.
“What’ll it be for ya tonight, man?” Dan asked him.
“Uhh…I’ll have a Coke,” the mysterious John Todd says.
“Okay, a Coke and what else, rum?” Dan asked.
“No, not at all. Just a Coke will be fine,” Todd says, clarifying his non-alcoholic choice of beverage.
Dan looks at him then at me confused as to why this guy comes into a bar and asks for soda and non-alcoholic beverage. He frowns. “Fine, one Coke coming up, man.”
Getting a better look, I began to analyze him. His Caucasian face was somewhat wrinkled suggesting that he’s in his late forties maybe and been through his share of stress. Short half-spiky half-gelled back grayish white hair. Kind of looks like Anthony Hopkins. His glass-like grayish eyes stare straight ahead at the mirror along the wall behind the row of liquor bottles. I remain silent waiting to see what comes out next. But he remains there, just silent and poise, only increasing my curiosity.
“Quiet aren’t we?” he asks still waiting for his Coke. The nerve of this guy, it’s almost like he’s toying with me and I’m finding it hard at this point to keep my cool, but I manage. “I was expecting that this would be the point where you ask an array of questions.” Todd begins to take a deep breath and let it out slowly making charismatic motions and hand gestures. “How long have I been watching you, how do I know what the T.O.C is, who am I?” he asks back to back questions rhetorically. And I return with a rhetorical question.
“I thought you said you were John Todd?”
He turns his head then squints his eyes to study me. That question must have caught his attention.
Dan puts his drink in front of him and walks away.
“Okay, I’ll play your game,” I tell Todd. “The only question that really matters is…” I pause.
“Why are we here?” Todd asks, feeling privileged taking the words out of my mouth. He smiles and looks at his
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