Nearly Departed Max Schlienger (important of reading books .TXT) 📖

of chairs and tables dotting the establishment. A lingering scent, almost like cinnamon, tinted every breath drawn with a hint of both comfort and excitement, and the pristine, well-stocked shelves of expensive vodka and scotch made the entire room feel like something out of a scene from an old gangster film.

Dennis stood in the doorway, giving his eyes time to adjust. After a moment, he could see a familiar figure standing behind the bar, looking at him with a mixture of impatience and amusement.

“Where were you last night?” Luke asked as a means of greeting. “I tried calling you five times, and I got a lecture from your wife about politeness.” Dennis had to smile. Lucas Colby had been his best friend for most of his adult life, and the two of them had often been mistaken for brothers. Personally, Dennis didn’t see the resemblance, as Luke had bright blonde hair – which he had been growing out, Dennis noted – and a round, boyish face that shared almost no similarity with Dennis’ own lean appearance. Only their eyes matched, and anyone who cared to look would see the difference in the way that Dennis quietly watched the world, whereas Luke made a point of staring it down.

“I was busy,” Dennis replied, stepping further into the tavern. None of the regulars stirred, each of them intent on communing with their various intoxicating drinks. In another hour or two, Dennis knew, the room would be a bit less deserted, as Thoreau’s offered an afternoon happy hour that seemed to draw all sorts of interesting characters out of their hiding places.

“Too busy to help your buddy get laid? Come on, man, she was a model.” Luke threw a worn dishrag onto the bar and folded his arms.

“I’m sure you did fine on your own,” replied Dennis. “Anyway, you really need to stop calling my house. I have a cell phone for a reason.” He sat down on one of the cushioned barstools and fidgeted as it adjusted to his weight. Luke rolled his eyes and leaned forward, an expression of mock irritation on his face.

“If you weren’t so obsessed with your crazy old ladies, you might remember that this place made you famous. You should be a little more grateful.”

“I’m hardly famous,” Dennis answered.

Luke snorted and jerked a thumb behind him. “Yeah, well, there’s an autographed picture of you on the wall, so you’re definitely something.”

Dennis let out an exaggerated sigh as he looked in the direction of Luke’s gesture. “I wish you’d take that down,” he said, eying the black-and-white photograph in question. “That’s not even my real signature.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to forge it if you had just signed the damned thing.”

They leered at one another until Dennis’ face finally cracked into a smile. Luke nodded once in satisfaction and placed a bottle of beer with a purple label in front of him.

“Still making this swill, I see,” Dennis said, taking a sip. The beer, Matlock’s, as its white lettering proclaimed, was brewed locally by Luke and a few friends, including the woman who owned the tavern. Dennis had never had much of a liking for beer, but the taste of the beverage he was currently downing was not at all bad. He’d never give Luke the satisfaction of hearing that he actually enjoyed it, but there were definitely worse things to be drinking.

“I’m sorry, did you just insult a free beer?” Luke asked. Dennis shrugged and took another sip.

“I didn’t realize that you could actually get people to pay money for it.” He watched as Luke fought to suppress a smile and busied himself with wiping down the already spotless bar. After a moment, he abandoned the act, and pulled out a bottle that was identical to Dennis’.

“So, let’s have it,” Luke said after taking a long swallow. “Old ladies, crazy ghost stories, what?”

“Just like every other time, really.”

“She tried to brand you with a tuning fork, then?”

Dennis winced at the memory. “Okay, that was not a typical encounter.” He rubbed the spot on his arm where he had nearly received the burn.

“And tell me, Doctor February, you keep doing this why?” Luke asked.

“It’s ‘September,’ Luke.” He took another sip of his beer and shrugged. “You’re the one who told me to become a con artist. I’m just going with it while I write my next book.”

“Being a con artist requires that you make some money at it. You’re a con masturbationist, is what you are.”

Dennis stopped halfway through his next retort, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. A few seconds passed before his eyes met Luke’s again, and this time his expression was one of suspicion.

“On that note,” Dennis said, tapping the lip of his bottle. He stared off into space.

Luke glanced around as though searching for a hint about what his friend was referring to. “What note? You being the lousiest con artist on the planet, or masturbation in general?”

“The former.”

“Good, because I really don’t want to know about your –”

“Why do they do this?” Dennis interrupted. “I mean, why do these people invent imaginary friends for themselves? And why do they like preaching about it so much?”

Luke’s face adopted an incredulous expression. “Have you been going to church when I’m not looking?” His comment drew a sour glare from two of the other tavern’s patrons, and Dennis could see their disapproving looks reflected back at him in the mirror behind the shelves. He continued speaking in a more subdued tone, reminding himself that they were not alone.

“I got this weird phone call today,” Dennis explained. “This woman saw my ad, and she wanted to know if I could help. The funny thing was,” he continued, cutting off Luke’s attempt at another sarcastic comment, “she didn’t sound like the normal sort of nut-job that I’m used to dealing with.”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” sighed Luke. “What, pray tell, made this woman so different?”

“I’m not sure,” Dennis conceded. “She was just so direct, and she didn’t even