Episode 05: I've Been Here Before And I Know Where It Goes

“We make any money today, Alan?”

“Hold on.”

I went downstairs and turned out the basement lights. I’d left them on earlier by mistake.

“Well, it doesn’t look like made much. Almost nothing off albums.”

“Great.”

“No big thing. It’s only the 15th. We’ve got a couple of weeks to get up rent. We’ll be alright.”

He closed up the log book and shut off the office light.

“You wanna grab a drink?” he asked, tossing my jacket to me.

“Who are you talking to?”

We both put on our jackets and hats. The bar was just across the street, but still. You don’t fuck with the winter up here. You’re ears’ll freeze fast.

Alan opened up the door to let me through, then turned and locked it. We caught the light change and sprinted across Lyndale. Alan kicked up a couple of cigarettes as we stood waiting to cross 26th.

“You back again tomorrow, Steve?”

“Of course I am. You make the schedules, you really ought to know. Besides, I’m in here everyday, whether I’m working or not. Where else am I gonna go?”

“The bar?”

“Exactly. That’s my only other choice and honestly, I feel terrible if I start drinking before about 8:00.”

“You kids.”

The light changed as we struggled to light our smokes. We ducked across 26th and into the bar.

“I.D.s”

“James, we’re here every night. Do you really need to card us?”

"…"

“Fine, here.”

He checked both of our I.D.’s and we made our way to the bar. Rather than disrobing again we figured we’d grab a drink at the bar and head out to the smoking deck for another go at these cigarettes.

“What can I get for ya, guys?”

I ordered first. For some reason Alan would never order first. “Shot of Jameson and a Premium.”

“Whiskey and water.”

Alan threw down a ten and we walked outside. The smoking deck is pretty unpleasant in the winter, but they do have an overhead heater near the back. Everybody on the deck huddles together in back, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, leaving about 15 feet between the entrance to the patio and mass of smokers. Only Minnesota…

“How’d we do otherwise today?”

“Otherwise? We did alright. Couple of guys came in and picked up $50 worth apiece. How do you think I’m paying for these drinks?”

We quickly sucked down our cigarettes and went back inside. Closing the store at 9:00 means we’re usually locking up by 10. On weeknights this left ample time to catch a booth, as the bar was unlikely to hit capacity.

As we sat down and began the subtly satisfying process of removing our gloves, hats, and jackets, I noticed Alan looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and caught a woman waving at him. She looked to be pushing 30, same age as me. She had short, dark hair and pale skin that had taken a reddish tone thanks to that cigarette-discouraging wind.

“Do you know her?”

He waved back. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Oh, it’s like that is it?”

“She used to come into the store a lot. Looking for that Bobby Stinson album. She’d come in on Fridays trying to get set up for the weekend, but she never had enough cash. She’d bring in 30 or 40 bucks and ask if she could make up the rest on Thursday when she got paid.”

“Check me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always known us to have a strict ‘Cash Upfront” policy.”

“Well, when you own your own store, you can bend the rules however you see fit.”

“Fair play. So you’d let her bring the rest around later, eh?”

“Well, I did at first, but one week she didn’t turn up on Thursday with the rest of the money. She was living up on Nicollet and 28th, so I went by after work to chat with her. Y’know, make sure she was alright.”

“You‘re a real good Samaritan”

“Well, she was alright. She was more than alright, actually. She was still rolling off the last weekend and thought maybe she could pay me back, um, a different way.”

“This doesn’t sound like you either. You’re always on about making sure we get paid.”

“Yeah, well, take another look at her.”

I turned and had another look. I’ll admit, Alan was onto something here. She must have caught me looking at her, though, because she stood up, grabbed her drink, and made her way over the table.

“Um, you guys are on good terms right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As she walked over I noticed she had that sexy Midwestern thickness about her. She was wearing a black cardigan that hung over a sexy, low-cut yellow shirt, and some black jeans that hugged her thighs.

“Hey, Dezi. How ya doin’?”

“Oh Alan, you know me. I’m getting by.”

“Dezi, this is my friend Steve. He works at the store with me.”

“Hey.”

“Steve? Hi.”

Her eyes were hypnotic, a deep brown that looked black against her exceedingly bright red lips. It was easy to see how she seduced Alan. When you look like that you probably don’t have to try too hard.

“It’s been a minute, Dezi. You still in the neighborhood?”

“No, I’m only here hanging out with my friend Demon.” She gestured back to her original table, populated by another cute girl and, for all intents and purposes, the back of a stocking cap.

“Where are you at then? Still in the Twin Cities?”

“Yeah, over on the Midway. My little sister started classes at Macalaster and didn’t want to live on campus, so we found a place off Snelling.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as a St. Paul kind of girl.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s more laid back than this neighborhood, but I needed that. I had to slow down a little bit, y’know?”

“Fair enough.”

As if disproving her previous point, she finished her drink.

“I’m going to grab another one. You guys gonna have another one?”

I perked up immediately. “Yeah, I’ll have one. Grab another shot of Jameson for me?”

She nodded and looked at Alan.

“Nah, I shouldn’t stick around.”

She gave an understanding nod and made her way to the bar.

“Alright, Stevie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want another?”

“Ha! No. I’m good. Tomorrow. Later, homey.”

He stood up and slung his jacket on, completely ignoring his hat and gloves as he rushed over to the bar. I saw him lean over Dezi’s shoulder and say something. She didn’t even turn to look at him as he quickly bounded out the door.

She brought back a couple shots of Jameson and another Premium. As she leaned over to set down the drinks that low-cut shirt exposed two Chinese lion tattoos, each one snaking up over a breast, as if it were going to perch on her clavicle. She sat down and held up her shot glass.

“A toast?”

“To what?”

“Minneapolis. I haven’t been over here for a while.”

“To Minneapolis.”

Clink, swallow, burning, Premium…

“So, Dezi, what do you do?”

Episode 04: You All Look Like Whiskey People To Me

“I.D.’s”

That was all you’d ever get out of James. No small talk about weather or sports or how things are going at the bar. He’s singularly focused on his job, though it’s tough to tell if that’s bred from indifference or devotion. He may be so concerned with keeping the kids out that he doesn’t want to waste time chatting or he may just be too dumb to make small talk.
Or maybe he was just high. You never could tell

Every night he’d sit at his little stool by the door, rockin’ a flannel jacket, black stocking cap, and Chuck Taylors. He was taller than you’d expect. Never clean shaven, but never slovenly either. Always polite but firm. He never gave away anything.

The only time you could ever get a read on him was by looking at his eyes. He’s one of those guys that seemed to have pure black pupils. I don’t know if it was the lights in the bar or light coming in off the street, but his eyes were almost always lit up. It was the only way you could tell his mood. I came by once and I noticed that his eyes didn’t seem lit up.

“I.D.”

So I went over and asked Birdy, “Hey, what’s up with James?”

“His old man died.”

And that was that. If you hadn’t seen him a hundred times before you wouldn’t have even noticed. Like I said, he never gave anything away.

James had a partner. A black dude named Nick. Nick gave everything away.

“How you guys doing tonight?”

“Cold out there, huh?”

“You got your I.D.’s?

“Roseville? You’re a long way from home!”

Nick looked like everyone in Minneapolis. Black jacket, black hat, blue jean, tattoos, glasses. He stood a little shorter than James with a layer of Midwestern baby fat.

People alternately loved and despised Nick. I know he got around Minneapolis a little bit. Just about every regular at the CC Club has a story about, “the one time I went out with Nick.”

Nick & James complemented each other well. They would both turn up about 6:00 and flip a coin to see which of them would watch the door first. In the winter, whoever won the toss got the door while the loser went out to keep an eye on the smoking patio. In the summer, it was reversed. They’d switch up every hour on the hour.

They kept a pitcher of Premium out on that smoking patio and they’d each put down a couple of pints and a couple of cigarettes each hour. Obviously, Nick would engage the other smokers, usually pulling two or three of them over to his table to chat them up. He rarely left the bar without a girl by his side.

Again, obviously, James was just the opposite. He’d sit at that table chaining Marlboro’s and sipping Premium, always keeping an eye on who was coming and going, but never going out of his way to speak to anyone.

These two have been working at this bar for as long as I’ve been coming here. I don’t know if they knew each other before they got this job or if it was just one of those things that fate shakes out. I do know one thing, though: You do not fuck with them.

Episode 03: You Can Own It But Mostly It'll Own You

“C’mon, let’s go grab a smoke.”

“Can I bum one from you?”

“Really?

Demon rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Boots, jacket, scarf, hat, gloves, bottles of Premium, out the back door.

The alleyway behind the Dupont Complex wasn’t particularly warm, but the building was large enough that it blocked the wind pretty well. He pulled out his pack and kicked out two cigarettes. He lit one and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said as he struggled to light his own.

“Damn, girl, you must be freezing.” He finally got his lit, taking a few quick puffs to make sure the cherry was glowing.

“Please… For those of us who were born here, this is nothing. Believe me, it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You should learn to love it.”

“’Those of us born here…’ You wear it like a fucking badge of honor. Girl, ain’t no honor is freezing. Pretty fucking stupid if you ask me.”

“Believe me, you gotta be born into it.”

“Back east, it never got this cold. We got snowstorms though. Oh shit did we get some snowstorms. When I was back home last year, the snow came so thick and so fast that it jammed up the pipes under the street. People couldn’t shower because there was no water. People couldn’t even flush there damn toilets!”

“Really? YOU are gonna tell ME about snowstorms?”

“Trust me. Ain’t nothing like those East Coast snowstorms.”

I hate when he gets on about the East Coast. He’ll talk and talk about how great things are back in the city. How he misses it and how he hates Minneapolis. I tried to change the subject.

“That’s some good stuff you got upstairs. You bring that back from New York?”

“Oh you like that?”

I had to admit I did. I’m a little new to the game, but I knew good from bad.

“Yeah, it’s not bad.”

“Some of my old Brooklyn friends hooked me up with that. Sure helped get through the drive back. You ever try to drive through Ohio straight? Shit‘s boring as hell.”

“Well, don’t let me leave without paying you.”

“Ha huh! Girl, don’t even worry about it. We’re friends, it’s no big deal.”

God, he had the dumbest laugh. It was always so fake. I wonder what his actual laugh sounds like.

“No, really. Let me pay before I go.”

“Right, right…”

He sucked down the last of his beer and strode across the alleyway, setting the bottle on top of the dumpster at the other end of the parking lot.

“Check out what else I picked up while I was back home.”