The Unborn

Chapter 5

Mike paid the cab driver and strolled into Bluey’s, he figured a taxi would be the safest bet after the day he’d had. He had decided early on that a few drinks would be in order tonight. He tucked his wallet back into his pants and walked up to the bar. 

"Hey Mikey, long time no see," cried the barman and then extended his hand across the bar. 

"Glad to see someone missed me Tadpole," he replied slapping him on the shoulder as the two shook hands. 

Gary, A.K.A Tadpole, had been a firm friend of Mike’s ever since they had met seven years earlier. It was actually Mike who christened him Tadpole on account of the fact that Gary had six kids and his wife was pregnant again. 

"Gees mate," Mike had said, "Ain’t you got no T.V. in your house?" 

"Sure do, but the wife likes a little ro-mance now and again," Gary had replied. 

"Now and again… Gawd man, you’s must be at it now and again and again!" 

Gary had just laughed at Mike and said "It’s me genes mate, I’ve just got good tadpoles." 

From then on, Mike referred to him as Tadpole and the name stuck. 

Tadpole was one of the very few friends Mike had, and much to his surprise, he actually did enjoy his company. Most people who came into contact with Mike found his personality a little too strong and forthright for their taste, but not Tadpole. He seemed to accept Mike’s character flaws and propensity to be bolder than brass, that was just who he was. Even when Mike had told him that 'He couldn’t pull a beer for shit!' He didn’t get mad or offended, he simply walked to the opposite side of the bar and challenged Mike to do better. Mike admired the way Tadpole handled himself in general, he never allowed anyone to get the better of him.

 Mike pulled a cigarette from his pack and began to light up. 

"Not here, Mikey," Tadpole reminded him. "You gotta go to the smoker’s deck, okay?" 

As much as he despised the new laws on smoking in bars, Mike knew he was not exempt from them. Mind you, that never stopped him from trying to slip the odd one in from time to time. He stuffed the cigarette back into his pack and rolled his eyes, pouting like a two year old.

 "It’s bullshit, that’s what it is, a man don’t have a say in nothin’ anymore," Mike spat back. 

"That a boy," teased Tadpole. "My lungs are thanking you already." 

"Oh just quit bein’ a pussy and get me a beer," hissed Mike, unaccustomed to not getting is way. 

Tadpole pulled the lever on the keg and began to fill a frosted glass, ensuring the white, foamy head was neither too thick, nor too weak. Beer began to trickle down the side of the glass and over Tadpole’s fingers, with a quick flick of the lever he shut off the flow.

 "Here we are, get that into ya," cried Tadpole, smiling broadly as he set the beer down in front of Mike. 

In one foul swoop, Mike snatched up the glass, gulped the contents down in a few hearty chugs and slammed the empty vessel down on the bar. "That was a starter… Now, how’s about a real drink? Gimme a Jimmy, straight up." 

Tadpole stared at him for a moment and then said, "You got it, but no trouble tonight… Okay, Mike?"

 "Yo, Tadpole. Why you gotta ruffle my feathers all the time?"

 An impromptu laugh escaped Tadpole. "Ruffle? You?"

 "Yeah, yeah," began Mike. "Everyone loves a wise guy." He reached deep into his pocket and produced a twenty-dollar bill, his eyes still firmly fixed on Tadpole. With a thunderous slap, he smacked it down on the bar and repeated ‚ "Now how’s about that drink?"