Aliens on Aventine Hill

The Fourth of July [Part 6]

Sam looked over the bar with a sense of satisfaction.

The usual drunkards had taken their places at the counter; already some were nodding off. Couples, young and old, filled the tables between here and the door. A small group of rowdy university students was throwing darts. A party of men struggling through mid-life crises was draining lagers as fast as Sam could fill them.

Through the small window at the other end of the counter, Sam could see that the sun was beginning to set. A steady stream of people flowed in the door. No matter the season, Saturday sunsets marked a spike in business.

Tonight would be no different: He would stand behind this counter, filling mugs and polishing glasses until three in the morning. Officially, closing time was two in the morning, but you got to know people in a small town like Aventine. A little sympathy and an extra drink or two earned favors quick and kept the worst of the trouble off his back.

Not that Sam really minded it. Such had been his life for longer than he could remember; these four walls comprised his world. The people who came here—whether they were regulars or travelers, or even the occasional relic of Christian suburbia finally breaking down—were the only people he cared about. They poured their lives out to him as he poured them whiskey and gin.

But he was just a sympathetic ear, a patient counselor, and nothing more.

A cry of playful frustration rose out of the group of university students, startling Sam from his thoughts. He watched one young man chug a tall glass of beer, give an impressive belch and throw another perfect bullseye. The resounding cheer echoed through the restaurant and Sam looked away to find a familiar dark-haired young man perched on the bar in front of him.

He grinned, revealing straight, white teeth, "Long time, no see."

"Mm..." Sam nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips as he uncorked the bourbon.

Joseph laughed, accepting the glass with a toast, "You remember?"

"How could I forget? You were in here every Saturday from the day you turned twenty-one."

"More like seventeen," Joseph laughed. "I'll never understand why you didn't kick me out. It was such a bad fake..."

"We both know I never would've heard the end of it from your brothers," Sam shook his head, reminiscing. A frown stole across his mouth, "Speaking of which..."

Joseph's face darkened, but he pulled up a barstool and knocked back his drink, "Enzo and Vinny are talking to me, though only because Enzo feels responsible for me, and Vinny thinks there's still a chance he can..."

He shook his head with a cruel laugh; Sam winced. Joseph saw the expression and heaved a sigh, "Lucky's nice enough but he keeps to himself, always has. Freddy's, well..." he gritted his teeth, "and Gino's just a kid trying to do right by his family."

He tightened his grip on his whiskey glass, "Honestly, I expected as much from them, but that doesn't mean I wasn't—"

"Hoping," Sam nodded, refilling the bourbon, "I was too."

Joseph tipped the glass to him in thanks before taking a long slow sip with a shrug and staring out the small, miserable window, "I saw Gray today."

Sam stiffened.

"Yeah," Joseph nodded. "Ran into him at the grocer's. Went about as well as you'd think."

The bartender gritted his teeth, "He needs you right now."

Joseph ran one slow fingertip around the rim of his glass, staring down into the brown liquid within, "That sure wasn't the impression I got."

Sam winced.