Aliens on Aventine Hill

Lola [Part 7]

Elias considered the neon sign for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders slumped. They'll smell it on you. Even Derek could smell it this morning hiding underneath the aftershave. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out, feeling the weight of the pack of cigarettes in his chest pocket. They were old and long stale—he had no intention of smoking them; he hadn't in years—but it was strangely comforting to have them there.

He itched at them as he walked into the bar. The booths were empty; the unattended juke was softly playing Marvin Gaye as the sun cut the room into stripes through the blinds. Sam called out to him without turning around, "Little early, aren't you, Elio?"

Elias stopped short. Sam shrugged, setting the whiskey in front of them, "Hard to miss that car."

"Mm," Elias glanced at the Starliner through the window. It was the only car in the parking lot. He pushed the glass away as Sam unscrewed the top off the whiskey and moved to pour, "I didn't come here to drink."

Sam studied him a moment and sighed, pulling the glass over to his side of the bar and filling it, "Then I'd better have one."

Elias scowled.

"So," Sam crossed his arms with a cough, "what did you come here for then?"

"Has Grayson been in recently?"

Sam's smile vanished, "No. I haven't seen him since last Tuesday, and you were here for that. If you see him, you make sure he knows he's welcome back. I'll make exceptions for him."

Elias nodded.

"Same way I used to for you."

The corner of Elias' mouth twitched upwards at the memory, and his eyes darted involuntarily towards the kitchen door behind Sam's shoulder, "That was a long time ago."

"More than thirty years now."

Elias closed his eyes for a moment—Don't remind me—but Sam sighed fondly, "Weird the way time passes. Slow as molasses, but sneaks up on you. Like boiling a frog..."

"No kidding."

"Is he in trouble?"

Elias looked up, startled by the dread in Sam's voice. His friend shook his head regretfully, "Dammit. I knew I should've..."

"Should've what?"

Sam's hands bunched into fists, "Martin came in Friday."

Elias bristled.

"About this same time," Sam glanced at his watch, "just for a whiskey sour. 'Just like old times' he kept saying. Asked if his son ordered the same drink. Told him Grayson just took it straight. He laughed. 'Never one to sugarcoat,'" Sam frowned. "Said it like he was talking about something else."

Elias looked away, and Sam's frown deepened, "I don't know what it was, Elio. I mean, the man's always been strange sober, but... I don't know, something just wasn't right."

"How so?"

"It's hard to describe," Sam thought for a moment. "There's a streak of it in both of them, but it's honest in Grayson. His head's just mixed up, poor kid, but Martin," his nose wrinkled with disgust, "Martin knew what he was doing."

Elias' stomach chilled, "What do you mean?"

Sam's mouth twisted, "It used to be a sort of tradition. He would run out on Grayson, skip town for a couple of months to do God knows what and come back all dried out, money all dried up. And then he'd come here for a whiskey sour, ask me what was new around town and how to ask his son for money, though I doubt he ever actually took any of my advice."