The Friendly Bar

This story was one of my first tries to write for Literotica but was never finished at the time. I made several attempts to tie it together but was never happy with the result. Now, close to two years later, I can say that I am quite pleased with the latest version. It is a total re-write and should hopefully be fairly free of grammatical errors.

Be aware that there is no sex to turn you on and it is quite long and slow. Also, the descriptions of police and social services is not very accurate. Just as in many films, TV productions and crime novels the realism has suffered from 'poetic liberty' to fit the need of the story. That doesn't mean that it is impossible that it could be real somewhere, sometime...

Let's see how you like it.

Halin24

*****

Owning a bar is an interesting thing. I know, because I do. Not a large flashy but a small and cosy one. In fact it is my second, I inherited the first one from an uncle I hardly knew when I was 29. I have no idea why I got it, but since he had no family of his own I guess I was as good a choice as anyone and I decided to give it a try.

I have never regretted it even if the hours are long and the income isn't much too brag about. The compensation is the people I meet, or maybe I should say the personalities. I have a group of regulars who drop in on a daily basis or close to it. At the first place it was Tuborg, Latte, Peanut and whatever they were called. As you can guess those names came from what they always ordered. Then there were those who had personal stories linked to the bar: Exit, Drive, Honey, Lynn, Sally.

At my second bar the most prominent one was, and still is, Brit.

To get special names like that you must of course be well known and liked, newcomers and others are referred to as 'you there' or 'girlie with the big bag' or something, but when you have your name it sticks.

I myself was called Temp at the first bar because no one thought I would stay for long, they thought I was a temporary owner. I was still called that after 5 years when I sold it.

Men dominates the clientele but that also means that regular females are more appreciated. Lynn, to take an example, had a tough start. She was out with her boyfriend and they happened to drop in after dinner. Sitting in a corner they didn't notice the woman who arrived 10 minutes later, but

she

noticed

them

. She was not alone you might say as her stomach was quite large, and she sure knew the reason.

"What the fuck, Dave!" she yelled to the man. "You get me knocked up, then disappear before the wedding without a word and now you sit here with another woman?! You can just forget that you will get away with this! I'm calling my brothers to deal with you, asshole."

She took out her phone and started to dial. The guy left as a rocket with the woman just a step behind, talking on the phone. Lynn sat there, suddenly alone, in shock, and tears started to fill her eyes.

Everyone in the bar had seen and heard them and just like anyone would have done in that situation she got up to leave, with hands searching her pockets. Then she broke down, stumbled over a chair and fell on the floor. There she stayed, sobbing violently, until I picked her up and carried her to my office where I put her on the sofa.

When I turned around to go and get her a brandy, Sally was already standing beside me with a glass in her hand, gesturing for me to leave them alone. As I left two other regulars passed me going in.

Naturally this caused a bit of curiosity with many guests, but the regulars made an effort to act humane and when a guy said 'Stupid bitch didn't see that coming' and laughed, Exit and Tuborg was in his face in a second and told him to leave before

he

had something coming

too

.

After a while Latte came out from the office and took me aside.

"She is starting to recover somewhat, but has nowhere to stay for the night. She is relatively new in town and share an apartment with the guy. They met over the internet four months ago, but she refuse to go back now of course. She left her purse at home since he was buying so she has no money either. I sleep on a friends couch and Sally . . . well, I think you know her situation: she can't help right now. Is there anything you can do?"

"She can sleep on my couch if she likes, but maybe that is not the best solution. I guess I can borrow her money for a cab and a motel room, or she can stay here in the office. I've done that a few times myself and it's not that bad."

"I think it would be better if she wasn't left with a lot of booze but with some company."

I raised an eyebrow at her in mock query and she continued:

"Not

that

kind of company! I'll talk to her. Thanks Temp."

She returned to the office with another small brandy. In the end I borrowed Lynn the money and she left with Latte in a cab. I doubted I would see the money, or her, again but what the hell, it was for a good cause.

She did return the next evening though. She came in early while I was more or less alone. I spotted her at once when she entered and gave her a smile. Her answering smile was thin and nervous as she stepped up to the counter and handed me an envelope. Inside was the money and a 'thank you'-note to 'all the regulars and the owner of The Friendly Bar' signed Lynn Rosemont. Then she turned to leave.

"Lynn, do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?"

She turned to me again, a question in her eyes.

"I'll manage somehow. A colleague at work went over to the apartment with me today to gather my things so at least I have money now. Why? Why would you care? I'm just a stupid broad who picked the wrong guy and suffers for it."

"Well, it isn't any of my business but being new in town with no place to go would be hard on anyone. It so happens that another regular came in after you left yesterday and heard about what happened. He said he has a furnished apartment you could borrow for a month or two. It's his daughters and she is away on a job abroad. The only condition is that you take care of her aquariums and pay the bills. He lives a block from here and the apartment is on the other side of town, so it's a problem for him to go there every now and then to feed the fishes."

"Really? He would trust me, a stranger, to live at his daughters place? He is not a pervert that will keep a key and surprise me at night, is he?"

"I doubt it." I smiled. "He's a cop, married to a cop and well known. Copcop often comes here after work to relax for a while. He said they would come in around 10 tonight if you were interested."

"Copcop?"

"That's what they are called here, they almost always come here together. Stay if you like. I'm sure many of the others will be happy to see you again."

So she stayed and we talked. As the regulars came in everyone who had been there the night before walked up to her, gave her a hug or put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy, and the crowd around her grew larger all the time. That was how it worked: sympathy and support for those who needed it.

She borrowed the apartment for two months until she found one for herself and she became a regular too. The reason that she kept her real name was simply that no-one had the heart to suggest 'Heartbreak' or 'Deserted' or what ever might have fitted.

Since the age limit for alcohol was 21 I had to keep an eye open for minors. Not that I was all that strict with visitors bringing their kids after the cinema, but still, I didn't serve minors alcohol. One night it was really crowded and I hardly had the time to say hi to the customers when a thin female voice ordered a beer. I reacted automatically with asking for ID.

"You're joking right?" came the reply. "You can't think that I'm not 21, seriously?"

I stopped in mid stride and looked at her. She was short, thin, quite cute, had short black hair and almost golden eyes. If she was 21 though, I was the queen of Persia.

"Of course not, Mrs Mature Woman, anyone can see that you are 21 and half-a-day. ID please!"

The conversation made Honey and Sally, who sat nearby, laugh and that didn't make me any more popular with the girl.

"It's in my luggage somewhere." she gestured towards a huge bag over by the door. "It's hot and I have travelled for two days. Can't I have the beer while I try to find the ID? Please?"

"Sorry, I can get you a pint of water though. You are right that it is hot and I don't want you to pass out from dehydration while you try to find anything in that 'handbag' of yours. Typical that the air conditioner breaks down on the warmest day of the year."

"Fuck you!" was her reply as she turned and grabbed the bag. "There are other bars you know."

She opened the door.

"Right you are, but this is the only one this crowded due to the lack of air condition. The thirsty ones are here to sweat so they can drink more beer."

That earned me a finger from her as she left, and another laugh from those standing close. It was true that the air conditioning had broken down a few days earlier, and with a hundred degrees F in the shade outside it was close to unbearable inside. I had been told that this was the only place that still had some space though, the other bars were packed with people. Those who wanted a beer this side of Christmas came to me anyway.

"You should have called the cops." Honey said. "I doubt if she was 18, and with that bag I think she might be on the run without her parents permission if you take my meaning."

"I would say you are probably right but the cops will be busy anyway a day like this. I'll talk to Copcop if they come by. They will know if anyone is reported missing."

"You may be right, but I don't like a kid like that walking the bars: she could get in trouble with some asshole picking her up."

When Copcop came in they were in a dark mood and sat down ordering 2 water and 2 beers at once. The rush from earlier had died down and only a handful of customers were left, so I sat down with them.

"A rough day?" I asked and they nodded.

"People get crazy in this heat. Every dispute seems to end with a fight. I can't even understand how they have the energy to argue, much less to fight."

"Too many air conditionings." I laughed."We haven't had a fight here all day, even though I admit that I pissed off a girl pretty bad."

"You did? What's the matter, usually you are the gentleman among assholes?"

"She wanted a beer but I'm sure she was not of age, probably not even 18, and when I wanted to see ID she overreacted trying to convince me."

"Small, thin, black hair, golden eyes? A tattoo of a rose on her shoulder?"

I was surprised to say the least.

"Yeah, sounds right, but I didn't see any tattoo. Honey wanted me to call the cops but I know how these days are for you so I thought it could wait. Then it didn't seem important since it was hours after she left."

"You are right, but for once I wish you had called. She is wanted in a double murder case down south and everyone is looking for her."

"Sorry, I didn't know. I have a hard time believing she could kill someone though, even if she had an attitude."

"No, no, she hasn't killed anyone. We think she saw her foster parents get killed in a home invasion. I don't understand how anyone can put a kid in a home like that, it was more like a crack-joint from what they say, but obviously they did and then someone visited with a machete. She may know who it was but disappeared even before anyone knew what had happened."

"Now I'm really sorry I didn't call."

"Don't be. Like you say we are quite busy days like this and would normally not even send a patrol in an hour. Just bad luck, that's all."

I fetched them another couple of beers and excused myself to take out the trash. When I opened the back door to the alley I almost stumbled over a huge bag in the corner by the containers, with a black-haired head resting on it. I put the trash down and returned inside.

"You should have been careful what you wished for." I told Copcop with a crooked smile. "Your workday isn't over after all."

"What?" was their confused reply and I gestured for them to come with me.

Her name was Jessie Parker and she was 17 years old. Orphaned at 3 she had been moved around a lot to different foster homes. The last one had been the worst and lasted only a month before she ran away. Now she sat in my bar with Copcop and drank the water I had offered her earlier that evening.

I had closed the bar and locked the front doors but a window was open to let in some cooler air though it was still too warm to be comfortable.

"So you know nothing about this?" Andy, the male part of Copcop, asked again.

"No, I swear! I tried to stay away as much as I could to not get involved with what they were doing, but I know they were dealing. They had a lot of visitors both day and night and they all looked like junkies. I had enough and left a week ago and you say they were killed after that, so how could I know anything?"

"Where were you then, before you showed up here?" Tess, Andy's wife, filled in.

"Trying to stay out of sight. I slept in parks, under bushes not to be seen, and then I bought a bus-ticket here, I arrived today and was thirsty so I tried to buy a beer here, then I tried some other places but they were all packed so I gave up and came back here to sleep. I know nothing, I promise!"

Andy sighed and drank the last of his beer.

"This leaves us with a problem: what to do with you now. We should take you to the station but since you are not yet 18 and are orphaned that would mean sending you back to your foster parents who are murdered and shouldn't have gotten involved with you in the first place. That leaves locking you up for further questioning since you have no home, but with all cells full of drunks that doesn't seem right either. Looks like it's going to be a long night for all of us."

"Seriously, you can't mean that, locking her up? She's just a kid!" I said.

"With two months left to her 18

th

birthday. It makes it harder to decide. In two months she would have been taken into custody, but now it is a problem for the social services who have obviously fucked up already."

"If she comes home with me and sleep on my couch, then tomorrow we go down to the station and she testifies that she knows nothing. Could that solve this for now?"

"Not since she is only 17 and we have spoken to her already. Social services."

"Okay, but if we all forget that you have spoken to her. I found her here, took her home, heard of the search and took her in?"

"Then it would be up to the social services what happens next anyway."

"Another try then. She is scared to be sent back to the junkies and refuses to meet the police until she turns 18 but will talk to you over the phone and I bring a photo with her signature to prove she is the one you are looking for. Will that work?"

"You're getting absurd you know, Temp, but something like that. Tell you what: take her with you if she agrees to it and I will call you tomorrow and figure something out. And you, young lady, better not run away this time or there will be hell to pay for all of us! Agreed?"

She nodded, and after letting Copcop out, clearing the last things, locking away the cash and turning the lights off we left for my home.

"Why are you trying to help me? I wasn't exactly nice to you earlier today."

She looked puzzled where she sat at the kitchen table nibbling on warmed-up pizza while I turned the couch into a bed.

"Because that is how we do things at the bar and I like it that way. You were rude, yes, but not any more than I was, refusing to take you seriously, so we are kind of even. I know enough about you to think you are worth it and I know you need it. Also it is my duty to try and help you because you were at the bar. I have my own rules."

"So if I say I really need a beer you would give it to me?"

"You are fixated with the beer, but okay, here you go."

I took two beers from the fridge, opened them and gave her one as I sat down opposite to her with the other and took a slice of the pizza.

Now she was really confused, took the bottle as if suspecting that I would take it away at the last instance, but I didn't and she took a big sip. The grimace she made told me I had been right, then she rushed to the kitchen sink and spat it out, took a glass of water and gurgled it to get rid of the taste.

"Now you know how it tastes, does that make you happier? Or older?"

"Fuck, it tastes like piss! How can you drink that?"

"As you grow older your taste changes. Some grow to like it, others don't. But it doesn't make you an adult. That was the point wasn't it, trying to get a beer in the bar? You were on the run and was desperate to turn 18 so you could decide about your life. It doesn't work that way."

"You knew all the time that I was underage, not even 18, on the run and had never tasted alcohol, didn't you? That was why you weren't serious. I got so mad, being treated like a small kid."

"I know, and yes I at least strongly suspected it. It is part of the job to read people and I was almost as sure that you would come back sooner or later. I had played with you but I hadn't thrown you out or called the cops. When you get older you usually act older. You acted like a kid with an attitude, but most kids want a safe place and help when times are hard, just like adults."

"Will you help me through this?"

Now she was a little girl, seeking comfort.

"I can't promise that. It isn't all up to me you know, but I promise I will stand by your side and do what I can. And I know that Copcop will do the same or you wouldn't be here now. Go and wash up now and get ready for bed while I finish your beer."

She stuck her tongue out at me but did like I said with a smile. After all she was almost a responsible adult.

Andy and Tess knocked on my door at 10 the next morning on their way to work. I was still in bed and so was Jessie, so I put on a bathrobe, woke her and told her to get up and dress, then I opened the door.

"Since we are sober now and on duty we can make this official, so we will take your statement Jessie and go from there." Andy said.

They had a tape recorder with them and went through all the details twice. Then they went on with a fake dialogue where Jessie stated that she was afraid to be sent back to some junkie and didn't trust either the police or the social services, so she would stay away until after her birthday. Any hint of trying to force her and she would leave at once, not stopping for anything. That was it, and with her signature on the tapes they were ready to leave.

"Now listen carefully." Andy then said "We understand that it isn't all that fun to stay here in the apartment for two months, so we won't tell you to, but change your hair, both colour and style, and cover that tattoo. Then you can play the cousin coming to visit and even work in the bar if Temp thinks so. But don't do anything stupid, like drinking, and if any cops comes to visit you stay away. Got it? Tess talked to Honey this morning and she is willing to do your hair if you like. She booked you at 2, so call her if you don't want to go. And take care. Bye now."

Jessie hugged and kissed cheeks before letting them go. She was growing up and knew what they were doing for her.

It was an interesting idea that Jessie should work in the bar and after laughing about it for a while we decided to try. Honey had done a total makeover and Jessie looked at least 5 years older as a blonde with a tiny ponytail at the back and some make-up.

I don't think she was aware that she acted differently too. Her voice was a little deeper and more calm, she was more self assured and moved with confidence. We had bought work clothes too, checked shirts and white knee long skirts that matched her new appearance and covered the rose tattoo.