A
good
friend, but don't cross him
I used to hang out at a small watering hole in my neighborhood called McNeil's.
Not a fancy place, it matched the area; lots of middle class, blue collar families.
McNeil's was popular in the evenings, and always overflow on the weekends. Every other Saturday night the owner would bring in a band, which just crowded us even more.
Jerry Larson was the owner and main bartender, his wife Grace, did most of the waiting, and weekends saw extra staff; usually college kids needing money. There was also the usual bunch of regulars you see in most bars; mostly older, retired men and women with nowhere better to be.
One in particular, a little, gray haired guy who always sat third stool from the end, nearest the restrooms. No one knew his name, he was just known as, and answered to; Geezer. He was a frail looking man with wire rimmed glasses, at least two days stubble, and old but clean clothes.
Geezer, never made a scene, never started a conversation. If someone spoke to him, he always answered politely and usually with a lot of knowledge on any subject.
The one thing he did not abide was rudeness. Speak to him rudely, and he would silently turn away...and strangely, the rude one would pale and stagger away.
Now I always sat at the very end of the bar. Coming in, Geezer would be at his spot; I would nod, and take my place. My beer usually arriving twenty seconds later. If things were quiet, he and I would discuss which ever local team was playing, occasionally some small comments about politics, weather if nothing else.
Once, there was a young couple at a table, having an increasingly heated discussion. Soon we were making out words; "well you said..."
And a response; "I never said that..."
"I hate to see them fighting over something neither said." Spoke Geezer, "Her mother is stirring. Doesn't think much of him. Too bad, he's going to be a world changer in a few years. The good kind." and his face took a certain look, something passed over his eyes...
"Say where did you here I had said that? It doesn't sound like anything I would say?"
"My mother said that you...My mother! She doesn't like you. I'm thinking...Oh honey I'm sorry."
And they went out, arm in arm.
Another night, a Tuesday I think it was, we were sitting quietly. I remember a baseball game was on so it might have been early summer. There was a big guy farther down the bar turning into a loud drunk; carrying on about what a hot shot he was, too classy for this place, crap like that. Larson spoke to him; warned him to quiet down. "Fuck it! I paid for my fuckin' drink. I could buy and sell this rat hole ten times over."
Then he reels down to us, standing between Geezer and I. "Whata ya guys think, is this a rat hole or is this a fuckin' rat hole?"
Before I could say anything, Geezer looked up and said, "I suggest you take yourself out of here."
"Fuck! I don't have to..." and his knees buckled. Geezer simply waved at Larson as loudmouth slid to the floor.
Now, if this was the first time I saw something like this, I'd put it off to coincidence. But I'd seen something similar several times now. To the point that I watched Geezers face as things happened. There was a moment of concentration, just a flicker, and loudmouth buckled. Geezer's eyes flicked up at me for a second then back down. But in that moment I saw something more in his eyes than I had ever before. I simply tilted my glass at him slightly, and then went back to the ballgame.
Another of the regulars was Mandie. A nice looking brunette, good shape, really nice legs. She wore glasses, so I couldn't see her eye color, but I could see they were always watching the activity around her, as if she were nervous. I had talked to her a few times when she began coming in, but her short answers and nervous manner had me returning to my stool.
After loud mouth was dragged out, I caught her watching Geezer and me, and I mentioned her to him.
Without even looking up, "She likes you."
