Max walked past the pool table where Martin was chalking his cue. Max nodded. Martin nodded and winked. Martin's opponent was racking up a game of 9-ball and was guaranteed to lose $10.
The bar is narrow, with a low, black, drop ceiling. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Johnny Paycheck's "King of the Road" was halfway finished on the TouchTunes. A few old-timers sat spaced out at the bar, not speaking to each other. Max parked next to a man in his late 60s with his grey hair in shoulder-length pigtail braids. A pack of cigarettes and a glass of whisky sat in front of him.
"You looking for trouble, partner?"
The old man didn't break his gaze from nowhere space.
Without looking at him, Max responded, "Why? You looking for one, Old Timer?"
Martin broke, sinking the one ball and the four ball. He hefted his short, plump body around the table with the grace of a hawk circling a pond full of helpless guppies. You could see the sweat forming on the 35-year-old elder hipster's forehead. Martin sank the two ball, then the three, then his opponent's Adam's apple. Martin can break and run like a bandito from a stagecoach robbery with all your pesos in hand.
The old man turned to Max and grinned; the liver spot on his stubbled left cheek did a dance.
"Well, I'd sure be buying if you're selling."
"I'll let Rudy know when he gets here."
"Ah shoot, I was ready for a toot. How ya doin', Max?"
"All is well, Cowboy. It's Friday. I'm paid. All I need is a lady. Speaking of, where's Daisy?"
Cowboy was fixing to light a Lucky Strike. He lit up, then said, "Little girl's room. I don't think she's feeling well."
"Ah, well, I'll tread lightly."
"Not that. She got dumped by some little barista from Starbucks."
"Purple hair?"
"Brown hair, crew cut."
"You can't have two alphas and expect not to have problems."
"She's tough for a man, but not one of them."
Max heard the women's bathroom door close and leaned back to see Daisy walking towards the bar with her head hanging low. As she walked through the hatch door behind the bar, she looked up, saw Max, and her expression turned happy.
"Max!"
"Hey, Daisy."
"How are ya?"
"Pretty good. Took the bike for a ride and decided to swing by."
Daisy wore thick black-framed glasses framed by a salt-and-pepper Ramones haircut. Her face was weathered and pockmarked. She was wearing a faded black shirt with a big print of Siouxsie Sioux's face on the front with the sleeves cut off and vintage Lee jeans she cut into shorts and cowboy boots.
"Rolling Rock?"
"Please. And three shots of Tequila."
Cowboy said, "Cheers."
Daisy grabbed a bottle from the cooler, popped the top, and slid it to Max. An old lady at the end of the bar had a coughing fit. Max used Cowboy's lighter and lit a cigarette, then set it in the holster on the red ashtray between them.
Daisy poured three shots of Jose Cuervo Silver. Max and Daisy licked salt off the back of their hands, then took their shots; Cowboy drank it straight. Daisy and Max sucked on lime slices; Cowboy smoked.
"When's Jerm going to show up with you, Max?" Daisy asked.
Max exhaled slowly, "Shoot. If he came in, he'd be buying my tab, but he doesn't have money for that."
"You have to give him some guidance."
Daisy cracked a Coors Light for the man a few seats down the bar.
"Who gave me guidance?" Max said under his breath, then sipped his beer.
"Some men got to find their own guidance," Cowboy said.
"No kidding."
Daisy walked to the other end of the bar to attend to the flies. The blacked-out glass door at the entrance swung open, and two men and a girl in their twenties walked in. One of them said, "Oh shit, you can smoke in here?"
Max turned around and rested his elbows on the bar, took a sip of his beer, ashed his cigarette, and took a drag. Max watched the trio approach the other end of the bar, then turned his head to see Martin once again chalking his cue while his victim racked another game.
"Are you still painting?" Cowboy asked.
Max turned his head in Cowboy's direction and responded, "Here and there. Either too much time or too litte."
"I hear ya. You ought to talk to Lucas and Daisy about hanging one of them in here."
"They could never afford me."
"I know that's a lie."
"No fooling you, Cowboy. What about you, Shakespeare? Serenade me."
The old man took a sip of his whiskey and cleared his throat. Max watched the end of the bar from the corner of his eye as the trio ordered drinks from Daisy. She charged the strangers a fee for the pack of cigarettes that the tall one asked for.
Cowboy started: "I sit at the bar and drink my beer. Another bottle to all those lost and forgotten years. I'm old now, wise and salted. I'm known around here as the King of Leers: a calloused buccaneer that's never shed a tear. Except for her, the one I once called Dear. She's been gone so long, and with her - all my cheer."
"That's heavy, brother."
"Oh, I just like to rhyme. It don't mean nothin'."
Cowboy finished his whiskey and his cigarette. Max wasn't sure, but he thought Cowboy was lying. The old man sat quietly for a moment.
"Real nice, Cowboy."
"Thank ya."
The three newcomers took their drinks to one of the tables along the wall and sat in the tall chairs. A stained glass lampshade hung above them, casting a cone of light. The tall guy lit a cigarette; the other fella coughed and pushed the long sleeves of his plaid dress shirt up to his elbows, then took a comb from his pocket and combed his hair back. The girl, with brunette hair braided like a milkmaid and wearing a prairie dress, fetched a vape from her tiny backpack.
The front door opened again; this time, a regular entered - a dark-skinned Cuban man with a beer gut and a lot of jewelry. He wore a red, skin-tight, Under Armour shirt and skin-tight jeans with rips and tears in them.
"I don't think I know your real name, Cowboy."
"Curtis Cameron Paisley."
They shook hands.
"What about this lady? If you don't mind me asking?"
Cowboy leaned back and crossed his arms.
"Amelia Guthrie. Her hair was reddish-brown, and her face was full of freckles. We got engaged on the Santa Monica Pier in '82. I was 26; she was 21. About a year later, she gave me back that ring on the same pier. The next day, I was on a bus back to Montana."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Don't be sorry for me. You weren't even close to being born, and I've prayed for forgiveness."
"What happened?" Max reluctantly asked.
The front door opened again, and the table of newcomers clamored at Rudy's arrival.
Max didn't break the conversation to look.
"I don't think about her much anymore. Sometimes. I'll tell you sometime. Your pal is here."
"Oh." Max turned and saw Rudy dapping with the guy in plaid. A moment later, Rudy was standing with them and shaking their hands.