Drinks At The Local Thirsty

The sequence of circumstances that led to my employment at The Local Thirsty don't make a particularly gripping tale, especially contrasted with other unusual occurrences over my years at the Thirsty. Many of the less interesting tales blur together, such like the dying gasps of autumn as brutal winter moves in to finish the hit. An occasion in my memory rises above that cold haze, despite taking place during those aggressively neutral months.

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It was a bleak November afternoon, windy jacket weather where any beam of sunlight was unable to pierce through a dense colourless layer of cloud. The Thirsty was especially quiet, that awkward transitional part of the day when the lunchtime rush had completely died down but about an hour before the neighbourhood regulars finished work. My only table was a hungover couple in the back nursing a shared mimosa, when a young man I'd never seen before took a seat at the bar.

Immediately noticeable about this man was how he dressed, leading me to think how Halloween had been weeks ago. On the surface it seemed nothing more than a costume yet the man appeared so natural and comfortable in it that even some friendly jabs towards his style seemed an inappropriate way to approach. So I began quiet, dropping a menu and a coaster in front of him while he adjusted his large silver belt and turned his head so as to find the most gracious lighting for his brown fedora.

'What's your best rye?' He asked me without a glance at the menu.
'We've got Boswell Bullet or Lot 40, that's the premium stuff.' I replied.
'Bullet sounds appropriate, Been dodging a few of those lately. On the rocks, double.'

This was a while before the Thirsty tightened their inventory counts, so I poured this odd young man a splash or two over the standard two shots. I was very curious by his appearance and attitude and hoped to slyly and expertly loosen his tongue.

'First time in the city?' I asked him. A generic ice-breaker.
'Yeah. Stopover from Ankara, resting it off for a while. Lots of snakes there.'

He took the glass of rye to his lips and gulped down half of it. He set the glass back down on the bar and glanced up at me.

'Decent stuff.'
'I'm not much of a rye drinker, to be honest.' I replied.
'I assume you have a poison of choice?' He inquired. 'Never met a barkeep anywhere in the world who didn't.'
'Gun to my head, tequila.'
'Ha! Huh. You don't strike me as a tequila man.' Said he, his eyes wandering me up and down.
'Sure. I just don't care for cheap stuff.'
'Me neither.'

The young man stared at me for a moment with a look of both judgement and amusement. I've never been a great guesser of age but I doubt even after the fact that he was older than 26. Yet he possessed this demeanour of gruff and weary worldliness that itself surpassed him by decades. My instincts could not conclude whether he was genuine or a brilliant facade.

'So what brought you here of all places? This is a decent city but nothing special.' I asked.
'Got some time to kill, thought I'd maybe go finish up my doctorate.'
'What's your field?'
'Archaeology.' He replied, finishing his drink and smacking his lips afterwards. 'Same thing, fella.'

I poured him another with a little less ice this time. He took out a small notebook from the inside pocket of his thin brown jacket and jotted down some words quickly, all the while peeking towards the entrance. I checked in on my mimosa table ("We're fine") and went back behind the bar.

'Wyoming.' Said he, glancing up from his notebook and nodding to me.

I told him my name.

'Huh. Unusual. Huh, huh huh. Never heard that one before. You look a bit like a fella I met down in the Yucatan, Bajon. He looked up a student paper I wrote for Oxford and sent me a letter inviting me down to look at a particular find he discovered off the beaches in Tulum.'
'I've been there before.' I nodded. 'Was it worthwhile heading all the way down there?'

Wyoming sniffed his rye and took a sizeable sip, letting it linger in his mouth for a moment before gulping it down.

'Huh. We met in Playa Del Carman, at the bar of a small resort where he knew the owner. After a few tequilas he felt comfortable enough in my confidence and pulled out what he'd found. It was truly remarkable, I'd never seen anything like it.'
'Diamonds? Jewelry?'
'It was an amulet, flawless condition, a blue gemstone in the very center. Somehow it'd survived in a makeshift preservative, inside a metal box buried under the sands of the beach. Deciphering what we could of the symbols on the amulet, we concluded this had belonged to an ancient princess, and that there was a twin amulet belonging to a her beloved, a prince. Bajon fortunately was sharp enough to also bring the metal box with him, so we took a room at the resort and got to work trying to find any clues towards the possible location of the second amulet.'

At this point the mimosa table finally asked for their bill. I dealt with that, chuckled at overhearing how they were each buzzed again, and went back to Wyoming's progressing tale.

'Bajon and I spent a few days and a few bottles of whiskey I'd smuggled through customs getting nowhere on this mystery. None of the symbols on the box even resembled anything either of us were familiar with. Then one evening I fell asleep but Bajon quickly shook me awake. He'd made a brilliant revelation: the unknown symbols weren't words but co-ordinates!'

Wyoming became so excited at this moment of retelling that he knocked over his drink onto the wood of my bar. I refilled it and looked the other way.

'Cheers, friend. Yes co-ordinates! A precise instruction, hidden in code within misleading pictograph. Brilliant, really. Using a map in the welcome basket of our hotel room, we triangulated the location and groaned once the final calculation confirmed it. The spot was twenty-three miles east of the resort, in the blue of the sea according to our map.'

A regular of the Thirsty, Jake Nosul (who we referred to as "Nose" or "The Nose"), walked in around this part of the story. He sat next to Wyoming at the bar and leaned in, which made Wyoming quietly unwilling to continue the tale.

'Hey Nose, how bout I buy you lunch?'
'Really? Sure! To what do I owe this pleasure?'
'My unselfish nature.' I replied. 'Just go into the kitchen and tell Chef what you want. Tell him it's on me.'
'All right! I have been craving a well-done steak lately...'

Once Jake had disappeared into the back Wyoming flashed me a quick smirk.

'The next day we borrowed a boat and set out to see if there was anything out there. It was twilight and foggy when we reached the co-ordinates, so I cut the engines. Good thing too, because otherwise we would've crashed head on into a cliff-face! The mass wasn't wide or high but it was large enough to climb onto, maybe about the size of this bar actually. With a couple of ropes we were atop the thing, marveling at how unnaturally flat it was. In the centre of the mass was a big stone noticeably outta place, shining silver through the mist. Geology has never been a trick in my bag but this stone I swear was untouched by the ravages of the eroding sea. With a flashlight we found the thinnest of seams along the stones corner, connecting into a rectangular outline within the top. Too precise and fine to have occurred naturally. A soft touch onto it and we were certain it was removable. Bajon grabbed a thin knife from his jacket, used it as a lever and the portion of stone was free.'
'There were engravings etched on the inside of the compartment, very similar to those on the amulet. A buildup of moss was along the bottom that we had to tear away, revealing the small metal box we suspected was there. Another pry of Bajon's knife and we had the box open.'

Wyoming took a sip, swished his drink and closed his eyes, as though to savour an old memory becoming fresh again.

'An amulet almost exactly like the other, except the centre stone was vivid red instead of blue. That wasn't all. There were scraps of paper, badly worn but still the handwriting was legible. I carefully stuffed them into my pack to protect them from the mist, knowing their potential historical importance. Right as I did that, an enormous wave crashed against the island. Once the haze lifted we weren't alone anymore.'
'The clicking of pistols, the international unfriendly hello. There were only two, meaning in numbers we were an even match, but Bajon and I were not armed.'
' "Bajon, old friend." said the lead man. As he stepped closer I recognized him as the owner of the resort. Obviously he had followed us. "Deepest thanks to both of you. At first I was content with simply snatching the first amulet away from you. But when I saw you sneak out to sea, I knew something as up. Like you both knew where the second one might be. So my associate and I followed you, and now here we are." '
'Bajon handed both metal boxes over but could not keep silent. "Why? We've been friends for fourteen years. Why?" Friend Bajon growled. The associate pointing a gun at me tightened his grip. I was just extra baggage in this affair.'
' "Why he asks? Old friend, there are many reasons. Maybe my resort is losing money, meaning the sale of these amulets is just the surge of cash I need. Or maybe I'm a long down descendant of the invaders that destroyed this ancient kingdom, so if I possess the amulets the misdeeds of my ancestors is lost in history. Or maybe dear Bajon, I just never liked you that much. Maybe none of those! Or maybe all three. Speaking of the second, you there put something in your pocket. Hand it over." '.
'The associate advanced on me, gun pointing to my chest. I kept one hand raised, threw off my pack with the other and bent down to open it up. His hand drooped a little as he came closer, a lackey mistake. I swung the pack hard around my shoulder, belting him square across the face. Baggage saving baggage. In the confusion Bajon made his move, tackling his old friend by the legs. I moved to help but my adversary grabbed my arm and fired a bullet that missed my nose by a foot. Luckily I was a champion wrestler in college, dunno if I mentioned that.'

'Sure.' I shrugged.

'Right. Well I was. I tossed that bastard into the sea once I'd loosened the gun. I got up and through the haze of the crashing waves saw Bajon still duking it out. Just as I recovered the pistol, a gigantic wave gathered up just by the break of the rocks. I scrambled behind the largest stone right as this three-storey wave crashed into the island, the sound echoing into the sea like an explosion. Once the mist had cleared I looked around and saw no sign of Bajon, his betrayer, or the amulets. By miracle our boat was still intact, and I went back to shore.'

Wyoming was silent for a while, staring out towards the window with a regretful expression on his face and poking his nearly empty drink.

'The end?' I eventually asked.
'Yeah.' He grunted, his eyes looking to his glass to suggest one more.

I poured it, gave him the bill and greeted a pair of regulars who'd walked in during the climax of Wyoming's tale. This gave me a sudden sense of reality as I returned to Wyoming to settle up.

'Sounds a bit cliche to be honest.' I remarked to him.
'...excuse me?' He replied, more surprised than angry.
'Sorry, like something out of a movie. Just a tad too fantastic.'

Wyoming was silent for a moment. 'Sure. Guess ya got me. Good ears, friend.' Wyoming said, reaching into his jacket pocket for a wad of bills. 'The pleasure was mine, though I'm sure we'll meet again.'

With a subtle tip of his hat he slipped out the door like a shadow chased by a vengeful light. I cleared his empty glass and gathered up his generous gratuity. There was a strange foreign bill mixed in the middle of what he left, which I thought nothing of until I separated it. I realized it wasn't currency but a folded piece of paper, extremely old and yellowed with faded handwriting in a language resembling nothing I'd ever seen. Cliches indeed.