Bar room blues

 

Muddy Waters kicked down the door and Howlin’ Wolf went in shooting at every damn moving thing. When the dust had settled and the gun smoke had wafted off, they looked around at the shot-up interior, the bodies strewn around on the floor and the bartender standing on tiptoes right by the rear door, ready to take flight or cry.

Muddy raised an eyebrow.

“Damn, Wolf,” he said.  “Damned thing, my man. We just came in for a drink, ain’t we?”

“Hell, boy,” Wolf growled “I’m still thirsty. See what that guy has behind the counter.”

Wolf moved towards the bartender who shrunk back into the wall behind him, probably hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. The room was very quiet and even Wolf’s light-footed tread sounded excessively loud.

“Why you so quiet there, big man?” Wolf asked the bartender. “Ain’t you supposed to be askin’ us what we’ll have? Killin’ is thirsty work, boy, let no-one tell you any different.”

Muddy chuckled.

“I expect the man is kinda distracted right now, Wolf. Hospitality isn’t rightly the primary thought in his mind right this minute, I expect. He’s feelin’ like we’re gate crashers and not very welcome gate crashers too. Shootin’ up the place, killin’ the customers and all.”  

“Be as it may, he’s the barkeep, ain’t he? He’s not dead ain’t it?”

Wolf came to a halt at the bar counter, right in front of the bartender who almost did not dare to breathe. 

“What’s your name, boy?” Wolf asked.

The bartender took a few moments to consider the question. He was not sure whether it would be a good idea to answer. 

“Earl,” he said, in a hoarse whisper.

 

“Earl,” Wolf repeated. “Man says his name is Earl. Not Duke, not Count, not Prince. Earl.”

Muddy chuckled again. He  had sat down at one of the now empty tables, the previous occupants had jumped away from the table when the shooting started but did not get very far. They’d been playing cards and the cards were distributed haphazardly over the floor. It was impossible to tell which hand had been whose.

“Earl,” Muddy said. “That’s not a bad name to own up to, now is it, Wolf?  Got a certain, uh, nobility to it, a certain air of nobility. Ask Mr Earl what high quality alcoholic beverage he can offer us, Wolf, ask him that question. Don’t get too deep into the manner and meaning of his naming, now, don’t develop an obsessive interest in the motivation of his parents to name him Earl. Just get the simple facts on the drinks.”

“We’ve got wide range,” Earl volunteered. “Whiskey, beer, cognac, rum, gin, basically whatever you want, we’ve got it. Mixers too.”

“You got scotch?”   

“We have scotch, single malts, blends, whatever. What would you like?”

Earl had come back to life and moved back to his central position behind the bar, looking businesslike again. He was a professional and he was in his office, ready to do what he did best: dispense drinks.

“What will it be gents?” Earl asked.

Wolf looked back at Muddy who returned the gaze blankly. Muddy shrugged his shoulders.

“I reckon I won’t be drinking here, Wolf, This ain’t no wake for these dead ones here. Someone else can mourn for them, toast their good health in the afterlife. I reckon we should leave them be, in peace here, and just get the hell out. Job’s done, gotta move on.”

Howlin’ Wolf did not seem convinced by this argument. He turned around and walked over to Muddy and sat down at the table. He shifted his chair into  a more comfortable position and lit a cigarette.

“Let’s think on this a minute,” he said after a couple of puffs.

Earl was leaning over the bar, expectantly and apprehensively. He’d hoped that  giving the visitors their drinks would ease tensions and keep everyone in a good mood. Earl did not dare to see more shooting, seeing as how he would be the only possible target. He would have liked to leave the bar entirely but it did not seem as if it would be  a recommended move to leave his post behind the bar. The visitors may take offence.

“The killin’s done, ain’t it?| Wolf said. “We done the killin’ part good, ain’t we? Don’t see much movement amongst the customers of the joint, do I? See plenty corpses though. This means we done the job and we’re off duty now and when a man has done his job good and he is off duty, a man ought to be entitled to a little R & R and right now I believe I am entitled, and you are entitled, my man, to have at least one drink to ease up the nerves, settle the disposition and generally improve the mood before we up and leave this mausoleum, don’t you think?  Would that not be right?”

Muddy had kept his eyes on Earl. 

“Come on, now, Wolf” he said, “come on, now. Get a-hold of yourself and let’s leave this town. More trouble down the road, boy, more trouble down the road.”

Howlin’ Wolf was not liking what he was hearing. He was not liking that Muddy would not be behind him every step of the way, partners as they were.

When the Wolf did not like something he made no bones about it. He was not a subtle man and he did not dare how anybody else saw it. He wanted what he wanted and that was that.

“Get on outta here, boy,” he told Muddy, “get on outta here if you ain’t gonna be setting for a spell take the load off and drinkin’ something cool. I’m the man whose gonna be taking a moment here, a long, satisfying moment with my friend Earl over here. Me and Earl are gonna part best of friends at the end of the day. You can go on down the road to wherever the hell you think you will find yourself a moment of peace and quiet.”

Earl had been moving surreptitiously away from the centre of the bar counter to one side, closest to the side entrance. His plan was to make an escape while the other two were conducting their debate and hopefully not paying much attention to him. Neither Muddy nor Wolf were seriously distracted by their bickering.

“Hey, bartender,” Muddy drawled, “I can see what you’re doing behind there. You aiming to skedaddle, ain’t you? You’re not one for our presence and our conversation, I guess, but you’re gonna have to accept that we are here and that you’re gonna have to stay here for a while, boy.”

Earl froze. He grinned weakly and shrugged. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Wolf moved a couple of steps forward, swung around, looked at Muddy and rolled his yes before turning around again to stare at Earl.

“I believe it’s time to get a-hoppin’ and a-boppin’, children,” he said. “I believe it’s time to stop yapping and start scraping.”