John the Barman
The Barman to Gods, Angels and Devine Creatures
HELL ON A BUDGET.
The bar was small, dark and twenty years the wrong side of needing decorating. It consisted of a single long room with one side dominated by the wooden bar, while on the other side threadbare bench seats made up three horseshoe snugs. As usual John was behind the bar working, well he was reading a newspaper as he waited for the day’s customers to turn up, but he was classed as working. Working the mid-week dayshift was never what you could call difficult, unless you forgot something to read. You just had a handful of regulars with nowhere better to go or avoiding going where they had to go for a while. The bar was officially one step above a dive but that was the way the regulars liked it to be. John kept the toilets relatively clean and there was usually toilet paper in the cubicles while the smell from the gents wasn’t too overpowering.
On the other side of a flight stairs that led up to the top floor bar was an open space dominated by a pool table, the only item in the place that was kept in good condition. The windows on the far side of the table were large and dirty and let in just enough light to keep the place dingy. That suited the bar and hid much of the years of grime and also made the picture on the projection screen television (situated above the toilet doors at the opposite end of the room) visible. The television was just used as background ambience when John switched it on, a moving image to attract the eye. It was always tuned to one of the music channels that played mindless songs as the remote to change channels had been lost long ago, so it had the volume on mute constantly.
It was a bar you could relax in; it had a lived-in feeling and had a friendly face to serve you drinks and bags of crisps.
John heard the first of his customers come stamping up the stairs and didn’t need to look up to know who it was. As the customer sat on a barstool before him, John absently leaned over and grabbed a bottle of brown ale from the shelf next to his chair and flicked off the lid on the bar mounted bottle opener without looking. It was an action he had done every day for many years so he didn’t need to look up or stop reading his newspaper while he did it. His first customer every day was always the same person; it was a routine that was almost religious.
“Good night at the nut house?” John enquired, placing the bottle on the bar, still not looking up from his newspaper.
“I so hate my job, we had a load of new arrivals during during the night and had a hell of a job finding accommodation for them all. I’m sure Peter is getting more choosey on who he lets in so sends them over to me as he can’t be bothered to do the proper background checks,” the customer replied in a weary voice before taking a long drink from the bottle before him.
“Anyone I would have heard of?” John inquired, finally looking up.
“Just a few lawyers, a minor politician and this old television presenter sent over on an emergency transfer. He was a top level security case, escorted by some high ranking security. I had my top people lining up to take that case on and start working with the vile little man,” the customer said with disgust. “Why I always get the scumbags, I don’t know.”
“Could it be because you run hell, Lucifer, kind of goes with the job having to deal with scumbags down there,” John pointed out.
“Well every so often we get someone that makes even our flesh crawl, and this bloke is one of the worst to pass through in a long time,” Lucifer said, shuddering.
John picked up a DVD case. “Let me put this on for you, cheer you up a bit before any other customers turn up and disturb you.”
“What is it?” The customer known as Lucifer asked with interest.
“Riverdance, and before you ask yes it’s Michael Flatley dancing the lead,” John said with a grin that was returned by Lucifer.
“You’re a star, I loved this when it came out, cried my eyes out first time I saw it live.” Lucifer spun around on the stool to face the screen. John always spent time looking for anything to do with dancing if he called in at the charity shop next door on his way into work. He took the time to get to know his regulars and he knew Lucifer loved to dance. Lucifer had wanted to go to dance school but his father had forbidden it. It wasn’t because he objected to him prancing around in tights and wearing make-up, his father had plans for what Lucifer was going to do. He had heard there there had been a big fight that ended with Lucifer finally being forced to go and run hell. Lucifer was a nice guy but so misunderstood because of his job as head jailer for his father. Finding a few DVDs was the least John could do to try and cheer the unhappy ex-angel up. Even now, after all this time, Lucifer was still upset at being forced to go into the family business rather than follow his dream of dancing.
“Is your father popping in later do you know?” John asked as he put the disc in the battered DVD player.
“He should be. I think he wants to go over the budget. How he expects me to keep running things if I can’t employ more staff, I don’t know,” Lucifer said and then drained his drink before indicating with a shake of the empty bottle that he wanted a fresh one.
“So the trial with promoting some of the inmates to overseers didn’t work then?” John asked as he pressed ‘play’.
“A disaster,” Lucifer began. “The evil little bastards wouldn’t stop torturing the other inmates. Those mime artists are real sickos; once they start a performance, you can’t stop them.” Lucifer turned his attention to the screen and continued. “In the end, the only way we could stop them was to throw them into the nearest pool of burning oil. Lilith was closest to them and she saw the expressions on their faces and heard their silent screams. Even as they burned, they refused to come out of character and make a noise. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever witnessed. Lilith was so traumatised she needed a month off work to get over the nightmares. Mime artists are seriously under-rated as performers of pure evil and horror.”
John grabbed another bottle and after opening it, placed in on the bar next to Lucifer who sat bobbing his head with the music from the DVD that had just started. Grabbing himself a double whiskey to banish the image of the burning mime artists, John sat back down on his stool behind the bar and returned his attention to the paper.
Riverdance was reaching its conclusion and Lucifer stood in the middle of the floor, dancing along in perfect time when a couple of new customers walked up the stairs. John looked up as the first of two old men came into view. The old guy put his arm out against the wall, breathing heavily as he reached the top step.
“Two beers John and whatever the old fart behind me wants,” the old man gasped. He then looked over at Lucifer and shook his head in disgust at the dancing Prince of Hell before continuing over to the bar. The second old man reached the top of the stairs and headed for a bar stool to sit next to the first and was also breathing heavily.
“Your usual?” John asked the second man as he placed the first pint on the bar and started pulling the second pint. The old man just nodded as he tried to regain his breath. Both men had been heavily muscled in their youth but age had robbed them of their strength. John placed the second pint on the bar before grabbing a wine glass from a shelf above the bar and turning to the wine bottles, he filled it with a cheap house red wine.
“When you’re done pouring the girly drink, can we have the pool cues? I’m gonna teach this old fart a lesson in pool again,” the first old man said with a grin.
John placed the wineglass down and turned to grab the cues from the corner where they were kept.
“You never taught me nothing in your life. Your eyesight’s that bad you can’t even see the end of the cue, never mind the balls on the table,” the second old man snapped and picking up his glass, walked off to the pool table. “I’ll rack ‘em.”
With the DVD finishing, Lucifer walked back to the bar and picked up his bottle, he gave the old man with the beers a nod. “Morning Thor, how’s your father?” he asked the first old man.
“Daft old coot thinks he’s still the lord of Midgard, if he’s got two brain cells working, he’s having a good day.” Thor replied and finished off the first pint before accepting the pool cues that John passed over the bar to him.
“Thor, hurry up, it’s your break,” shouted the second old man from up by the pool table. “Morning Lucifer, you want to play the winner?” he added more cheerfully.
“Morning Hercules, afraid I can’t, I’m waiting for Father to turn up. How’s your back holding up?” Lucifer answered the second old man.
“Sore as buggery, damn damp weather always makes it play up,” Hercules replied, giving the small of his back a rub to illustrate his discomfort.
“No catching the balls you two, how am I supposed to make any money if you only pay for one rack a day?” John warned them with a smile as Thor walked over to the table.
“As if we would ever do that, John,” Hercules said, smiling. “We’re the honest hero guys, remember.”
John gave a look that told them that heroes or not, he knew they always caught the balls. Then he grabbed another bottle off the shelf for Lucifer.
“It’s a shame about Odin,” Lucifer said as he accepted the bottle.
“Age catches up with everyone eventually,” John replied, sitting back down.
“Except you,” Lucifer said with a smile.
“Don’t know; I felt my age this morning. Got talked into a lock-in by a couple of your lads last night, was as rough as a badger’s arse this morning,” John replied with a grimace.
“You shouldn’t let them talk you into lock-ins John. They’d keep you open round the clock if they had their way.” Lucifer answered.
To be continued...
