A Strange Request at a Piano Bar

A Strange Request at a Piano Bar

"Meet me at the piano bar at six," he said, "You know the one." The phone goes dead before I can respond.

I nod and sigh. I know the bar he refers to, but it's not a place I like to go, and he knows it. But I gave George my word I would be there to help him, no matter what. Well, it looks like no matter what has reared its head and now I have to keep the promise I made three years ago. Me and my big mouth.

I suppose it's juvenile of me to balk at meeting him at his favorite place in the city, but I hate the crowd, the noise, the smell, and I don't drink. I wonder if he remembers all of that, but I doubt it. I brush out my short brown hair, hoping it doesn't get stringy again too soon and change my shirt into something more appropriate for an evening out. I debate for a few moments if I should change out of my jeans and into a skirt, but decide against it. After all, it's not a date I'm going on, just a business meeting, sort of. I glance at my watch, if I leave now, I will just barely make it on time. I pat my hip to make certain I still have my gun in the holster and that the safety is on. Then I grab my leather jacket, my keys, and my purse and head out the door, locking it behind me.

The piano bar is only six blocks away from my apartment, so I walk there. I zip up my jacket and turn up my collar to protect the back of my neck against the chilly night air. The streetlights are already lit, even though we are a good hour away from full dark. I am grateful for the lights, however, and walk quickly. It's not a bad neighborhood, but one should never take any chances.

My hazel eyes dart about, taking in the people around me. I always do my best to be aware of my environment. I have to be, if I want to keep living in the city. Only fools think it's safe to walk about without a care. As I hurry to the bar, I hear the sounds of the city in the background. The rush of tires on pavement, the faint honking of horns, people arguing a few blocks over, and music blaring from one of the upper apartments all greet me in a garbled haze. They are noises that I am familiar with and oddly find comforting. I don't think I could ever handle the quiet of the suburbs or the countryside.

I find myself at the door of the piano bar, flashing my ID to the bouncer as I pass. He gives me a shrug and jerks his head toward the door as I bypass the line. I smirk when I hear a few people start to complain, but I don't wait for the bouncer's response. My ID gets me in most places ahead of lines, especially when it's business. George is already here, waiting for me at the bar counter. He has ordered two beers. I sighs as I slide onto the stool beside him, ignoring the pilsner glass that he pushes toward me. Beer is disgusting, smells like dirty feet. I glance at the bar tender and motion him over. I lean over the counter to place my own order.

"You got any apples?" I ask, shouting over the din of the crowd and the piano player.

"Apples?" He looks bewildered. Obviously no one has ever asked him for an apple before.

"Yeah, apples. You know, they're a round, hard fruit, sometimes red, sometimes green, and they grow on trees? Crispy and juicy when you bite into them?"

He rolls his eyes. "I know what apples are, smart-ass."

"Do you have any? For like garnishment or something?" I ask, ignoring his insult. Not my fault he asked for a snarky answer. "But I want a whole apple, washed but not peeled." I slide him a five dollar bill to soothe his wounded pride. "Gimme two."

I turn to George while the bartender searches his stock for a couple of apples. George grins at me, that shameless smile he offers all the ladies when he wants them to do something he knows they won't want to do. It's an oily, snake-like grin and I want to slap it off his face.

"I got you to come!" he shouts over the crowd.

"Yeah." I answer back flatly. "Bully for you. I'm here. What do you want?"

The bar tender taps my forearm lightly and shakes his head. "Sorry, ma'am. No apples."

"Fine," I say, disappointed. "I'll have a sassafras tea."

"A what?" Again with that deer in the headlights look.

"Sassafras tea. You know, deciduous trees in the family Lauraceae, native to eastern North America and eastern Asia. Very aromatic and makes a lovely tea..."

The bartender sighs and slides me back my five dollars. "I have alcohol, water, sodas, or coffee. No apples, no tea. I'm not running a grocery store or tea house, lady."

I roll my eyes at him. "Coffee, black and no sweetener. It better be good and strong." I'm not really a hard-ass or a bitch, I just don't like being in a bar. I give the bartender the five dollar bill again. "Keep the change, for putting up with me."

George laughs and gives the bartender a wink. "She's all right, she's just mad at me is all. Sorry she's taking it out on you."

"Whatever," the man mutters as he pours me a mug of magic hot bean water.

"All right, George," I begin again, "why am I here, in a bar talking to you, when I could be home having a nice quiet dinner and be reading a good book?"

"I need your help." George's smile vanishes.

I sit up. I have never seen my brother look so serious before. "What kind of help?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Well, it's kind of a long story..."

"Condense it." I tell him.

"You remember that girl I was seeing a while back?"

"Annie?" I feel a tight knot building in my stomach suddenly.

"Yeah."

"I remember her. Ditzy bitch. Likes to spend money before she has it. What did she do this time? Clean out your bank account?" I twirl a finger around the short ends of my hair by the nape of my neck.

"Hey, she's not a ditzy bitch, she's just forgetful sometimes. And no, she didn't clean out my bank account." George scowls at me, looking at me as if I just ran over his puppy.

"Then what about her?" I ask and sip my coffee. It tastes real good, worth every penny of the fiver I gave for it. It loosens the knot in my stomach a bit.

"I'm gonna marry her." George tells me.

I spit my coffee out and nearly choke. "You're going to do what?!"

"Marry her..."

"Oh God, George! Did you get her pregnant?" My mind races with all sorts of worst case scenarios of these two fools settled in wedded bliss, surrounded by hundreds of screaming babies.

"No! Nothing like that. I love her, she loves me, and we are going to get married."

That's a huge relief! I sigh deeply and meet George's eyes. "So what's the favor?" I know I'm going to regret asking. "Please don't tell me she wants me to be a bridesmaid..."

"No, actually she doesn't." George's smile returns.

This won't be good, not with that smile. "What's the favor George? I'm two seconds from walking out the door."

"I need you to be my best man."

I wiggle my pinky inside my ear, as if to clean it out. "Your what?"

"My best man." George keeps grinning. "After all, you're the only one I know in the city who isn't in jail or in hiding at the moment. Come on, will it kill you to wear a tux for a couple hours and stand up with me?"

"Maybe not, but it might get you killed," I grumble into my coffee as I take another sip. Best man indeed. Who ever heard of a man getting married with his younger sister standing up as his best man beside him? Ridiculous.

"Come on," George pleads. "Do it for me, will ya? We are going to fly out to Coney Island and get married at the carnival. It'll be great!"

"Yeah," I say flatly and sip more coffee. "That's not awkward or weird at all. Getting married at a carnival and your little sister being your best man. It's ridiculous. How the hell did Annie ever talk you into this?"

"Please?" George widens his eyes and attempts to look sad if I don't go along with his ludicrous plan of marrying at a carnival, of all the silly places. He begins to bat his lashes and offers me his snake-oil salesman smile again.

I roll my eyes at him and finish off my coffee. "Fine, but you are buying the plane ticket and paying for the hotel room; a nice hotel room. And you're are paying for the tux rental."

He shakes his head, still grinning like a fool. "Not a problem! Oh, thank you! You don't know what this means to me."

"I better not be wearing some tacky seventies-style tux either," I shake a warning finger at him as I rise from my stool. "And no pink!"

I hurry back to my apartment and throw myself down on the sofa, feeling a headache coming on. "Why couldn't he have just wanted me to kill her?" I ask the walls. "It would have been so much nicer..."