In the Medias Res, the Bartender placed six half-filled pints of Guinness on a tray. Lined up in front of the pint glasses, like pawns in front of higher-order chess pieces, were six shot glasses filled with milky liquid. The Bartender twitched her tail feathers the way she did when she wanted tips.
‘Hey’, the Founder said. He was sitting at the end of the bar, alone, thumbing his phone. That surprised the Bartender. When the Founder came to drown his sorrows, he usually sat in the middle of the bar.
‘Mr. Miserable’, the Bartender said. ‘What happened?’
‘All kinds of shit happened’, the Founder said. ‘I mean, read the fucking Arpa.’
‘Maybe, if you stopped using the F word, you would be happier.’
‘What’s on the tray?’
The Bartender glanced to her left. ‘Irish Car Bombs’, she said.
‘What is an Irish Car Bomb’, the Founder asked.
‘Google it.’
The Founder thumbed his phone, paused and spoke. ‘Here’s what Bot says’, he said. ‘‘An Irish Car Bomb is a “bomb shot” cocktail consisting of a shot glass containing equal parts Baileys Irish Cream and Jameson Irish Whiskey, dropped into a half-pint of Guinness stout. It must be consumed immediately after dropping, as the cream will curdle quickly when mixed with the acidic beer.’’
A skinny guy with ear gauges picked up the tray and brought it toward a table full of knuckleheads from the Base. The Bartender picked up a rag and wiped the bar. Her talons clicked against the zinc.
‘I object to that on two grounds’, the Founder said. ‘First, I don’t think you should mix Baileys with savory liquor. That’s like putting ketchup on ice cream. Second, the Troubles were no joke. Communities were segregated by walls. British Army troops routinely patrolled streets with armored vehicles. There were bombings in the city center and residential areas. Kneecappings were common. Commercial life was destroyed.’
‘What do you want from my life’, the Bartender said. ‘It’s Saint Patrick’s Day. The drinks sell.’
The guys from the Base took the Car Bombs from the tray, dropped the depth charges into the pint glasses and downed them to a chant in Knucklehead. A group of Squids, in town because of a dry dock in Lake Ontario, repeated the chant in falsetto. The guys from the Base stood up, walked over to the Squids, stood over them and asked them if they had a problem. Then, the Founder heard someone shout, ‘Hey’. The old Turkey Vulture who spent most nights sitting at the other end of the bar – the end near the door – speaking with people and supervising things, was standing between the Squids and the guys from the Base holding a baseball bat, which she banged, once, on the Squids’ table.
‘If you have a problem, take it outside’, she said. ‘I run a clean whorehouse here.’
The Squids and the guys from the Base looked like a bunch of thirteen-year-old boys caught wanking. The Turkey Vulture looked at the guys from the Base, pointed her baseball bat at the table they had just vacated and said, ‘You go there’.
The guys from the Base looked at the ground and shuffled back to their table. The Turkey Vulture looked at the Squids and said, ‘You keep your asses sat down where they are at.’
The band that had been playing before things started began again. The singer had red hair, green eyes and an Irish voice that could make, the Founder thought, planes fall from the sky. He only caught the words to the chorus, but he liked them:
O, I’ve got a brand-new shiny helmet and a pair of kinky boots.
I’ve got a lovely new flak jacket and a lovely khaki suit.
And when we go on night patrol, we hold each other’s hands –
We are the British army and we’re here to take your land.
‘Hey’, the Founder said when he could get the Bartender’s attention.
‘What’, she said.
‘Are you and that Turkey Vulture more than, you know, business partners?’
‘Kiss my ass.’
‘I would love to, but you don’t have one.’
‘More beer?’
‘Of course.’
As the Bartender turned to fill a pint glass, the Founder said, ‘I ask because this region is very mammalo-normative. Our representative in Congress has voted against Avian marriage. She supports a border wall and has voted to ban Avian-friendly books in schools. Bumper stickers at Walmart say things like, ‘If you get hungry in the woods, shoot an environmentalist’. I like that guys from the Base patronize a bar run by a couple of old birds.’
‘That representative is an all-purpose dipshit’, the Bartender said. ‘She does not just dislike Avians.’
‘She thinks Canadians should be shot on sight.’
‘She was going to be ambassador to the United Nations.’
‘And governor.’
‘Karma’s a bitch.’
The Bartender lined up six more car bombs.
‘You know, the worst thing about the Troubles wasn’t the bombs, or the sectarian divisions’, the Founder said. ‘It wasn’t even that Mountbatten bought it. He was old and he was an agent of empire. It was the kneecapping.’
The Bartender pulled a pint for a bear and an otter, seated at the middle of the bar.
‘The stories of kneecapping shock the conscience. Think of the ways your knees can hurt. Now imagine someone shooting you through the knee.’
The otter shook water from his coat, waggled his tail, and sat in the bear’s lap.
‘It was usually not even a political act. It was one side or the other keeping order in their own neighborhood. Green-on-green, or orange-on-orange violence, if you will. You shoplift or steal a bike and a bunch of masked men show up at your mam’s house, put you in a car, take you to a garage and shoot you through the knees. If the gun jams, they hold you down and break your joints with hammers and paving stones. They didn’t just go for the kneecaps. They would go for ankles, wrists and elbows, too. To get all of the joints in all four limbs broken was called getting a six pack. I don’t think it’s right to make money from that.’
‘What’s really bothering you’, the Bartender asked.
‘Look at those two’, the Founder said. He pointed at the bear and the otter. The bear was dancing. The otter was tossing him martini olives, which he caught in his mouth. ‘I wish I was in love like that again.’
‘Being in love is a fat hairy man vomiting into your mouth’, the Bartender said. ‘It is needles sticking into your eyes. It is a group of men showing up at your mam’s house and breaking your knees with a sledge hammer.’
The otter tossed the bear a piece of candy. The bear did a back-flip.
‘The winter has been tough for the park’, the Founder said. ‘It’s like a perfect storm hit Mosca’s home.’
The bear took a steak knife from behind the bar and began to carve the otter’s name into his left forearm. The Turkey Vulture walked over and took the knife from his paw. ‘Not here’, she said. The bear dissolved in tears. The otter put his arms around the bear’s shoulders.
‘Mosca is the guy we almost evicted last year’, the Founder said. ‘We got a judgment and then we got a warrant. He paid at the last minute. I like the guy, but he is not all there mentally and he has a hard time complying with his contractual obligations.’
The bear knelt in front of the otter, said some syllables and offered up a ring. The otter’s hands went to his chin. He nodded and took the bear’s hands in his. The bear stood. The knuckleheads from the Base and the Squids from dry dock stood and applauded.
‘Stephanik wouldn’t go for this’, the Bartender said.
‘Stefanik is a lame duck’, the Founder said.
‘What happened with Mosca?’
‘Electric, water, septic, trash.’
The otter handed the bear an inch-thick legal document. The bear opened it, put on a pair of reading glasses, and began to read. A group of guys from the Base clustered behind the otter and a bunch of Squids stood behind the bear, kibitzing. The Turkey Vulture kept an eye from the end of the bar.
‘Prenup’, the Bartender said.
‘I gave Mosca a ten-day notice this afternoon for the trash. When I knocked on the door, a young guy with a high-and-tight haircut was with him. The guy introduced himself as Jason and said that he worked with Adult Protective Services.’
‘I didn’t know such a thing existed.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘And?’
‘And Jason had problems with the ten-day. He said there was no trash on Mosca’s lawn. He denied that the car in Mosca’s driveway was a junk car.’
The otter slapped the bear. The bear downed his drink and glared at the table.
‘There is a lot of trash on Mosca’s lot’ the Founder continued. ‘There is random shit lying around on the lawn, a trailer full of trash bags sitting behind the car, a shed full of shit with shit piled in front of it and an unregistered car that can’t run packed solid – I mean solid, driver’s side, passenger’s side, back seats, trunk – with garbage bags full of trash.’
‘Where were you standing when you spoke?’
‘Between the junk car and the trailer full of trash. The random shit was at our eleven o’clock.’
A baby squalled from the middle of the bar. The Bear looked tired and worn out. A minute later, a chimerical toddler with a bear snout and an otter tail ran past the tables where the military personnel were sitting. As the toddler ran, he drank half-empty car bombs and broke glasses.
‘When Jason said that there was no trash, I counted to ten and remembered everything I should be grateful for. Then, I told him that I was glad that he was there, because he should be able to help Mosca take care of the problem. Mosca’s not all there, you know, and fixing all this will be a heavy lift. APS might be able to help.’
‘What did you say about the junk car?’
A sullen teenaged boy had joined the knuckleheads from the Base. A tween girl sat with the Squids. One of the Squids was pretending to read her palm and give her a tattoo. She giggled as he tickled the inside of her forearm. In the middle of the bar, the otter and the bear sat poring over spreadsheets. An owl sat next to each. The owls pecked at each others’ eyes.
‘Division of marital assets’, the Bartender said.
‘I said, ‘it looks like junk, it can’t run, it has no plates and it is packed full of junk. I do not think that reasonable people can disagree that that is a junk car’.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said, ‘That is your opinion.’’
The tween girl stood up to leave the bar with one of the Squids. The bear stormed after them. After the door slammed shut, the bear stood facing it, lock-kneed.
‘To keep myself from saying something stupid’, the Founder continued, ‘I thought of good things. I thought of all the creatures that come to this bar. Your customers include homo sapiens, avians, lower-order primates and invertebrates. You even serve nematodes. You sell good beer and we all get along, more or less. I even like her.’ The Founder pointed at the Turkey Vulture.
‘What is your point?’
‘While I was talking to Jason, I kept thinking that it would be great if I could call a reasonable person to back me up. I mean, we spoke about the reasonable person standard in law school, and you read about it in judicial opinions all the time. A person is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt if no reasonable person would think he is innocent. A park owner is negligent if he does not use the standard of care that a reasonable person would use in digging a septic field. A car is a junk car if a reasonable person would think that it is junk.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘I have seen all kinds of shit in this bar’, the Founder continued. ‘I have seen Squids getting along with crayon-eaters. I have seen Guelfs buying Ghibellines drinks. I have seen lions having consensual sex with lambs. I am waiting for a certain avian to see the good in a certain homo sapiens-’
The owls looked at the Founder and made two threatening faces. The Bartender twitched her tail feathers and said, ‘In your dreams.’
‘But I do not believe that I have ever seen a reasonable person here’, the Founder continued. ‘A reasonable person is like an arbitrage, or a jackelope. The urge to believe that a reasonable person exists somewhere, somehow, is hormonal. You might even see one once or twice, but you never know if you really see what you see, or if you only see what you want to see. At the moment of perception, the image vanishes before reaching the center of your field of vision.’
‘Will you tow Mosca’s car to Jason’s house? See how he likes it in his driveway?’
A beatific smile spread across the Founder’s face. ‘That’s a great idea’, he said. ‘I might try that. That is why you pink flamingos get the big bucks.’
‘Tell me about the water, sewer and electric.’
‘Later.’
‘I can’t wait.’