"Are You the Guy?"
A Story about Death in the Night
With his friends still laughing, Charles slipped off his stool, grabbed his empty glass from the high-top table, and headed back over to the bar. It was a pretty good crowd for a weeknight, in a bar that size, in a mid-sized town. Half the tables were full, along with almost half the seats at the bar, which was rectangular and sat in the middle of the room. A few couples and several loners were scattered along the back wall. Two bartenders stayed busy filling glasses.
As Charles slapped his glass down on the counter to wait for one of the bartenders, he half-turned towards the nearest corner of the bar, where a stocky man slumped over a half-finished porter. Suddenly the man sat up and stared at Charles.
“Hey,” he said, as one of the bartenders strolled over to pick up Charles’ glass, “You’re the man that killed Reddie Young in Oregon last fall.”
Charles met his gaze. His right hand was still on the glass he’d placed on the counter. He didn’t move.
“I don’t know you,” he said, “and I don’t know that name.” From the corner of his eye, he was aware that the bartender had stopped two feet from him, and was watching the exchange.