Scotch and Intrigue

Washington, DC 1987

It was a relatively slow day at the bar as Zoe set things up for the evening ahead, the dark days of January generally were. She was exhausted having been up-all-night writing yet another research paper; halfway through her law degree, she could not wait to be done so she could quit the service industry once and for all. Tired of the late nights and living off tips, she knew she was burned out. She quietly stocked the wine cabinet, wiped down the liquor bottles and polished wine glasses as she glanced over at the lone patron seated near the end of the bar. She had waited on this guy many times before, he was nice enough, but she was never able to engage him much in conversation, mainly because English wasn’t his native tongue. He always ordered the same thing, Ardbeg on the rocks, and he tipped well.

“You doing ok, can I get you another one?” she quipped as she set the spotless wine glass on the shelf.

“Yes, one more please,” he replied as he nervously swirled the ice around in the empty glass.

“Cold out there today,”, she remarked as she poured the single malt into his glass, “did you want to order any food?”

“No, no, not today,” he responded curtly.

She got the hint; he didn’t want to be bothered. She thought she noticed sweat beads on his forehead, he was nervous and clearly had something serious on his mind. She had an acute sense of who wanted to talk and who wanted to be left alone. This was a skill a good bartender needed to have. Engaging in conversation kept customers there…and kept them coming back, but you had to know when to back off. She quickly went back to stocking.

The only thing she really liked about bartending was the customers, the social aspect of it. DC was lively and this Cleveland Park bar brought in all kinds of people from all walks of life. One of her regulars was a Pulitzer prize winner, another a well-known scientist at the NIH, she had served many politicians, she knew what all the best journalists drank. This job put her in contact with people that had power. When people are drinking you can learn all kinds of information that probably shouldn’t be shared. But people trust their bartenders, they drink, and they talk. She enjoyed being let in on all the political gossip and appreciated that she had quite a few regulars that gave her great advice on her future legal career. One thing she was aware of in DC is that it is all who you know. She hoped these connections would be helpful once she got her Juris Doctor. Good contacts certainly wouldn’t hurt.

She went to the kitchen to grab some lemons and limes to cut up for the drinks. When she made her way back to the bar the guy was gone. She realized at that moment she didn’t even know his name despite the multitude of times he had been in there. Zoe was floored to see he had slapped a c-note on the bar, which not only paid for his drinks and but left a very healthy tip. The easy ones that tipped well were always the best customers. She walked around to the other side of the bar to push his chair in and wipe the spot down, getting it quickly cleared to house the next customer. She looked down to make sure the floor was clean when she saw it…a little black book lying precariously between the chrome footrail and the bar. She picked it up and quickly flipped through the pages. She couldn’t read it, it was…Russian? It seemed important though, with ostensibly detailed notes, a map sketched on one page, some phone numbers. Then on the last page, she saw an address written in English. The place was only two blocks down, if he didn’t come back to get it tonight maybe she could walk it over there. Surely it was his address. Even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t do any harm by trying, she would just take the book back to work with her tomorrow and give it to him when he next came in. He left a very healthy tip, she felt obligated.

As the night came to a close, she finished doing her side work, counted the drawer, and chatted briefly with one of the servers. She had almost forgotten about the little black book as she was anxious to get home and she thought briefly about not bothering with it at all. But they were closing early, and the address was so close. “I’ve got nothing to lose and he’s a good customer,” she thought to herself. She grabbed the little black book, shoved it in her backpack, and briskly walked into the cold January air.

It took about five minutes for her to walk to the framed, late Victorian style home. This was a very wealthy neighborhood. She wondered what he did for a living if this was his home, maybe he was a diplomat? An ambassador? A politician?

As she walked silently up the stairs, she noticed the front door was partly open. It was eerily quiet as she gently pushed the door open, “Hello, anyone here?” She glanced around and there to the left, leading into what appeared to be a dimly lit living room she saw it, a body! Laying on the ground, covered in blood, was her customer. She froze in fear, she didn’t know if she should run, call for help, scream?! She could see that he was clearly dead as she took a few steps inside, blood still oozing out of his abdomen, his eyes opened, not moving, frighteningly glazed over. She started to back out slowly, scared to make a sound. If the killer was still in the house would she be next?! Then the heel of her foot caught on the strap of something, a bag of some sort. She reached down to release it from her ankle, she was terrified she might trip, alerting whoever might be in the house that they weren’t alone. As she quietly pulled on the strap, she caught a glimpse inside. Stacks of bills, all neatly bound together with a currency band. She stopped moving for what seemed like an eternity as a multitude of scenarios ran through her head. “No one knows I was here”, she thought as she hastily decided to take the bag. She picked it up and put it over her shoulder as she continued backing her way out of the house. She went down the steps cautiously hoping they wouldn’t creak underneath her weight.

As she made her way to the street she walked straight ahead, not looking around, and not wanting to draw attention to herself. “I just need to get on the metro,” she thought as she walked fighting the urge not to break into a sprint.

She arrived at the station and made her way down the steps to the escalators. The metro escalators were freakishly high, it felt like it took forever to get down to the underground platform. She sat in the nearly empty station, biting feverishly on her nails, waiting for the train to take her to her home stop. She looked around to see if anyone was following her. Other than a couple of drunk twenty-somethings the station seemed empty.

The train rumbled into the platform and she took a seat near the back. She discretely investigated the bag, wondering how much was there. Oh, the things she could do with this money! She had struggled so long trying to put herself through school. Raised by a single mother she came from nothing and was determined to make something of herself. The fact that she had made it from her small Southern town to one of the best law schools in the country was extraordinary but was not without substantial struggles. Most recently her roommate had moved without notice and she was left trying to pay the entire rent by herself. She had student loans to pay back, no savings, no family to help. No, no she hadn’t done anything wrong by taking this money. “That guy was probably a spy,” she told herself. The Russian language, the beady forehead, he was targeted by someone! That money would just end up in the wrong hands or sitting in a dark evidence room where it would be picked at by dirty cops. No, she did the right thing. She was sure of it.

Her heart was still thumping as she got off at her stop. She saw that the bar by her apartment was still open as she quickly ducked inside and made her way to the bathroom,

“Get me a pinot noir, Trey,” she said to the bartender that she knew by name as she tended to come here after work from time to time.

Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door, opened the bag, and quickly counted. “$20,000, oh my God, there is twenty-grand in here!” she thought to herself. She put the money in her backpack then rolled up the other bag and stuck that in there as well. She took a few deep breaths, put on lipstick, composed herself, and then made her way to the bar. The pinot noir was already waiting for her.

“You guys close early?” Trey asked.

“Yeah, we were dead. January sucks for business” she responded as she quickly chugged the wine down, hoping it would calm her nerves and more importantly, hoping Trey wouldn’t notice.

“One more,” she said as she made some palaver with another customer, waiting for her blood pressure to come down.

A half an hour passed before she closed the tab and walked briskly to her apartment. She pulled her key out as she approached the door, happy to have made it home. As she turned the lock, she heard a twig snap behind her. Then a click, a sound she recognized to be a gun.

“I think you found something of mine,” the voice said, in a heavy Russian accent…