Styx is my dog. He’s a big, white-gray husky wolf. He was a stray who had randomly wandered into my bar one night as I was closing up. I remember looking at him, watching as he stood his ground and bared his teeth, snarling at me. But I did nothing. I just stared back at him. I let him see the animal that once lived beneath the surface, and he’d soon backed down. He’d lay motionless and let me approach him and stroke his head. I then gave him a bowl of water, and he’d licked my hand as a thank you. And he’d never left.
I’d spent some time trying to train him, but it hadn’t been necessary. I don’t know how old he is or where he came from, but he’s a helluva good dog, and intensely loyal to me. It was like we’re kindred spirits, or something. He sleeps in the bar at night, and sits in the corner by the door when we’re open for business. The locals were scared of him at first, but soon learned to love him. They know he’s placid and friendly, as long as they’re respectful. Any trouble in the bar, and he’ll chase you out in a heartbeat.
He strolls over, rubbing his head against my leg and looking up at me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I lean down and pat his head.
“Hey boy,” I say. “Quiet night?”
He barks once and walks off into the back, where his water bowl is. I need to remember to buy him some more food later…
I stand near the bar, looking out at the room. The doors are over to the left. The open expanse of the bar area is quiet, with chairs stacked upside down on tables. The lights above the pool tables are off, as is the jukebox against the right wall, just before the restrooms.
I reach behind me and feel for the light switch just inside the door to the back room. I flick it on and the bar lights up. I smile to myself, like a proud father as I walk over to the doors to unlock the shutter and raise it, ready for the day ahead.
2
In a small town like Devil’s Spring, businesses open up early. I’m running low on a few things for the bar, so I get an early start on my shopping.
I walk out to the street, the early morning sun still pale and harmless. Directly across from me is The Fire Pit, a small, family-owned restaurant, that’s easily the best place I’ve ever eaten. I take Tori there on the odd occasion neither of us has to work. Two brothers from Argentina run it — I can’t pronounce their names, but they’re real friendly, and they always save a table for us by the window whenever we go. They have a large, open fire pit in the center of the restaurant where they cook the food. Their steak is the best around, and the way they marinade their chicken is exceptional. Tori’s a big fan of their wine as well. I see one of the brothers in the window, mopping the floor, and he turns and waves. I wave back as I walk left toward the end of the street.
The crossroads at the main junction isn’t busy at this time, but a few cars and trucks pass by. My first stop is the grocery store, as I need to stock up on snacks for behind the bar. I’ve got a delivery coming in a few days, but the last couple of nights have been extra busy, and I’m running low.
I cross the street and head into the store. It’s the closest thing to a franchise we have in Devil’s Spring. It’s no Wal-Mart, but they have everything you could ask for at a decent price, so that’ll do for me. I pick up a basket and head for the snack aisle. I’m thinking of getting some nuts, and maybe some small bags of chips.
“Hey, Adrian,” says a voice behind me, interrupting my train of thought as I study the shelves.
I turn and see Bob standing before me — a friendly guy who runs an auto shop a few streets over. He’s a big guy, massive beard… always wears dungarees over a different checked shirt. He couldn’t be more Texan if he tried, bless him. He’s a regular in The Ferryman and was actually in last night with a few of his friends.
“Hey Bob,” I say. “How you feelin’ today?”
He sighs heavily. “Man, lemme tell ya, I’m feelin’ a little delicate today, Adrian.”
He chuckles to himself, and I smile along with him.
I say, “Glad I could help.”
He laughs some more. “Yeah, you kept servin’, so I kept drinkin’, God love ya. Listen, I’m glad I bumped into you — me and some of the boys were wonderin’ if you’d reconsider your stance on legal substances in your bar?”
I take a breath and let it out, trying to come across as sympathetic. But I shake my head. “Sorry, Bob, no can do. You know how I feel about it, and I don’t want that going on in my bar.”
“Oh, c’mon, man, get with the times. It’s not like it’s illegal to take a little coke anymore.”
“Honestly, Bob, I don’t care if the president himself walks into my bar and gives me his blessing. I don’t agree with it, and it’s not against the law for the owner of a drinking establishment to reserve his right to prohibit the consumption of narcotics on their premises.”
He’s silent for a moment then simply shrugs. “Hey, no problem, Ady — your house, your rules. Ain’t gonna stop me from drinkin’ in there!”
He pats me on my shoulder and walks off laughing to himself. I watch him go before resuming my shopping.
Okay, so I understand there may still be a few blanks you need me to fill in here…
A couple of years back, not long after I moved down here to Texas, the presidential elections took place, and a new guy was sworn in — Charles Tobias Cunningham the sixth. He’s a real media darling, this one. Ivy League educated, handsome guy — bred for politics and destined for the Oval Office. He got himself elected by the largest majority since FDR.
The weird thing was his campaign. He spoke at a Republican conference one day and addressed the state of the economy, where he basically asked the question why no one has ever thought to legalize drugs and prostitution. Pretty bold, I’m sure you’ll agree. But then he produced the figures… Cocaine was a trillion dollar industry. He said, if we made it legal, imposed tax on it, and then used the revenue to provide better healthcare and education, not only would we climb out of the recession, we’d nearly double the GDP within five years. Suddenly, people weren’t so skeptical. It’s amazing the difference the almighty dollar can make.
He had the same argument for prostitution — another multi-billion dollar industry. He said if we take away the taboo factor, legalize it, unionize it, offer a safe working environment for the people who are in the business, provide good healthcare and so on, but add tax to the charges for companionship — as they now call it — the money the country could make is mind-boggling.
His winning personality and, frankly, brilliant marketing campaign meant that he soon won over his peers and his public. And, surprisingly, he was right. Within his first three months in office, we saw the crime rate drop by sixty percent. We saw unemployment drop by eighty percent. We saw international relations with South America strengthen. We publicly gave all the cartels that monopolized the illegal drug trade a choice — either agree to work alongside the U.S., legitimately, or face a prison sentence longer than Route 66.
I tell you, I’ve never seen such an era of peace and prosperity in this country. In any country. Ever. President Cunningham made the world sit up and take notice. But he was smart. At the same time, he said he’s not forcing anyone to participate in any of these now-legal activities. He just wants the people who do, to feel like they’re still contributing to a better America.
That’s why I exercise my right to stop any drug use in my bar. While I appreciate everything the guy’s done for the country, I’m still pretty old school about certain things. Drugs are never going to be good for you, and I don’t care what anyone says… I want no part of them. If you don’t like it, you don’t drink in my bar — simple as that.