Bobby looked at his watch and a sickening realization came over him. The bar closed over two hours ago. Pressing his ear against the door, he can’t hear anything. Bobby closes his eyes and lets himself slide down the length of the door and on to the floor. Everything was starting to get blurry, the light seemed to dim in and out, he felt cold.
The door flings open and the bartender rushes in. Tripping over Bobby, he catches himself against the desk.
“Where the fuck are they?? They got to be in here somewhere.” The bartender screamed.
Drawers are flung open and the contents scattered everywhere.
“Jesus Christ, I know I have one. Who took it?? Somebody was in here and took it!”
The frantic search continues. The bartender paces back and forth, kicking and throwing things around the room.
“THERE YOU ARE!! Sneaky little son of a bitch.”
The bartender plucks a candle from the debris, holds it proudly before him and lets out a long sigh. Collapsing in his chair he digs a pack of matches from his pocket, lights the candle and sets it on the desk. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.
Bobby approaches the bartender cautiously, places his hand on the bartenders shoulder . . .
“Hey, just a sec, huh? Give me just a second to relax.” The bartender pleads.
Bobby takes two steps back and pauses . . . the bartender suddenly leaps up from his chair.
“PROBLEM SOLVED MY MAN!!”
Bobby jerked. “What?”
The bartender turns to Bobby.
“I say, zee problem, she is a solv-ed.”
“What do you mean? What did you do?”
“What do I mean?? What did I do?? I solved your fucking problem is what I did.”
“How? What did you do?”
“Did I not tell you I would think of something? Did I not tell you I’d help you out? Well my friend, you no longer have a problem.”
Bobby’s stomach tightens . . .
“What have you done?”
The bartender slaps Bobby on the back.
“Come on, I’ll show you.”