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There's a trick to being a bartender in a new town, and that's to get to know the locals fast before they decide you're not too quick. If the people who count don't think you can hack it as a people person -- the kind who reads people, not the kind who just likes 'em -- that town'll eat you alive. Bartenders have a reputation to uphold as being helpful if you ask him right, and knowing when to keep your mouth shut. Secrets you hear working behind that stretch of polished mahogany are like whispers in the confessional. You don't say a word to regular jacks, not on your life, but if a person asks right and doesn't stick his nose where it don't belong, you've got to know how to point them where they need to go. That means knowing who's solid, and who's trouble.
So when a sweet lookin' drink of water walked in the door, with eyes a little too kind and smile a little too ready to look like he belonged in a smokey pool hall like The Crowbar, I knew he was trouble with a capital T. But a bartender's first rule is, trouble is as trouble does. This sleek little package slipped around the tables with a grace that a real wide-eyed pool virgin never would've managed, coming up to drop his elbows on the bar in front of where I polished the glasses.
He takes me in from top to as close as he can get to my toes, and bites the tip of his thumb as he says, "Tom Collins," like it's a test. I should've known a slip of pretty like him would be a gin man.
"Who's asking?" I answer. I'm reaching for the shaker, measuring out the gin and the lemon juice and sweetening the pot before I put in ice and give it a good, hard shake. It's hard not to blush at the way he shoots at approving glance at my technique -- that, or my biceps, it isn't clear which -- but I wasn't going to lose my cool for the first shark who walked in the door.
He slides onto the stool, not in any hurry to leave. "Sugawara Koushi. Everybody calls me Suga. What about you, New Guy?"
"Sawamura Daichi."
He pulled out a cigarette and tapped it on the pack to settle the tobacco, but didn't reach for a lighter. He just stuck the filter end in his mouth and waited for me to finish topping his drink with soda, a cherry, and a twist of orange. Once I'd set it on a coaster, I reached for the lighter under the bar to do the honors. It's the least a guy can do.
Suga blew his first puff of smoke to the side like a pro. "So what's a nice young man like you doing in a shady joint like this, Sawamura Daichi?" He had a perfect row of pearly teeth set in an innocent smile, and how he kept them that way I still have no idea. He's not the type to get veneers. Once thing I've learned about Suga since that first day is that he's a natural, from the way he laughs at your dumb jokes like they're funny to the way he looks excited as a child at the chance to play pool. I think that's the part that makes him so good at what he does, and at what he does to me.
The Tom Collins seems to meet his standards for a drink, so I tell him, "A man's got to pay rent."
"Ain't that the truth. In fact, I better go make mine while the night's still young. You won't let anyone take my seat, now, would you?"
"Does that mean you're coming back?"
"Not if you don't keep it open, Sawamura Daichi."
"I'll keep the gin cold for you, how about that?"
In a perfect world, I would've been able to watch Suga walk all the way from the bar to the cue rack, drink in hand, cigarette stubbed out in the first ashtray he passed. But it's not a bartender's job to watch a shark's tight ass when there are customers coming in the door. A bartender's job is to pull them their beer and make sure their wings come out hot. By the time he got to look over again, Suga was already reeling in a couple of marks who thought a sweet face on a man fumbling to put together a pool cue was a safe bet for easy money. They laughed at each other with little, knowing looks while Suga told them, "Oh, really? You want to play with me?" and put down a hundred bucks, asking if he wanted to make it interesting.
The fat wallet in Suga's pocket was pretty good bait.
Acting like he hadn't expected that to happen, Suga hunted through his wallet, coming up with a hundred in a mix of twenties, tens, and fives, and even a couple ones. It looked like the last dollar came from some coins he pulled out of his other pocket. His smile could've fooled a snake. The two marks were almost laughing out loud about their easy money, probably planning to blow it all on beer. In fact, I was sure of it, because the marks even called for a round of what everyone was drinking.
Suckers. Not good to spend your money before you've earned it.
After sending two beers and another Tom Collins out to the table with the waitress, glad to see Shimizu was the kind of girl who could trick a man into slamming his hand into a chair when he tried to slap her ass, I tended to the new people coming in the door. Bourbon on the rocks for the lady, hard cider for the man, then some refills for the party in the corner. Not to bad for a Tuesday night. My shark played a long game, too, selling every sunk ball as a lucky shot, just barely pulling out a win with a ball that tipped into the pocket at the last second.
Walking away, like he was thrilled, and surprised to win, and all kinds of things I could just bet he wasn't. His marks practically had to haul him back while Suga made a show of not knowing how to stuff that many bills in his wallet. I didn't have to read lips to know they were saying, "Double or nothing!" They'd bought into the act, and still thought they could make a score.
They'd lost $700 by the time the short one convinced the bald one not to bet his car. A good shark in action is a beautiful thing to watch. And his seat was still open, with plenty of room for him to roll up the bills he'd won and slip them into the pouch hanging on a leather thong under his shirt. The bait money, of course, went back in his wallet.
"That enough to pay your rent?"
"I could probably use another game. Utilities and groceries, you know how it is. Why do you ask?"
I gave him the water he signaled for with a chicken salad sandwich the chef had left me with his name on it. A standing order was no surprise. Suga held his liquor like someone who'd prepared ahead to drink without getting drunk, but getting four drinks in on hard liquor, even mixed, could take anyone's edge off. "Just wondering how long you'll be taking cash off paying customers."
"You know, Daichi, it's not polite for a barman to ask his patrons if they'll be around after shift."
"That's why I didn't ask it that way."
He took a sip of his water, humming through his smile. "Thank Keishin for the sandwich for me."
Which wasn't a no.
From the looks of his marks stalking over to the bar, though, the men Suga had just taken for $700 had gotten an earful of his reputation from some regulars. "Hey, barkeep! You oughta call the cops, this asshole here is a thief!"
The way Suga fluttered his eyes, you'd think he was honestly hurt. Even shocked.
"Now, what's this fuss about?" I asked. No need to call the bouncer for a simple disagreement. They quailed enough at the look in my eyes that backup was superfluous.
"Well... see... this, um. This guy, he cheats! At pool!"
"I hope you're not trying to tell me you've been betting in this establishment." Nodding at the 'No Gambling' sign on the wall, I darkened my glare a little, and they stepped back from Suga's chair. "Is that what you're telling me, gentlemen? Because if that's the case, I may have to call the cops, and it's not going to go the way you want it to. I guarantee that."
"Dude, let's go," the sensible one whispered to his friend. "It's not worth it."
"This isn't over," the other said to Suga while his buddy dragged him out the door.
With a chuckle, Suga told me, "Rich boys. Gucci jeans and Varvatos vests in a place like this? If they even admit to their friends they got run, their whole frat house will be down to try their luck and lose a few hundred bucks apiece. Tonight's my lucky night." Then he looked up, hitting me with those wide doe eyes that probably slayed giants every day of the week. "Unless you're planning to call the cops on me. Would you believe me if I said I had no idea gambling was against the rules in this establishment?"
"Not in a million years." Leaning close enough to smell the smoke on his skin and the lemon in his drink, I whispered, "But I figure what you do isn't gambling, so I'll call it even."
I couldn't stay longer than that. Always another customer to greet, always another drink to pour. When I got back, Suga was back at the tables, cruising for another mark to pay his grocery bill. But the napkin by his plate had a few digits written down in blue pen, and the words, "Call me when your rent's paid up, so I know you're sticking around."
Sugawara Koushi liked to play the long game, that's a fact. And that's how I fell for a pool shark, hook, line, and sinker.