Nessy Nickerson slid in to Grump’s Fish Tank quietly unannounced. As always it took fellow bar patrons a few moments to notice him. His quiet walk, quick movements, and predatory tendencies made his presence unknown and unnerving. Most of all like him, it was unmistakable.
Finding his place off to the corner, just on the edge of the crowd, Nickerson jerked his head at Daryl and Frank. Both big guys, Frank had outgrown Daryl in the past few months. Best friends for longer than they had been working at Grump’s. Daryl made his way over to Nessy. One of the Corries, there were six total – five boys and one girl, intercepted him. Daryl shrugged at Nickerson who gnarled his teeth at him. Despite being one of the biggest guys in the room, Daryl visibly shuddered.
Not that he didn’t understand the ways of the bar, go where the money is or go home, but Nickerson didn’t like to be kept waiting. It amused him that Daryl was afraid of him. Frank dropped a reddish beer down in front of him. “No trouble tonight, Nickerson, right?”
“Frank,” he said pushing the drink back and forth with his long, claw like fingers, “when do you ever see me causing trouble?”
“I don’t,” Frank said, “and that’s part of the problem.”
Nickerson laughed raising his drink toward Frank. Frank shook his head and made his way to the other side of the bar. Frank and Daryl were good kids. Even if they were suspicious of Nickerson outside of their jokes, they never fussed with it. And Nickerson never did anything to change that. Grump’s Tank was an institution. Other than it being the best drive bar in town, it was the only bar in general. There were a few restaurants on the other side of town where the more highfalutin folks got their high balls, but Grump’s was for the real people of this town.
Everyone knew everyone, and that’s what made their small little ecosystem work. It was also the reason Nessy Nickerson, Elias Turner, Luke Nestervelt, and a few other personalities traveled with regularity. Regardless of where Nickerson went, or who he went there as, Capetown was his home. And it was where he always returned.
“When’d you get back, Nessy?” One of the Corries pushed their way over.
“Sometime between nunya and business,” Nickerson snarled.
“He’s just making conversation,” the smallest of the Corries squeaked.
For a second Nickerson pitied him. Must be hard to be one of the Corrie brothers and have a squeakier voice than the long Corrie sister.
“Yeah,” Nickerson said, “my fist might be making conversation with him too if he doesn’t cut the shit.”
Daryl, who had lapped around Frank like a pup chasing its tail, came over.
A stiff laugh escaped him. “We’re gonna have a good night fellows,” Daryl piped out, “okay.”
“A real nice night,” Frank added. Putting down another beer in front of Nickerson. He nodded his head and walked away.
“Of course we are,” Nickerson sang out, “me and all the Corries. We’ll have a real pisser.”
A mixture of nervous and jovial laughter rumbled through the joint. The door swung open and in sailed the prettiest babe Nickerson had ever seen come into Grump’s. Well, almost the prettiest. Someone or something had trailed in behind her unnoticed.
The oldest looking of the Corries nudged a smaller one. Nickerson recognized the one he nudged. If Nickerson was’t mistaken, and he usually wasn’t, his nickname had been Chaffies. Mostly because the young are cruel and his skin was always chafed. Chaffies threw a look at Nickerson over his shoulder. A swift and silent head jerk from left to right gave Chaffies enough of an indication to tell his brother to back down.
This one would be Nessy Nickerson’s – at least for now.
The wheels in Nickerson’s head had already spun full circle. By the time he slipped in between the two girls, he had a plan firmly set in motion. All he needed now was a bartender (“FRANK”) and time!