Old Swill Comes Fishin’

“Take a seat at the bar boys,” said Lucius Van Dyke II.

Scooter and I climbed up the tall bar stools and pulled ourselves up to the bar.

“A little eye opener, Karen,” said my father. “And a little something to eat for the boys.”
“Sure thing, hun.”

On the back wall behind the bar next to the cash register was a small glass case with a red top and happy yellow letters that read ‘Hot Dogs.’ Inside the glass were a mélange of franks and wieners in grey, brackish water. I swear the hot dogs had been there, untouched, for years.

Karen pulled out a couple of buns from the drawer under the hot dog warmer and opened the cover. Steam billowed out, fogging the mirror behind the bar. She served up the rubbery sausages to Scooter and I, along with a fine selection of ketchup, mustard, and relish.

Old Swill took a long draw of his beer.

“You’re up early this morning, Lucius,” said Swill.
“Taking the boys fishing.”
“Good morning for it. Rained last night. They’ll be biting.”
“Look at the lure I got,” said Scooter excitedly.

Scooter hopped down from his stool, pullled the little clear plastic lure case out of his pocket and handed it to Old Swill. Swill give the lure an appraising look.

“That’s a nice one,” said Swill, handing the lure back to Scooter. “Betcha catch a big old bass with that one. I used to catch some big, big bass out there in my day. Haven’t been there in years… not since the boys moved away.”
“Why don’t you come with us Mr. Swill?” asked Scooter. “Dad can he come with us?”

My father let loose an almost inaudible sigh. “Swill, you want to come with us.”
“That’d be mighty nice, Lucius.”
“Karen, let me get a bottle of Wild Turkey,” said my father, “Oh. And a six pack of Coke for the boys.”

Karen stopped her morning routine of wiping down the booze bottles, put the Wild Turkey in a brown paper bag and pulled the Coke out of the cooler.

“Come on guys, let’s go,” said my father.

Our motley little group of four wandered out to the Chevy.