some of the city’s most popular clubs, particularly ones catering to alternative rock.
By mid-afternoon, Gil asked to stop at a bar or pub to grab a beer and a bite to eat. Caleb began a quick search on the car’s GPS for possible locations, but Gil pointed to a random bar just up the street. Caleb realized that they weren’t in the safest part of town, but relented after sensing the enthusiasm in Gil’s demeanor. The bar was a reasonably maintained establishment called Brandy’s whose parking lot teemed with sport utility vehicles and pickup trucks. In fact, Caleb took note of the fact that their sports car was the only actual car in the parking lot. A large-framed fellow with mustache and crew cut parked beside them and gave them a long, wary look as he walked past their car to head into the bar.
By the time the two of them crossed over the threshold of the front door, Caleb wondered how poor a choice they had made. The customers consisted mainly of what appeared to be gritty, hard-nosed types. Even the furniture looked nearly as worn and hard as the clientele, relegated to a variety of scratched oak tables and chairs that looked as though it was generations since they had been refinished. The stools lining the worn-looking bar were vinyl-covered, though most had cracks and tears in the material.
George Strait blared from a jukebox across the room, and some older model televisions mounted above the bar displayed rodeo, monster truck, and boxing events. Most of the faces in the room looked up at the two newest patrons with expressions ranging from amusement, to wariness, and even mild disgust. Obviously, despite the inclusion of their leather jackets, Caleb’s college sweatshirt and Gil’s Green Day concert t-shirt failed to impress anyone.
“We should go,” Caleb urged with a wary expression.
“No way man, I’m thirsty,” the suddenly willful young man from California retorted as he strode purposefully up to one of the available wooden tables. He pulled out a worn chair and plopped down.
“Just great,” Caleb muttered as he followed and pulled up a wooden chair opposite him.
A short, blonde waitress who appeared in her forties wearing faded jeans and a polo shirt with the bar’s name on it stopped by their table with a slightly raised eyebrow. “You two stayin’?”
Caleb looked across the table at Gil, who was taking in the décor in the room and sighed. He glanced at the waitress, noted her nametag and replied, “Well Peggy, it kind of seems that way.”
The woman shrugged. “Just thought I’d better ask first. What can I get you?”
Gil immediately popped up with an order for a Modelo Especial on tap, and Caleb ordered a bottle of Samuel Adams.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” the waitress responded. “Menus are on the table.”
As Caleb reached for one of the worn-looking menus, he heard a chortle from the table next to theirs where three burly, rough-looking guys were sitting, including the large-framed man with the mustache who had preceded them into the bar. Their laughing was followed by a deep voice razzing, “Hear that, Wes? No salt or lime to go with that Modelo for the punk-rocker.”
A round of chuckling ensued, including some cursing, followed by the response, “Hell, I haven’t heard about anyone ordering old Sam Adams since he died at the Alamo!”
The history professor personality inside Caleb cringed painfully. It always incensed him when people made such inaccurate historical references. Still, it wasn’t as if the guy would care to know that Sam Adams was actually a reference to Samuel Adams, a prominent founding father from the American Revolution. It would just escalate tensions, which was precisely what Caleb didn’t need at the moment.
“Well, ya’ old bastard, I guess you’d know since you were there!” another teased.
A round of laughter ensued, followed by the thumping of empty beer mugs on a tabletop. One fellow boomed, “Peggy! Another round of Buds for the real working men over here!”
The waitress appeared with Caleb’s and Gil’s beers, plopped them onto the table, and barked at the men, “Keep your shirts on. I’ll get to you in a minute!”
The men grumbled and returned to talking shop.
Peggy’s demeanor became somewhat more professional as she regarded Caleb. “You boys ready to order something from the menu?”
“Any recommendations?” Caleb asked with a hopeful expression.
She regarded him with a sober expression and suggested, “Drink here, eat somewhere else.”
“Maybe just a burger, well-done, and some fries, please,” he requested politely as