Lassiter meets Jocko McQualters

Lassiter, the lone, stone cold professional killer for hire stepped from the rainy, cold, damp, dank, dark night through the doors into the dimly lit, smokey, grungy, Hole in the Wall Saloon in the God forsaken, dirty, forlorn, forgotten town of.....Forgotten. Despite the poor lighting in the smoke filled room, Lassiter espied a stranger sitting at his usual spot at the distant corner bar stool facing the door. Gums, the toothless bar keep scurried over like a sycophantic rat trying to please and said, "I'm so sorry Mr. Lassiter, but the stranger insisted on sitting at your place. I warned him. Says he's a professional soldier, one of the King's men from the Cumberland region of the United Kingdom. I cain't hardly understand a word he's a sayin. Don't seem to be speakin' English like us." Lassiter nodded and slowly approached the stranger who was hunched over three fingers of cheap rot gut rye whiskey in a dirty, chipped glass. The stranger paid no attention until Lassiter said, "Stranger, you're sittin' in my place." He suddenly stood up knocking the stool crashing onto the filthy floor and turned to face Lassiter. Standing no more than two inches apart, their eyes locked, hands ready to draw the first belly shot. The tension in the room was almost as thick as the smoke and could have been cut with a knife. After several minutes that felt like several hours, both men sat down at the bar, Lassiter in his usual spot, instinctively and intuitively realizing they were men cut from the same cloth. Lassiter, a lone, stone cold, professional killer for hire and the stranger a professional soldier paid to do the Kings dirty work (mame and kill) whatever, whenever and where ever it may be. The stranger spoke first. "Me noomes Jocko McQualters, Fourteenth Army, Ninth Division of His Majesty's Royal Army." Lassiter responded, "Why are you drinking that cheap rot gut rye whiskey in a dirty glass? This ain't no war zone." Jocko asked, "Ye goe soomthun betta?" Lassiter nodded to Gums who brought two clean glasses and a bottle of Teaninich, 10 year old, Flora and Fauna, 43 vol. with a pale gold color, fruity nose, sweet dry peaty taste and an herbal finish. Jocko took a taste and said, "Ayed say tha es fookin goode. Ah'm crappin' ivvery color bar blue. Aye well, ah'd sooner ev a pint anyways. Booger this for a lark. The whole bloody sub-cheese, the lot. Ga'n git stoofed, sod that!! What about you, owd feller?" Lassiter, not really understanding a word said and being a man of few words simply replied, Amen brother. Slàinte, Tommy Maaltman