THE YOUNGSTERS FROM the pool table came over to ask politely if we were finished playing. Simple good manners. I decided that I liked them.
Morag had a quick word with Cheryl, and a line of shot glasses formed on top of the bar.
“I have to say something,” she leaned in close as she spoke. She handed me a shot of vodka, downing one herself.
Here it comes, I thought. I tossed back the clear liquid. Polish, not Russian. I could taste the difference. Good choice. I leaned around her to put the glass back on the bar, keeping my arm there afterwards. She gave me another shot. Raised her own glass.
“To Rafael.” She pointed the bottom of the glass towards the ceiling.
“Okay. To Rafael.” Slightly surprised, but not enough to refuse a drink, I tossed back the second shot. “Is he here yet?”
She
