“I didn’t go ashore, Cyril,” Liddell told him. “I developed my thirst out on the fantail.”
The bartender nodded understandingly, reached to the backbar for a scotch bottle. From under the bar he brought up a glass filled to the brim with ice, doused the ice down with the scotch. His hand reached out for the small water pitcher tentatively.
Liddell shook his head. “Don’t drown it.” He reached over, picked up the glass, took a deep swallow, nodded his satisfaction. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
The bartender swabbed at the bar with a rag that left damp circles. He dropped his voice. “Looks like you’re going to have company. Just yell if you want anything.” He deposited the rag into the well, headed for the other end of the bar.
Liddell looked up into the backbar mirror, saw Robin Lewis
