Summary:
[500 word drabble] She knew his name, but he never knew hers.
Also known as: Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.
Rating: K+
Characters: Doyle & unnamed bartender.
Night had fallen over LA, covering the bustling city in a blanket of darkness. The lights of the city flickered like a brilliant flock of stars. But that light never did reach where it was needed most. Alleys were cloaked in shadows, the same alleys that silly women would frequent on their way home. By morning, their lifeless bodies would be riddling the alleys like cheap decorations. Everyone seemed to blame the murders on maniacs, but some knew better. Some knew what lurked in the dead of night.
The bartender stood silently in the little store, a carton of milk in one hand, and a magazine in the other. It was only a simple block away from her home, and right across from her work place. She knew the owner well, as he also worked the night-shift. Right now, he was preoccupied with the rerun of yesterday's football game.
The little bell above the door jiggled.
The bartender was the first to look up, hazel eyes rigid with suspicion. Her gaze relaxed upon seeing a familiar face. Of course, he never remembered the bartender. He never recalled the person that served him countless drinks. Doyle was oblivious to her existence, even though he frequented her bar almost every night. The bartender turned her eyes back to her magazine as he passed right by her. He hadn't come in tonight, not into the bar at least.
Doyle didn't smell of the Scotch she knew so well. She watched curiously, out of the corner of her eye, as he slaughtered over to the back. He yanked open the glass door, of one of the refrigerators, and chose his poison.
Bud Light, she scoffed.
The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. He muttered to himself as he made his way over to the magazine rack. The bartender knew her client well, she had noticed his trait of having conversations with himself. She found it amusing. He rummaged through the magazines, his hand reaching out towards the Playboy addition. Doyle glanced around, spotting her only a few feet away, and casually grabbed a magazine about horses located beside the lewder one.
She wanted to burst out into a fit of laughter.
"You're cheating on me," she commented.
Doyle seemed startled. The bewildered man looked around the area, searching for who she might be talking to. She laughed softly, snapping her magazine shut. "I work at the bar across the street," those hazel eyes glanced towards the case of beer tucked under his arm.
"Really now? I don't remember seein' ya'," a boyish grin spread across his face.
"I blend in really well," she informed him.
The bartender brushed passed him, heading towards the register. She should of called him on always being drunk, but he had his reasons. Everyone did.
"See you later, Doyle," she mused.
She knew his name, but he never knew hers.
No one cared enough to learn the name of the friendly 'tender.