He sat at the end of the bar nursing a neat vodka. He was a man in his late fifties, steel grey eyes, stocky build, balding and a couple of day's beard growth on his scarred and pitted face. On the few occasions that he spoke there was a faintly discernable exotic accent that wouldn't be noticeable to any but the most expert linguist.
He extinguished a cigarette in the ashtray on the bar, knocked back the drink on the bar and lit another cigarette immediately. The noise of his hacking cough filled the air after his first puff.
He looked down the room across the empty seats to the end of the bar where the barman stood cleaning glasses in a grubby tee-shirt. He caught his eye and the old man rapped the bar impatiently for a refill.
The bartender sighed heavily and shuffled slowly toward other end. "You gotta be kidding me! Its ten thirty in the morning and this is your fourth double vodka in half an hour! You trying to kill yourself old man?" he took the glass and refilled it, pushing it carelessly back over towards his aging patron.
The old man took a pull on his cigarette, blowing the smoke across the bar in the direction of the barman. He regarded him through narrowed eyes "Just pour the drinks. I'm sure you'll have no problems spending the money I pay you after I'm gone." To prove a point he drained his glass in one. "Again!" he demanded staring steel-eyed through layers of reeking cloying smoke at the bartender as if challenging his authority.
The bartender had worked the trade long enough to know the type of man in front of him. He was the strong quiet type who easily slipped unnoticed into the background wherever he was, obviously a hardened drinker but wouldn't cause any trouble unless provoked in which case the safest place to be would probably be the next state. Well, he wasn't going to be the one to start something so he poured the requested drink and quickly returned to cleaning the glasses. This wasn't a customer who was going to pour out his innermost feelings and secrets, and looking at him the bartender really wasn't sure he wanted to hear them anyway.
As he was casually rubbing away at some of the more stubborn smears a group of four sailors walked past the window, looked and in and pushed their way through the door. They were all in good spirits, laughing and joking. One of them pushed to the front and called up four beers which the barman dutifully began pouring.
"You boys just in?" the bartender asked conversationally.
The old man watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye.
"Sure are – just docked, we've got three weeks leave, this is day one and god help Washington 'cos here we come!"
His shipmates raised their newly filled glasses and cheered with him.
The old man watching quietly, knocked another back and sat watching the new arrivals for ten minutes or so before walking to their apparent leader, muttering something quietly in his ear then heading out the front door.
The young sailor chugged the rest of his beer, slammed it on the bar and announced to his buddies "Guys, this could be a chance too good to pass up. I'll be back in five minutes – hopefully a classic soft-top Mustang!"
"Yeah? We'll be waiting!" the sceptical reply came.
The barman watched the exchange. Something didn't seem quite right, but he couldn't quite place it so he let the seaman leave the bar without a word.
In later weeks he would sit back on quiet evenings wondering if he should have just mentioned something, but he knew it wouldn't have made any difference. The young sailors that came through his joint were all the same – loud, full of fight and as quick to laughter and they were all immortal to a man.
At least that's what they thought.
It would have made no difference. He didn't have anything tangible that he could point at as being suspicious about the guy; it was just a gut feeling.
That's all, just a gut feeling. There was no room in today's world for those.