Thanks to Cal Gal for betaing.

"Wilbur"

What a night that was! It started with a bang and included a couple more blasts before it was over with. The bang came when the front door of Triton's Locker slammed shut behind a handsome fellow the likes of which rarely darkened our doorway. I tried to warn him, really I did. He was asking questions, nosy questions, and I knew the types who normally infested our barroom weren't going to put up with that sort of thing.

I was right. He'd barely been there five minutes before the men of the North Point dragger fleet began rising from their seats and sauntering into position to jump him. But then he struck first! Chairs and tables flew - bodies too - and then he was up on the stage, knocking out two guys at once with a double-fisted attack before charging through the curtain out of sight, the still-vertical members of the fleet just seconds behind him.

Ten minutes later, the fleet was back. But not the man, not Jim West.

Well, like I said: I did try to warn him.

It was a couple of hours after that when the second fellow showed up, drunk as a skunk and dressed to the nines. He made a lot of noise coming in too, blabbering about his rights and how he owed his taxes. Yeah, we all figured he was mighty tight and likely harmless, if he was so soused he couldn't get his words straight.

Charming drunk he was at first, addressing me as his ol' pal Wilbur, ordering three drinks together to cut down on the time lag between drinks, he said. And by the time I got back to him with them, he'd gone from being a merry drunk to a maudlin one, bewailing the loss of his best buddy, Jim West!

I don't know why I did it, why I stuck my neck out for a couple of joes I didn't even know. Especially when Mr Sloshed turned into Mr Sober in a heartbeat. But yes, I helped him. I told him what had become of his friend, hoping he'd take the hint that, just as his friend had disappeared, so might he.

And then… then he asked me to slug him. He spun a quick tale of him getting fresh with me, of crossing a line. Then he requested it again. "Sock me."

Fine! He wants a punch, he gets a punch. Though I really didn't think I'd hit him hard enough to send him spinning out of his chair like that to flop on the floor!

He bounced right back up, drunker than ever, calling me the Empress Eugenie as he followed me back toward the bar. That put him right by the stage, and I guess that's what he really wanted. He started for the stage itself and someone tried to haul him away, but he just slipped right out of his grasp and headed for the stage again, loudly proclaiming how he was going to sing a little ditty, but he needed to make an entrance for it. Up onto the stage he popped and out through the curtain, making an exit instead.

Once again the fleet followed. Once again they came back, but not the man they'd gone after.

Another hour or so passed, and that's when the strangest thing of all occurred. A noise started out in the bay behind the tavern, soft at first but rapidly building, rumbling, roaring into an explosion and then a second one! The whole building shook. Everyone in the tavern - the regulars, the fleet, even Millie the barkeep - everyone went tearing for the door and out into the street.

I was going out too, but when I saw Millie scamper out ahead of me empty-handed, I ran for the till instead. After all, part of that money was going to be my night's pay, and if someone took advantage of the uproar and made off with the receipts, my own pocket would be the lighter for it.

I was scrambling together the cash when to my complete shock, the stage curtain flew open and there they were again, both men, Jim West and his friend the part-time drunk, and with them a girl all dolled up in wild-eyed make-up and the frilliest dress I'd ever seen. Well, ever seen on a living woman, that is. I'd often seen china dolls done up like that, especially on top of a music box twirling like a dancing girl. Yes, of course, that's what she was dressed as, a ballerina!

"Wilbur!" called out the dapper drunk.

"What are you doing still inside?" Jim West added with a frown.

"Yeah, this whole place might go any second. Come on!" Mr Sloshed, having retrieved the cloak and top hat he'd left behind earlier, grabbed my arm even as I stuffed the last of the money into my pocket. He pulled me out of the barroom right on the heels of Mr West hauling the other girl out.

Outside it looked like a crowd waiting for a parade, all sorts of people milling around out there murmuring at each other, with every face turned toward the bay behind the buildings. I found Millie and handed the money over to her, then asked, "What happened?"

"No one knows," she answered and turned away again to try to see what was going on.

"Well, not exactly no one," said a familiar and quite sober voice by my elbow.

I turned to look up at the dandy. "You know?"

He caught my arm again and pulled me across the street to where Mr West and the girl were waiting. "I tell you, Jim," he said, not bothering to answer my question, "it seems to me that elevator shaft should have acted as a flue and drawn the explosion right up into the building. I can't think why it didn't."

"It's good for us it didn't, Artie. Especially with the size of that explosion."

Artie! That was his name. "But what happened?" I asked.

"Oh, it's just that your basement blew up, that's all."

"Basement! Triton's Locker's built on a bunch of brick pylons holding it up over the edge of the bay! It doesn't have a basement."

Artie chuckled. "Well, not anymore, it doesn't." He turned to his friend. "Is there anything more we should do here?"

Jim nodded at the crowd beyond us. "The police just now arrived and they seem to be clearing everyone away."

Artie glanced that way, then added, "Ah, good. So we can go?"

"I suppose." Jim tilted an eyebrow at him. "But why? What's your hurry?"

Artie gave him a cockeyed grin. "No, no hurry. I just thought maybe I'd, ah, go ahead and escort Wilbur home. If I may?" he added, smiling now at me as he swept off his cloak and spread it over my shoulders.

Jim's eyes met mine and lit up with a twinkle. "Good night then, Artie. See you in a bit. Good night… Wilbur?"

"Good night."

Jim took his young lady off in one direction while, with my arm through Artie's, I gave him the directions to my place. Well, it wasn't much of a place, barely big enough to live in, but it was all mine, paid for with my own money.

Artie saw me to the door and waited while I unlocked it. Then he said, "Ah, Wilbur?"

"Yes, Artie?"

He smiled at my use of his name. "I, um… I just wanted to say that you probably ought to start looking for a new job."

I lifted my chin and glared at him. "Why? Something wrong with waitressing? It's a steady job and honorable enough too!"

"Oh, no no no, that's not what I mean. It's just that the explosion out in the harbor was huge, and I'm still thinking of how there was an elevator shaft tying that, uh, 'basement' to the tavern where you work." He shook his head. "I'm afraid the blast might have done something to the building. It might well start falling down around your ears in the next few days."

My glare softened. "Really?"

"Really. I'd hate for you to be out of work, Wilbur, especially after all the help you were to me and Jim tonight."

"Oh." I pressed my hand over my mouth for a moment, then took it away again to say, "I see. I… I should say something to Millie too. That's the owner."

"You do that," he said. I slipped off his cloak and passed it back to him with thanks and smiled when he responded, "It was my pleasure."

And then… well… then he kissed me good night. It was a very nice kiss, one of the nicest I'd ever had. I stood for a long moment on the doorstep watching him saunter off into the night before I went in and locked the door behind me.

…

I tried, I really did, but Millie just wouldn't listen. She wasn't about to abandon the Locker over the say-so of some fellow whose last name I couldn't even tell her. Triton's Locker was hers, and if it went down, she said laughing, why she'd make like a captain and go down with it!

She did, too. It wasn't a week later that the floor began to buckle and sag, and then the walls to bulge and shiver. Millie hollered for everyone to abandon ship while she hurried to secure the till.

They all got out, but she didn't. Just as she was trotting for the door a beam tumbled down and blocked her way. And then before anyone could do a thing to help her, Triton's Locker broke up and crumbled into the bay under the pylons that had supported the place. In moments it was all gone.

At least, that's how I heard it. I was already waitressing at a tavern up the street on the landward side. I felt bad about it ever afterwards, seeing as how I'd tried to warn her. Seeing also how she was doing the same as I had done the night of the explosions, and how it might have been me if I'd stayed.

…

Well, the years went on - mighty good years too. I saved up as best I could until finally I could afford to open a place of my own! I bought the very spot where the Locker had once stood, making sure to have a good sound foundation laid under it this time, and had a new tavern built right there. I painted the sign board myself: a set of three glasses in the middle with the words "WELCOME TO" above them, and below, the single word "WILBUR'S."

And business was good. I kept the bar and greeted each customer who came in with a big smile and "What's your pleasure?" And every night, though I'm sure I didn't show it, I was hoping that maybe one of those customers coming in would be a man in his best evening clothes, a man who would be now drunk, now sober.

And wouldn't you know it, I was so set on that image of him, I nearly missed him!

It was a raw night and the place more empty than usual because of the weather. The door opened to let in a gray-haired old man in shabby clothes, dark glasses on his face, a cane in one hand, and a tin cup in the other. He swept his cane before him, slowing navigating his way to the bar.

"What's your pleasure, old timer?" I asked him once he arrived.

His fingers dipped into the tin cup and pulled out a couple of coins. "What'll this get me?" he asked, his voice as rough as the wind outside.

I looked him over, then pulled out a glass and a bottle. "Put your coins away," I told him as I poured him some whiskey. "Your money's no good here. This one's on the house."

He gaped for a second, then snapped his mouth shut and grinned. "Why, bless you, young lady. Wilbur, is it?"

I admitted to the nickname.

"Well, Wilbur," he added, saluting me with the glass before taking a swig, "maybe you can help me out a mite." His voice dropped into a whisper then, a very familiar whisper as he added, "You remember the man who gave you that name, don't you?" And from behind the dark lenses he winked at me.

I grabbed a cloth and began polishing the bar to give myself an excuse to lean closer. "Artie?"

"The same."

"And not, uh, blind?"

"Disguised. Tell me, Wilbur, have you seen a man with a wooden leg around here named Smith?"

I glanced around the room as he took another swig. "Not that I know of. What's the name of his other leg?" I asked.

He just barely didn't spew the whiskey all over the bar. When he'd recovered from his coughing fit, he shook his head and murmured, "Well, that's my Wilbur, all right! Look, if you should see him - one-legged Mr Smith - can you get word to me? I'll be out there," he nodded toward the street out front, "wandering up and down."

"Night like this, you ought to stay inside."

"I know. I know. But Smith's a dangerous sort, and Jim and I just got a lead that he might be down this way. I, ah, spotted your sign and hoped I might find a friendly face in here." He winked again. "And I did too."

He finished off his whiskey and thanked me profusely with that strange rough voice again, then headed out into the night, singing a sea chantey more off-key than I'd ever heard it sung before - which for a sea chantey is saying something!

He wasn't gone ten minute before I heard the sound of a cane on the tavern floor again and looked up, expecting to see Artie. Nope. The man wielding this cane was a lot younger, a lot tougher - and of course was missing one leg.

I saw to it that the new customer was set up with a drink, then told Hank to man the bar for a bit while I took some air. He scowled at me. "What you want with taking that air, huh? It's nasty out!"

"Never you mind! It's a woman thing, all right?"

He had the grace to blush and took my place behind the bar. I grabbed my cloak and headed outside, looking this way and that till I spotted a shambling figure swinging a cane from side to side before him.

I hurried to catch up to him. "Mister?" I said as I dropped a couple of coins into his cup.

He swung to face me, his fingers dipping into the cup to feel what I'd given him. "Thank you, thank you very much!" he said gleefully in that rough voice, then added more softly, "You saw him?"

"Just came into my place, yes."

"Ok, good. Now if you'll just step over to that warehouse down there." He pointed with his head rather than his hand. "There's a man standing there. You see him?"

"Yes. Oh, it's Mr West, isn't it?"

"Good eyes, Wilbur. Yes. You just tell him what you've told me. But don't worry. We'll wait for him to come out and get well away from your place before we tackle him."

"Hmm?"

He shot me a merry look. "Well, you don't want your furniture broken up the way Triton's Locker's chairs and tables got smashed up that one time, do you?"

…

He was true to his word. No fighting took place inside my tavern. In fact, Smith left my place soon afterwards, and I neither heard nor heard about any fighting in the street outside my tavern either. It was a few hours later, after all the customers were gone and my workers as well, when there came a knock on the door as I was finishing tidying up.

"We're closed!" I called as I headed toward the door. Sure enough, when I opened it, there he stood.

"Make up your mind," Artie said with a twinkle in his eye. "Are you closed or open?"

"What happened?" I asked as I waved him inside.

"Oh, we caught him," he replied breezily. "Well, we followed him first till he led us to the rest of his cohorts, and then we caught them all. Thanks to you, Wilbur ol' pal." He grinned at me. "Buy you a drink?"

"The bar's closed," I reminded him. "But I wouldn't mind if you'd see me home."

"Ah. I could do that." He helped me with my cloak, then waited while I locked up. That done, he offered me his arm and I took it.

I was hoping he'd remember the way, and he did in part. I had to remind him of a couple of the turns. But I was really wanting to see his face when we came around the final corner and my house came into view.

His eyes bulged and he gave a soft whistle. "You've built the place up!"

Indeed I had! With the profits from my tavern, I'd added some rooms to my house. Smiling broadly, I unlocked the door and invited him in for a nightcap.

His hesitation surprised me. "Ah… I'm sorry, but I'll have to pass."

"But you wanted to buy me at drink at the tavern."

"True. But this is different."

Well, yes, it was different. That was the point! That was why what I'd declined at the tavern I was offering here at my house! But what was wrong? I needed him to tell me. "Different how?" I asked.

He smiled at me gently, apologetically. "Well, for one thing, Jim's waiting for me come home. And… so is Lily."

I think my heart stopped beating for a second. "Li… Lily?"

"My… well, she was my high school sweetheart, you see. And then we, uh, got hitched a few months back. I waited most of my life for her, and I don't like to keep her waiting for me once a case is closed. But I did want to come back and thank you." He gave me a brief bob of his head and said, "Good night, Wilbur. You were a great help to us. Tonight and that first time as well." He glanced at my house and added, "And you seem to be doing just fine for yourself."

And he left. He left! I stood there in the open doorway watching him go, watching the same as I had the first time he walked out of my life. And this time, I knew this was it. He was never coming back.

I walked in, locked up the door behind me, hung up my cloak, set my purse down on the table. Then slammed my fist down on the table as well. Married! Waited for her most of his life!

"What about how long I've waited?" I growled at the empty house, empty save for only me.

And then I sat down at my lonely table and poured myself a drink. Sitting by myself. Drinking by myself. Well, that's how my life had been for years and years, but now it felt intolerable. So many dreams wasted!

If only… I thought as I slugged back some whiskey. If only back when he'd asked me my name for real and I gave him that nickname he'd bestowed on me, telling him I was Wilbur…

Well, would it have maybe made a difference if back then, instead of saying Wilbur, I'd told him my name was really Francine?

FIN