M&M Cigar Store (short story)

Story by Nathan Truzzolino

August 8th 1945

Butte, Montana - the M&M Cigar Store

“What can I getcha?”

“What do you drink here?” 

“Pardon me?”

“What is proper to drink, here, now in this place in time?” 

“Sweetie, it’s always the right time for a proper drink in here. So pick what you want, no judgements.” 

The diner waitress leaves having recorded the stranger’s drink order.  The stranger has on a midnight black suit, fitted unnaturally perfect, like a painting come to life.  

The man in the dark suit orders a water.  A Butte water is as clear as a tropical storm and runs through your bowels like one too. 

The waitress sets a sweating glass on the greasy counter. 

“Alright fuddy-duddy, decide yet what you’ll be eating?”

“I will take what that man there is consuming.”

The stranger in black points to a dirty miner at the end of the bar.

“That is the Garbage Omelette and it’s the second most expensive meal on the menu behind the chicken fried steak.  You sure you can afford it mister?”
 

These were hard times.  The war had not been kind to many and cruel to most.  Not everyone could afford the hen fruit full of real meat and expensive cheese made from real cows milk. 

“Payment will not be a problem.  I can pay in advance if you wish?”

From the breast pocket of his blazer jacket, the suit presents more cash than the entire M&M Cigar bar has collectively, including the illegal casino downstairs and the poker room out back.  If everyone in the noisy bar would have seen this stack of cash at the same time they would have all gone silent with envy.  

“No, you can pay after you are satisfied like everyone else born to a mother in here.” 

The waitress puts a mug of mud in front of the stiff stranger.   At least the coffee was suppose to be cloudy. 

He did not ask for this.

Any of this.

- 

Like rats smelling a weak link in the pack; the miners, boozers, winos, thugs, thieves and crum-bums all start to move around the dark suit.  Some brush up against him as they walk past in hopes his luck will rub off on them.  Some jeer from across the room where the booze and cigar bar is packed shoulder-to-shoulder.  Some even walk behind him, stand there and spit in his general direction.  Whatever he was, he was the amalgamation of all things the people of Butte wanted but because of the great war, they could no longer have.  Nice clothes. Nice haircut.  Money.  Stature.  Status.  A secure future.  The man in the dark suit radiated these things and they all hated him for it.  

Yet the man in black does not move.  He doesn’t flinch when yelled at.  Nor does he eat the food when it’s delivered to him.  He stares at the full, fluffy and fresh omelette with ambiguity and disinterested. Yet another thing they hate him for.  Wasteful.  

“No appetite mister?”A drunk miner says sitting down next to the stranger. 

“No, I am hungry.  I am planning on the best way to consume this sustenance in a manner where I do not spill or splash on myself.  

“Er well that’s easy mister.” The Miner says.  Seeing his opportunity the Miner grabs the cloth napkin from the counter and moves to tuck the cloth into the mans collar, between his neck and his neck tie. The Miner tries to make a move for the inside of his jacket pocket, where he had seen the stash of cash appear out of before but the man doesn’t jerk away like the miner had anticipated and this screws up his plan.

“Damn Ace, you are as cold as a fish.” The Miner says in astonishment as his hand touches the mans throat.  It was the beginning of August and the heat was relentless this summer.  Inside the bar, with bodies starting to stack on one another, the heat doubled. 

The tall stranger looks over at the drunk Miner and nods in appreciation.  The miner notices no beads of sweat on his brow or even a detection of moisture on the man’s pristine white collar. 

“Thank you for your assistance.  I do believe it is impolite to eat in the company of someone who does not have a meal.  Did you want to bring your sustenance over next to mine so we can dine together?” 

“I only have money for beer tonight my friend.” 

“Then I will buy you a meal.”  

The stiff suit orders the same meal for the Miner.  

They eat in silence together as the bar, maybe thirty people, mostly men, watch them eat meals bigger than any one of them have had in six years. 

The Miner, young in age and desperate in appearance notices the extra attention and laughs with is mouth full.  He has on a black stained button up cotton shirt, dirty work denim pants and boots that look like a stiff wind would tear to shreds.  His hair was curly and a little long for most peoples liking.  His beard was juvenile but every miner had to have a beard so he had one too. 

“You’s and I are stars in here Ace.  You know that?”

“Yes I can feel their attention on us.  This is a good thing correct?”

“Well I spectin’ most want to bust your chops friend. Since you slapped that stack of greenbacks on the counter, you got everyone’s attention or at least their curiosity.” 

They finished their meals and the man with grey complexion and a dark suit removes the stained and splattered cloth napkin from his collar and hands it to the Miner. 

“Thank you for allowing me to use this.  It made a big difference and will save me a considerable amount of time not having to find new clothing for tomorrow.”

“What you only got the one change of duds?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Alright well that makes two of us.

The Suit drains his glass of water and the Miner finishes his piss beer. 

“Well er, where ya from mister?” 

“Not here.” 

“Well that ain’t hard to see. Whatzer business?”

“Surveillance” 

“Oh like a Pinkerton type?  They still got them around these parts?”

The Suit looks at the Miner, pauses and smiles. 

“I get that reference.  Pinkerton.  Yes, something a kin to the Pinkerton.” 

“Say you think you got another dime and nickel to spare for another beer?” 

The Miner tips his glass mug up to show its sad emptiness.  The Suit smiles again.  

“Sure thing.” 

The Suit slaps down a silver dollar on the counter and asks for two beers.  The waitress rolls her red eyes and sashays away. 

Once returned the waitress slaps down the two frosty mugs full of cheap Butte brewed beer.  The mugs stick to the counter in front of them.  

“Well cheers mister.  Much obliged.” 

The Miner raises his mug in the direction of the man and swills most of it down. 

“Nothing better than a cold barley pop and free to boot.” 

“Nothing better.” says the Suit. 

His turn now to drink and he sips like a bird from a pond.  

He expression doesn’t change, he simply says “Good”. 

“Well now I wouldn’t use a simple word like good for piss like this, I would maybe say something like adequate.” The Miner grins. 

“Adequate it is then.  Very accurate observation.” The Suit says after another sip. 

The Miner is pleased with the compliment.

“I learn these new words daily, I read the old papers the snot nose newsies toss out and make it my business to remember a new word everyday.  If I don’t know it’s origin, I head up to the paper office and ask the sweet gal at the front desk what it means.  If she can spare the paper, she even writes it down for me.” The Miner grins thinking about Lucy, the receptionist at the Butte Miner. 

“You wanna know what happened the other day? The other day when I went to go ask Lucy what the word ambiguous mean?” 

“Yes” the Suit replies.  He sips a larger sip of low grade beer.

“She said there was a reporter who works at her paper, who is looking for new and reliable ‘sources’ she calls them.  You’re a Pink so I ain’t got to explain nothin to the likes of you about sources so anyways she says now there is this reporter and he wants sources inside the Anaconda meaning he want’s scoops and tips and rumors and hearsay and anything else he can get into print about the big mining outfit so Lucy says there is this miner, me she’s talking about, that comes in here all interested in the news makin’ business and maybe he would like to be a source for you and so he says yes why not have the man see me next time he’s in the office and sure enough when I get up there the cold fish reporter, who’s a real drip, old and fuzzy, says he’ll give me ten cents for every story he writes that come out of my stories.  I say ten cents hot diggity dog I’d rat on Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin for ten cents so he says to come down here, the M&M Bar and just make friends and ask questions like what’s you business and how’s the mining going and just keep talking and talking until someone spills their guts to me.  I have been waiting to do this my whole life so I come down here this morning, buy a beer with the ten cent advance the reporter spotted me and I just start talking.  Ain't that sumptin?”

The Suit has finished his beer and looks for the first time visibly pleased. 

“That is something.  It’s good to have a goal.  It’s good to have meaning in ones existence.”  

“Now yer gettin it Slim.”  The Miner finishes his not so cool piss beer. 

Two more beers appear via the waitress.  

“Say since youz being a trained and proven Pink, you have any advice for me?  Interrogation techniques and the like?  There has to be some mind control tricks you can show me.  I was just thinking.”

“Thought is the great curse.” The Suit says with a low laugh.

The Suit shifts in his rotating stool to look at the Miner in the eye. 

“I have some critiques on your approach to your task.” 

“Lay it on me.”

“You smell terrible.  Humans beings don’t like to converse with others who offend any of their senses and you offend at least three of mine right now.”  

Before the Miner can follow up, the Suit continues.

“You stated your objective to me outright which usually is a the proper way to approach a situation but not in this instance.  If you want to be secretive about your mission, which is to get insider information from an opposing force, do not tell every creature within hearing distance that you are digging for dirt.  This is what your kind like to call Tipping Your Hand.”  

“Next you are using the audible sense of speaking as your primary form of communication. Information from surveillance is almost entirely captured by listening with your ears and observing with your eyes.  The more you speak, the less opportunity you have to hear important information that your new source may have to offer.” 

The Miner is both offended and taking mental notes.

“My last critique although I could find an infinite amount more to choose from, is this.  Don’t drink more alcohol than your subject of interrogation.”  

The Miner looks down from the Suits face to see that the stoic man is still sipping his second beer and that he, himself had consumed rather quickly the three empty mugs of beer that lay in front of them both. 

The Miner sits in silence looking at his hands which are wrapped around the sweating mug of beer. 

“I hope I have not offended you.  I wish to help you improve your skills in the trade you deal in, that is all.” 

“Oh no, Ace you are right, true and correct on all accounts.  I tend to get chatty when I drink.  And the other things you said about the secrecy well now that I think about it, that makes a whole lotta sense.” 

The Miner finishes the last of his beer and swirls around to the Suit. 

“OK.  Indulge me for a spell.  Let me practice on you right now.  I know, you’ve done so much for me already.  Bought me my first hot meal in months and poured beer down my throat with out as much as needing a thank you in return.”  

The Suit smiles like a politician and nods his head in acknowledgment.  

“This sounds fair and agreeable.  Please, take your best shot.” 

The Miner straightens up, pushes his mug to the edge of the counter and turns to look at the Suit in the eye.  

“You ain’t from around here are ya Ace?  Jeepers I apologize I shouldn’t call you Ace, I should call you by your Christian name.  Tell me if you will friend, if I were to buy you a beer would you like to tell me what is your name and where you call home?”  

The Suit looks pleased.  

“I would like very much to speak to you and yes a beverage of your choice would be satisfying.” 

Two more beers show up on the counter and the M&M Bar has now erupted into full hysteria mode.  It is now 7:30pm, shift change for the mines was officially over and the Miners who had been underground all day are now ready to dust themselves off and celebrate the changing world. 

“Ok mister, go ahead and spill your guts.” Said the Miner with a smile. 

“With more knowledge comes more sadness” the Suit says with a smile.  

The Miner nodded for him to continue. 

“I will be honest with you, I don’t have a name in the sense that you or anyone here would completely understand.  If I had to choose one that I would like to be referred by I would like to be called Jesus.  That is purely from reading and enjoying the Bible but I understand that name is in a way reserved only for Jesus of Nazareth.” 

“So what can I call you?”

“Call me Matthew.” 

“Alright.  I can understand you Pinks don’t give out your real name and now I put my whole brain power into it, you make complete sense.  Now what about your home, from where do you hail?”

“Everywhere and no where.” 

“Work with me pal.  That ain’t no answer.”

“It is an answer. It may be vague but it is a truthful one.  I have the ability and capacity to be everywhere at once or no where at once.” 

“Man of the shadows.  Hot damn you are a squirly SOB.  I bet you are an amazing private dick.  That makes so much sense, the way you put it.  The Pinks are everywhere man, an extension of yourself, many eyes see many things.  I get it.  Amazing.”

The Suit smiles politely with a slow nod. 

“Ok so.  Ah yes.  What is your business in Butte?”

“I said before I am here to observe and report.  Wait and assess the situation from this vantage point in time.” 

Seeing his opportunity all so slightly start to open, the Miner lunges for it.

“Is it the mines?  Is there something happening with them?  I hear tell there are a lot of influential people in cahoots with all the major mining outfits here.  High up.  Washington DC.” 

He says the nations capital in a hushed tone as if it were a secret place no one knew about. 

“You are more correct than you suspect.  Butte is a confluence of sorts.  What we in my business call a conflux.  Two or more very important and specific events colliding at one place in time.  I am here to observe this merging of pathways and assess whether my intervention is necessary or not.” 

“Alight now we are getting somewhere.” 

Both smile and take large sip from their beers

“When did you get into town old boy?” The Miner asks taking another sip. 

“The 6th of August just after 8:17am Hiroshima time.” 

The Miners eyes widen over rim of his dirty mug.  He gives the Suit a long stare and brushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes.  His eyes squint and he starts to think harder than ever had before.  Hiroshima. Where had he heard that word before?

Yes, he had it. The bomb.   

“You’re not a Pink.  You’re a G-Man.  A Spook.”

For the first time the the Suit gives a small laugh.

“No I am not government.  I don’t answer to anyone with a false and pretentious title like Governor or Director.” 

The Miner is not convinced.  

“This has to do with the A-Bomb don’t it?  Something big is happening here, with the mines, with the bomb.  If the papers knew about this the whole town would flip their lids!  God damn we are cooking with gas now Matthew!”

“Now you are getting the hang of it.  In fact yes, this has everything to do with the atomic bomb.”

The Suit leans over and spots a booth near the back of the bar where the poker tables sit.  

The Suit grabs his roll of dough, pays the waitress and leaves a tip that makes her gasp.  He informs her that the two of them are heading to the back and to bring one beer over to the booth in exactly fifteen minutes. 

The men squeeze into the booth and access the bar around them. 

“Busy night.  Things have been looking up since we got the drop on the Japs.” The Miner says.  

“Can I ask you a question?” The Suit asks. The Miner gives an affirmative nod. 

“Does it upset or bother you that thousands of your fellow humans were destroyed, killed, innocently tortured and maimed in the blink of an eye in Japan?  The chemical process of splitting something so small one can not see it with their own eye set off a series of explosions just a few hundred feet above the ground and instantaneously ended the lives of thousands of innocent humans.  Does that cause you concern or empathy?”

The miner sits quietly, feeling confused by the question.  Maybe even shame and understanding for Japan but then he remembers December 7th 1941.  

“After Pearl Harbor, no I don’t feel bad one iota.”

The beer comes over from the waitress.  Before the Miner can take the beer, the Suit grabs it.  

“Let me tell you why I am really here.  I have a vested interest in you and everyone else that inhabits this great planet.  My entire life’s work is to curate, foster and improve life upon this planet and ensure that it lives on for as long as it possibly can.  I have watched from afar for a long time, beaming with pride on how well you have all done in such a short amount of time.  I was satisfied with the progress, in fact I started to become complacent and possibly irresponsible.  For I did not pay attention to what was going on in the desert of Nevada.  I did not see what was being created in the underground bunkers during this war.  I did not truly know what man felt deep inside their hearts.”  

The Suit drinks the beer. 

“I am in this booth right now with you sir.  I am here.  I am here 60 years ago.  In this same exact spot.  It is a mound of dirt and I smile knowing that I would someday be in this booth with you yet I did not know why.  I am in this same exact spot 75 years in the future and I will cry because this place will be burnt to the ground yet I don’t know why; I will think of this conversation and it will make me sad knowing the physical structure that housed this conversation is gone.  All of the ghost of the M&M having escaped.  I am in the this spot 100 years in the future and I will smile and I will cry again, knowing the past has finally been resurrected.” 

The Miner is confused, uncomfortable and upset; shifting in his hardwood bench.    

“You inquired what my business was here in town, here in Butte Montana on this night at this very specific moment, talking to you, sitting in this bar and drinking this liquid with you.  I will tell you.  I am here to correct what I let go to spoil.  I was ignorant and prideful.  I let that bomb be detonated over Hiroshima and I am complacent in the second bomb that will massacre thousands while you sleep in your cot tonight.”

The Miner is wide eyed and his stomach drops. 

“I can’t and I won’t let this happen again.  If I can help it.  I admit I wasn’t as attentive to you as I should have been but you are not without fault.  I am taken aback and slightly impressed with the fortitude and tenacity you have all displayed when it comes to exterminating each other.  Yet that doesn’t make it right.”

The Miner has to interrupt now. 

“Wait Ace, you’re talking gobbledygook here.  You make as much sense as a soup sandwich with that talk.  You telling me here that there will be a second bomb? And what with this talk about being in the past and in the future?  Jumping Jesus friend you have let this stale beer get to your head.  Hand over that mug to me, I think we ought to pull you off the teet before you go running that nonsense to someone else.  Me, I love a good story buddy but you say that shit in front of the wrong war vet or miner in here and buddy you’re going to get tossed down a mine shaft.” 

For the first time the Suit laughs a full, hearty laugh.  

He slides the mug over to the Miner. 

“Perhaps you are right.  I have been here.  For a long time.” 

The Miner is concerned for his dapper friend. The Suit looks down in the dumps now.  This makes the Miner upset.  

“I apologize Matt my friend, I just hate to see someone get hurt for no dern reason you know?” 

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

The Miner shifts from one numb cheek to the other in his bench.  A spark of static electricity shocks his ear.  Where the hell did that come from? The roof? 

“Alight lets get down to brass tax my friend.”

The Suit reaches into his breast pocket and brings out a pristine white envelope.  Skinny.  The kind you know has only one piece of paper in it.  He slides it over to the Miner. 

“What was the name of the woman at the newspaper?  The one you are so fond of?”

“That would be Lucy.” 

“Bring this to Lucy straight away tomorrow morning, exactly the moment the office opens.  This is information about your employer, the Anaconda Copper Company.  It’s a memo from the top brass, future plans.  Large changes that will impact this community for decades to come.  It’s legitimate.”  

The Miner takes the envelope as gently as if it were a bomb. 

“Take this document to her in the morning.  I need your word that you will do this for me?  You remember how I told you about the confluence that will be happening here in Butte, the one I was to see over?  This is the start of the conflux; right now you understand me don’t you?  This is the domino that starts the whole tumbling sequence.  If you don’t deliver this information to Lucy, who you will instruct to give it to the editor, not the reporter; if you don’t do this then all of this would have been for not.  Remember it has to be tomorrow morning, understand?”  

The Miner flips the envelope in his hand, on the back is the Miners name written out in clean penmanship.  No wait, it’s printed on it.  Typed.  How could this Pink, this Spook, how could he have known he was going to find him in this bar at this time and have this envelope ready for him with his full name typed on the back?

He stared at it for a long time.  He slid his dirty forefinger across the sealed flap.  It was smooth as silk, the edges nearly non-existent. 

“I uh, I guess I don’t fully understand it but I think I get the overall picture of things”

“If you could comprehend it all, then it is not god.”

That last part seems to be whispers into his ear while sitting in an empty and quiet room.  He whips his head back to see who it was that just so rudely whispered in his ear.  

There was no one. Just that static electricity feeling again.  

The Miner looked across the booth at the Suit but it was too late.  

He was gone. 

The Miner whips his head around to look for the son of a bitch but not a black suit to be seen.  The bar is crawling with miners in dirty overalls, jumpsuits and dusty boots. 

The Miner ran towards the front door.  It took him a few moments longer than he had liked, the M&M was the place to be on a night like tonight.  The whole country was celebrating.  The news over the wire and on the waves was good.  We, the Allies, have swung the tide of the war in our favor; signaling the beginning of the end of the second Great War. 

Outside, Main Street was buzzing.  The bright lights, loud cars and overall excitement on the street was pulsating.  The Suit was no where to be seen.  

The Miner spit on the ground and cursed his name.  Matthew he thought.  What a name. 

He released his grip on the envelope, sees it crumpled some.  He tried to smooth is as best as possible.  The Miner, shuffled over to a car parked on the street and leaned up on it, getting out of the way of the bustling sidewalk. 

He took out a toothpick he uses when he gets nervous and slides it under the flap, giving it a sharp jab to get the tear started.  He begins to start to tear more but stops.   Was he told to read this thing?  He couldn’t remember.  

“Heavens Betsy” the Miner says.  

“Well he said the editor could read it.  I guess maybe that means Lucy could too.”  The Miner starts to sprint up Main Street, which is a steep grade, and didn’t stop until he hit Granite Street.  

There is a chance she still might be there.  

The gas lamp inside was still lit.  He pulled on the door to the  Butte Miner Newspaper and it was securely locked.  

“Dern” he says and spits on the ground again.  

He stands in from of the door, looking down the street, thinking, hoping, maybe he would see that dark suit, walking down the sidewalk.  

Not a soul was in sight up here.  All the action was back down on Main Street. In fact he could hear the revelry reverberating up the hill. 

“Can I help you?” A mouse voice squeaks from behind him.  

The Miner turns quick to see Lucy, poking her small but round head out from the small crack of the door.  

“Oh my, ah.  Miss Lucy, it’s me, you recognize me right?  The fella who has been asking about all them big and fancy words you print here at your paper?”

“Goodness yes I remember you.  How do you do?” 

“I do just fine mama, listen can I come in and show you something I uh, I come across?”

He reaches out his shaking hand and shows her the envelope.  He sees his name printed on it.  Thinking it would be suspect, which it indeed was, that his name would be printed on an envelope with scandalous news, the Miner turns the envelope to hide the name and hands it to Lucy.  

She scans it and her eyes are blank.  

“Any idea what is inside?”

“I can’t be for certain but looky here, it’s from one of my sources.  He said it’s from the top brass over at the Anaconda.  Big news he said.  Big changes.” 

Lucy stares at the Miner.  

“Oh I don’t know.” 

The Miner starts to think about the Suit and what he had promised him.  He promised he would complete this task, when he said he would.  But he isn’t accomplishing his task to the letter now is he?  The Suit had instructed him to bring the letter tomorrow, in the morning, when the office first opened. Not tonight, not now.  A thousand pounds of ore sink to the bottom of his stomach.  He’s screwing this up big time.

“You look like you seen a ghost?” Lucy says coming out from behind the door.  

“You know what, we can just wait til the morning.  It’s late miss and I should really come back tomorrow and we can sort this out in the morning, proper like.  I really didn’t mean to bother you tonight, I didn’t even think you would be here and I was just so damn excited that I had this news and I felt I needed to share it with you and I just couldn’t wait until morning and…”

Lucy grabs his hand.  She gently puts the memo in to his left hand which now, containing the paper, stops shaking. 

“It’s alright.  We can bring it to the editor in chief promptly in the morning.  I doubt he’s up there right now anyways, kind of a crum that one to be honest.  I was just locking up to leave.  I usually try to get out of here before dark but I was so behind on my typing I stayed late to get it done and now the town is draped in a black blanket.” 

The normal smog that resonates out from the smelters both in Butte and in Anaconda thirty miles away continually cast a hazy canvas over the city but on this night it was so thick you could paint with it.  The Miner, feeling extremely weak and light headed now, had just enough juice in him to gin up the courage to ask Lucy if he could accompany her home. 

Lucy smiled.  

“I think I would like that very much.” 

“Swell.” said the Miner.  

The beer buzz that was drained away from his body when he exerted himself by running uphill was now replaced with the feeling in the gut one tends to feel when something new, exciting and light enhances their life.  What did the girl in class call it once?  Butterflies?

Lucy went back inside to grab her bag, umbrella and overcoat.  She locked the front door with a giant key and lurched the door back and forth to test it.  

The two of them started to walk east towards Main Street, back to where the M&M and all her children were shouting into the night.  

They stroll past the busy bar and the crowd outside had only gotten larger and the noise inside funneled out like a bullhorn. 

“I was in there earlier.  It’s a mad house I tell ya.” 

“Apparently so.”

“I met an odd fellow in there tonight.” 

“A place like the M&M, that can’t be too difficult.” 

“Normally yes but this one. This fella.  He was.  He was the one who gave me the letter see.” 

Suddenly Lucy grabs the Miners hand.  A group of rough looking men, boys really were hoofing it fast up Main Street rounding the corner quick up from Park Street.  They did not look like they were in a friendly mood. 

The Miner pulls Lucy close and they huddle together as they give the group of hellions a wide berth.  Both Lucy and the Miner give a quick look back as they now take a right on Park, westbound, making sure the gang isn’t doubling back to rob them.   

The Miner went to let go of her hand but she held tight.  A cool nip in the air arrived from out of nowhere.  Cool weather in August was rare, even sitting a mile high as they are in Butte.  He put his arm around her to fight the chill. 

“Matthew” the Miners says. 

“Excuse me?” Lucy says. 

“That was the odd mans name in the bar, Matthew is what he wanted me to call him.” 

“That was my father’s name.  I love that name.” 

Now that he thought about it some, so did the Miner. 

Fifteen minutes and one sweet conversation later they reached a small apartment building and Lucy lets go of the Miners hand. A jolt lit both their finger tips up like a lamp.  Static electricity shot through them both, inadvertently making Lucy jump and give a cute squeal.  The Miner gives an embarrassed smile, wondering if it was his fault that happened. 

“Well I must say I am in your debt tonight Mister…”  

Lucy puts her hand up to her face and blushes.  

“Lord in heaven.  Forgive me for this sin but I have forgotten your name sir. Oh how embarrassing.” 

“Shea.  James O’Shea.  They call me Shea.” 

“James.  Thank you for your generosity.  My roommate is probably in a lather up there worrying about me. I phoned an hour ago so I must be going.  I will see you at 7:30am sharp.” 

“Count on it.”  

James O’Shea bids the lovely Lucy goodnight. Lucy gets to the top of her stoop and waves at the lonely Miner.  She even gives a cute wink and a long look back as she walked inside.  

The Miner felt it again.  The static electricity.  This time it hit his heart.  The Miner returns to the M&M. 

The waitress from before, stood at the counter, dividing the tips between the servers and cooks. 

“Excuse me Mam, remember that fella in the dark suit, the tall man with grayish skin. The one who gave the handsome gratuity earlier. Did you see him leave?”  Shea asks.  

“Who? Honey I see a lot of people.  Be more specific.” 

“Well he was with me see, and he bought two garbage omelet’s and an arm full of beers and he was polished and he had a stack of cash on him that could choke an elephant.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell sweetie.” 

The waitress goes on about her business, actively ignoring the Miner.  

The Miner steps outside to try and bum a cigarette off of another patron. There were plenty of Miners out there he knew that owed him a few sticks. 

Carl, the second shift lift operator was leaning up agains a Buick and tossed him his pack of smokes.  

The Miner walked around the block and reached into his back pocket to look at the envelope again.  It was gone.  

“Fuck a duck.” He curses and pats himself down until he finds it in his shirt breast pocket.  

The envelope was sealed tightly again; as it was before he opened it slightly on the corner.  Seamless, with nary an edge to get a toothpick in to start to slit the damn thing open, it appeared never before touched, altered or breathed on.   

James O’Shea contemplated opening the thing and after two good cigarettes, he decided what the hell.  What could go wrong?

After a few moments of struggling, the Miner got the envelope open.  As before it had his name printed on it but this time with the date and time.  

James O’Shea

August 8th, 1945

10:17:39 PM

James fishes out his old pocket watch.  The third hand just lands on the 39 second mark.  Exactly 10:17:39 PM.  

He opens the letter, now losing all self-control and carefulness.  On the snow white, scratchy paper was a drawing of six domino tiles standing in a row and the one in the back was leaning forward, getting ready to hit the tile in front of it.  Frozen in time the moment before impact, waiting and waiting for the sequence to begin.   

Nathan Truzzolino is the author of Middle of The End: A Novel available on Amazon.com now.

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