Морган Лливелин - Drop by Drop

Getting careless, he warned himself. Better keep the old senses sharp.

The last time Jack was there the place had been almost empty. This afternoon quite a few people were at the bar or sitting in the booths. A number of changes added up to an entirely new look. Much of the illumination came from scores of strategically placed candles. The barstools were padded with folded blankets. Imitation leather upholstery in the booths had been replaced by two-seater couches and plump cushions.

Jack caught the bartender’s eye. “I like your new décor, Bill.”

Burdick grinned. “Y’know, I kinda like it myself. We had to replace the old fixtures because of the Change, so I said hell with it and went out and bought this stuff. Quaint is in.”

A voice from one of the booths called, “Jack Reece!” Gerry Delmonico raised an arm and beckoned to him. “Come on over. We just dropped in for a hot meal; join us.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, sit down.”

They were examining the limited menu chalked on a blackboard when Gerry exclaimed, “Look who just came in! Muffin, you remember her, you met at the funeral.”

Eleanor Bennett stood just inside the front door, gazing uncertainly around the room.

Jack stood up and went over to her. “Are you waiting for anybody?”

“No, I’m here by myself.”

“Have a meal with us, then,” he urged.

Since the disaster at RobBenn not everyone had treated Bennett’s widow so warmly. She sensed hostile eyes following her on the street and tried to tell herself they were her imagination.

While Nell seated herself in the booth Jack and Gerry went to the bar to place the orders. First a round of drinks: craft beer for the men and a vodka sour for Nell, which she requested “plain, no fruit.” Fruit in drinks reminded her too much of Panama City.

“Orange juice okay for you, Muffin?” Gerry asked his wife.

While the women waited for their drinks Nell said, “Your husband calls you Muffin. Mine used to call me Cookie. There must be something Freudian about that.”

Gloria laughed. “It means they were both weaned too early.”

The food was not fancy, but it was delicious. Marla, Burdick’s sister-in-law, prepared it in the kitchen behind the dining area. At Jack’s suggestion the party ordered two baskets of fried chicken with double hot chili fries. Bill added a large pitcher of ice water. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll thank me later.”

Nell began picking through the basket with her fork. “There aren’t any wings in here.”

“Buffalo wings with hot sauce?”

“No, just plain fried chicken wings.”

“Who eats those?”

“I do; I learned it from my grandmother. My father’s mother came from a large family and I adored her when I was little. Nana preferred the wings because when she was growing up there were no arguments over them. She used to say, ‘If you’ll eat the wings or the neck you’ll never leave the table hungry.’”

“When you think about it, we’re all made up of bits and pieces,” Gloria remarked. “Part of what makes us us comes from people who were gone before we were born.”

“My kids aren’t much like either of us,” said Nell, “but they’re great. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“Are you homeschooling them now? A lot of people are.”

Nell shook her head. “Mine are staying in school whether they want to or not. Children need consistency and rules to make them feel secure; that’s how I was raised.”

Jack helped himself to a handful of fries. “Me too, but I’m a born rule breaker.”

Nell said, “All rules, or just some?”

He was about to give a glib answer when her level gaze stopped him. “Only the unimportant ones,” he replied. There was a discernible thread of sexual tension between them. He wondered if she could feel it; he certainly could.

Whoa, boy, Jack warned himself, don’t go there. A new widow, vulnerable as hell. That’s not your style.

Gloria wondered, “Who knows what the important rules are? There was a time we thought we did, but the laws of nature are breaking down.”

“What are your thoughts on the Change, Gerry?” asked Nell.

He put down a well-gnawed drumstick. “Recently there’s been speculation in the scientific community about a universal solvent, but I know a thing or two about containers. By its very definition no container could hold a universal solvent without being dissolved itself. It’s only a myth, like the alchemist’s stone that’s supposed to turn lead into gold.”

“I’ve always believed myths have a seed of truth in them.”

Jack agreed with Nell. “We humans aren’t clever enough to create something out of nothing.” He ate a handful of fries and quickly took a drink of water. Setting down the glass, he said, “We haven’t done that this time either. Any item is either a solid, liquid or gas depending on how tightly its molecules are bound together. The petrochemicals used in plastic contain hydrocarbons, which means they’re composed of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. Perhaps there’s a variation on the universal solvent: a factor we don’t know about. Maybe Factor X only dissolves the molecules connecting matter in hydrocarbons.”

Gerry sat back and folded his arms. “That’s not it.”

“In theory it could be.”

“No chance, Jack, for one irrefutable reason. There would have to be some almighty profit involved to incentivize developing your ‘Factor X.’ The Change is all about loss, not profit.”

Another round of drinks and a second pitcher of ice water were ordered.

Gloria said, “If scientists all over the world aren’t able to find the answer, what makes you two men think you can?”

“They’re on the inside looking out,” Jack replied. “We’re on the outside looking in. The view’s better from here. I’m half-afraid there really isn’t an answer, though. Maybe it’s like a black hole. Or maybe an unknown agency is extracting hydrocarbons for a purpose we can’t begin to imagine.”

“An agency—you mean like the CIA?”

“No, Gloria, this would be beyond even them.”

Gerry was looking more skeptical by the minute. “You think little green men from Mars are robbing us? Why? To prevent our continuing with the plans for a Martian settlement? Come on, Jack, get real.”

“Did you never read Sherlock Holmes? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

None of them admitted to wanting dessert, but when a dessert menu was proffered all four made selections. It was the only graceful way to conclude a debate that could not be won.

While they waited, Jack swirled water rings on the tabletop with his fingertips. Watching the patterns they made. Teasing out his words before he spoke. “There’s something about this…” he began. The others looked at him. “Something to do with the sun.… At one time cultures all over the world worshipped Old Sol.”

“The ancients may have discovered that the sun had powers beyond light and heat,” Nell interjected. “I’ve been reading a thought-provoking book on archaeology. We don’t understand the calculations behind the construction of Newgrange in Ireland or the Great Pyramid in Egypt, but obviously the builders thought they could make the sun work for them in some way.”

Jack grinned approval. “That’s the kind of thinking we need! Let’s explore this. In America everything changed with 9/11, but in Egypt the pivotal point was 2011. The Arab Spring was like a starter’s pistol going off. The fractured tribalism that undermined the Middle East for so long came boiling to the surface. Iran’s deep pockets had been funding terrorism for decades, then all at once everyone was getting into the act.