Epilogue

"What'll it be?" Hank asked the patron at the bar. He was a newcomer. Hank had a thing for remembering faces and this was one he'd never seen before.

"Bud Light," the newcomer said.

Hank grabbed a clean mug and slid it under the tap. "Ain't seen you in here before."

"Yeah, I just moved in up the block. Unpacking made me thirsty."

Hank liked him already. "I'm Hank. This is my place," Hank said as he set down the beer on a coaster and offered his hand. He wasn't usually this friendly, but it was a slow night. A Tuesday. And Hank had a feeling that he'd be seeing more of this guy.

"John Renner," the man said as he shook Hank's hand.

Just then the door opened. John turned on his bar stool to see a man enter. He was in a wheelchair, the electric kind. His hair was matted and he wore a gray sweatshirt and jeans, both of which displayed stains that John Renner guessed had been there awhile. The left side of the man's face was scarred. He'd obviously been burned. His left arm curled close to his chest at a steep angle. The hand protruding from the left sleeve was a lump of scarred flesh. He wore a dirty, beige colored brace on his right hand, the one operating the wheelchair joystick.

The man caught John staring at him. "What're you looking at?"

Without a word, John looked away.

"That's right. Don't look," the man said. Then he wheeled himself to a small table in the corner and faced the wall.

"What's his problem?" John asked, barely above a whisper.

"Don't mind him. He comes in almost every night and just sits there. Not friendly to anyone."

Hank poured a beer into a mug and a shot of whiskey into a glass. He picked them both up off the bar and carried them over to the man. Without a word, he set the drinks on the table in front of him, then walked away.

"What happened to him?" John asked.

"Car accident a few years back. Drunk driver. He lives up the block in a small apartment. Comes in just about every night, sometimes already drunk. He always leaves drunk. Never known him to be nice to anybody. My wife is friends with his landlady. She said he has family. They send him money to live on, but he won't see them. Just sits around his apartment all day and comes here at night to drink."

"Does he always face the wall like that?"

"Yep. I asked him once why he does that. He said he don't want nobody to see him and he don't want to see nobody. Especially not the pretty girls."

"Why's that?

Hank pointed below his own belt. "Don't work down there no more. Paralyzed from the chest down."

"What a miserable life," John commented.

"Yep. He musta done some rotten things to deserve a fate like that."

The man in the wheelchair turned around. "I'm ready for another one. And hurry up," he barked.

Hank looked at John and shrugged. Then he replied to the man. "Hold your horses Sean. I'll be right there."

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