Root Stew

“Hi Frankie,” I said, when he saw me from over in the dark corner of the bar.

“This is so amazing!” and Frankie looked truly amazed. “Have a drink!”

“I can't, Frankie. I'm driving. I'm on my way out to Woody Spit.”

“Just one!” he said, “Bartender!”

“Fruit juice,” I called out, “Cranberry.”

“Spike it, Joe.”

“No, Really, Joe,” I said. “just the juice.” I sat down next to Frankie Dog and gave him my best comradely smile.

"This is so amazing," Frankie said again, but this time he looked at me hazily.

"I've got to talk to you Frankie. About Bonnie Bimbo."

"I love that woman, Jack!" And now Frankie looked near tears. "What am I going to do if she loses her job? I need to have her near me."

"She's not losing her job," I said to him firmly. "I've talked to Tobias Turtle. He's not firing either of you."

"Me?" Joe said, "He was never going to fire me! It was Bonnie!"

"You both broke the rules, Joe. You broke his 'no hanky-panky' rule. It's in your contract. Plus it looks like you got her pregnant, so everyone is going to know about it. Here's the deal. You can both keep working at the Egret Club but for the next three months you each get your pay docked twenty per cent for breaking your contract."

"That seems pretty harsh, Jack," And Frankie looked like he couldn't decide whether to cry or get mad.

"Your relationship with Bonnie is still on the new side. You don't want to rock the boat, Joe. Even getting drunk like this could get you in trouble with Bonnie. She's been cleaning up her act lately. Right now, while you're drinking, she's been doing aerobics. I just called her. She's OK with the pay cut." I let him look in his drink for a while. Meanwhile, I checked out all the seafaring paraphernalia on the walls. This bottom room just had the small bar and one little alcove, currently occupied by a couple of large Hens. I wondered why they bothered with such a small bar down here. Every level, going down, was smaller than the level above - always a sure sign that a Beastburg eaterie is really old.

Next to where Frankie sat was a hatch built into the wall. I could see a bit of the kitchen through the hole. Someone put a plate of food on the shelf in the hatch and the shelf started floating upwards, until I could see from the moving cable that it was a dumb waiter.

"What was that going up?" I asked the Beaver who was tending bar.

"Root stew," he said.

"It looks good. I'll have some."

It struck me that this Diving Bell pub had been around a very long time. Everything seemed genuinely old. Here I was down an old hole on the edge of Beastburg, near the Ferry Docks, but surrounded by big hotels and only half a mile from all the skyscrapers of the financial district. And yet this dingy establishment had somehow survived down the years, still a home for sad drunks and still cooking up Root Stew. Survived but not prospered. Over the years somehow the throbbing city growing all around it had got to this place and drained the personality out of it. There was deadness in the air and I had an urge to get out fast and drive to Woody Spit. As soon as I had my root stew.

"Here's your root stew," said the Beaver. It smelled pretty good.

"Where is she Jack?" said Joe, coming out of his trance.

"She's probably still at Bunnyhop."

"OK, Jack," and Joe gave me quite a serious look, "I'm going to play this your way. Maybe I'd better have a cup of coffee. A strong cup."