A thin trail of smoke tickles doogle’s eyelashes as he squints at his glass of whiskey. He studies the ring on his right hand for a long moment before inhaling and exhaling deeply. Thoughts race inside his mind as he searches for the words to express his emotions. He ashes his cigar on the floor beside his VIP booth as he looks towards the piano player on the stage…

Thanks for meeting me here.

Jim Howe observes the concern shown by doogle’s brow. Jim motions for another whiskey for the two of them. Silently, he sits as a friend, not as an enforcer of the law.

It’s a funny thing Jim. No one else to shoot the shit with but a fuckin’ cop…what’s this world coming to? Their eyes meet from across the table.

I’m not a God damned cop doogle…I’m a narcotics agent. Big difference.

doogle ignores his comment as he listens to the sweet melodies dance in his ears. He always loved this place. His father would bring him here, against the owners will of course. He remembered his old man telling him stories of great leaders, bad blood and deceit. It fascinated him.

He nearly tears up while he wishes he was here today to pull him through this inner struggle. Jim breaks his thoughts by opening his fat mouth.

What’s on your mind, friend? …Silence... Cmon, we’ve been buds since we were young boys. You and my father were great friends, and it carried over to us. Hey, here’s to solid friendships… Jim and doogle shoot their whiskey as silence returns between them.

Relationships are all we have in this world, doogle. Without solid relationships, what do we have? Not a damn thing I tell you. Jim shakes his head as he looks towards the man playing piano on stage.

That’s what bothers me, Jim.

doogle rises from the table and heads towards the exit. He grabs his coat from the rack and never looks back. Jim Howe remains seated at the table, once again stuck with the bill.