At the very back of the bar, in a dark corner, stands a solitary table where two figures move in the shadows.
I smile to myself. How on earth did I manage to overlook those two?
One of them wears an old-fashioned white pinstripe suit with brown stripes, a brown shirt, and a white tie. His thin face is adorned with a mustache, giving him a well-groomed, elegant appearance. His hair is cut short, slicked back, and somewhere between silver and white. A heavy signet ring practically glows on one of his fingers.
Look at me. I'm somebody, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it.
Well, whatever floats your boat, I think.
He looks at me with an almost fatherly expression, which I personally find rather inappropriate.
With a friendly gesture, he invites me to join them at their table. I wouldn't be surprised if he stood up and announced, "The name's Al. Al Capone."
The other man beside him seems to be his complete opposite. All I can see is his back. He's wearing a light blue hoodie with the hood pulled over his head. His entire appearance suggests someone who is deliberately trying not to attract attention and, for that very reason, manages to attract it anyway.
Even as I approach, he doesn't turn around.
The hood hangs so low over his face that I can't make out a thing.
The man in the white suit raises a hand and smiles.
"Come sit with us. We've been expecting you."
I hesitate. Well, isn't that interesting, I think, briefly considering a polite refusal.
But something that could be described as fascination, or perhaps more accurately, curiosity, persuades me to take a seat.
I pick up my glass from the bar and walk over to them.
"Thanks for the drink." I would have preferred a simple cold beer, but I'm naturally polite and reserved.
"My pleasure."
The man gestures toward the only empty chair at the table, and I sit down.
One table, three chairs, three men, and a game of Skat. That's about all I can make of the situation at the moment.
The man in the hoodie still hasn't moved.
"Enjoy your drink," Al says calmly.
"It's the last one you'll ever have."
I stare at my glass. Maybe I really should have ordered a beer, I think, forcing a smile.
"Okay... that was a bad joke."
"Oh, I wasn't joking."
I catch a glint in his eyes.
He means every word.