The Barkeep stories take place in a tavern that simultaneously occupies space in our world and well, every other possible world; kind of a combination between MacAnally’s in the Harry Dresden books and Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon. The mysterious owner insists he’s just a humble barkeep but somehow knows what each of his customers really need. Who wouldn’t want to hang out in a place where the next person to arrive can be either your accountant or a scarred, magical hero out of legend? Click here for more Barkeep stories

House Top

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I waved a hand to encompass the chaos that enveloped my usually sedate establishment. “Christmas Eve is always busy. I mean, look at this place.”

“He says you’re the only only one who can do it,” the blond shot back. “Do you want to disappoint all those children?”

I shrugged. “Sorry.”

“How about I wait for a bit and see if things slow down?”

“Suit yourself.”

I turned to greet a guy sliding into the next seat over. He took in the blond’s trim backside and luscious hair, so pale it reflected the red and green lights that twinkled from the ceiling

“What can I get you?”

He gestured to the blond. “The lady was here first.”

“Thanks, I’m good,” the blond replied in a rich bass that wouldn’t have been out of place in a “Messiah” singalong. 

The guy’s eyes widened.

“Geez,” he sputtered, “I am so sorry…”

“No problem,” the blond replied. He adjusted his pointed cap, shot the furred cuffs of his Lincoln-green jacket and tucked his hair behind one ear. This revealed a neat goatee only a few shades darker than the hair on his head and combed to a point in the exact center of his chin. But it was the point on his ear that made the man’s jaw drop even farther.

“I… I,” the man stuttered.

“You do that on purpose, Karl.”

“It is not my fault your customers aren’t used to seeing little people,” he sniffed. “Besides, my girlfriend digs the look. It reminds her of the guy from the movie.”

“You just like to talk about how the director got the idea of casting him after seeing you in here.”

“Pul-lease! Not that story again.” Natalie, my second-best server, set down a tray full of dirty glasses on the bar with a glassy rattle. 

I shrugged. “There are no old stories, only old audiences. Waddaya need?”

“Eleven vodkas, on the rocks” she replied. “Doubles. Three olives each.”

“That’s… orderly.”

She jerked her head toward a table full of men. At first glance, there was nothing notable about the group, they could have been any bunch of guys having a drink after work or basketball league. But when you subtracted beards, mustaches, and a couple of hats, not to mention a truly riotous assortment of holiday sweaters, you noticed that they each sported exactly the same face.

“That’s not something you see every day,” I observed, setting up a row of glasses on the rail and sloshing ice into each. “Isn’t it a lot like talking to yourself?”

“They get together every year,” she sighed. “Each of them claims to have a pickup line that worked on me in their home timeline. It’s kind of a contest.”

I pointed to a yellowed sign tacked up at the end of the bar.

House Rules

“I keep telling you we can add ‘No Hitting on the Servers.’” As I spoke, the number fourteen appeared expectantly at the bottom of the list.

“No, it’s okay,” she replied. “They’re harmless. Besides, the one with the mustache is kind of cute.”

The number disappeared with a soft pop that somehow managed to convey disappointment. Natalie helped me spear the drinks with what ended up being nearly an entire jar’s worth of olives before making her way back to the table. 

As near as I could figure, at least three of the men had mustaches. But, if I understood women maybe I’d have fewer ex-wives spread across this (and some other) planes.

I slid a small bowl of bar mix toward the guy, who managed to pull himself together enough to order an Old-Fashioned. Karl continued to stare at me.

“C’mon,” I said, waving a hand. “It’s a madhouse. I can’t leave.”

“It’s not that busy.” He gestured to where Natalie was passing out the vodkas. “That table only has one guy.”

“Funny.”

“He said not to come back without you.”

I shrugged.

“He’s not gonna be happy. Do you want to get on his list?”

“Better that than to be late with this lady’s cosmos,” I replied. “I definitely don’t want to get on her list.” 

The woman at the end of the bar swept her cape over one shoulder and threw her arms around another woman who had just arrived. The newcomer pushed a pointy-eared cowl to the top of her head before kissing her friend on the cheek. They smiled as I poured their martinis from the shaker. When I returned, the small man was still there.

“I told you. I can’t leave right now.”

“Don’t tell me. Tell him.”

I looked up as the door opened.

A hush fell on the bar just like in a western when the sheriff shows up.

“Ho, ho, ho,” said the figure silhouetted in the doorway.

As he chortled, the black belt strapped across his red jacket shook like— well, you know. He surveyed the room as snow particles swirled around his beefy frame, rubbed a hand through his beard, then stomped the snow from his boots. One hand was slung over his shoulder, securing a pack slung on his back.

For a man of his bulk, he was light on his feet, threading his way easily through the haphazard arrangement of tables before reaching the bar. The elf slid to the side, allowing his boss to plant himself in front of me.

“So, Karl says you’re too busy to help tonight,” he said without preamble.

“Like I told Karl,” I said, giving him some side eye, “I can’t leave. You know how it gets this close to the holidays.”

“Don’t tell me about your busy schedule, son. I wrote that book.”

I poured a double bourbon and slid it over to him. I knew better than to offer him milk. He downed it and motioned for a refill. I took care of him, then checked on the super ladies.

Old Fashioned Guy watched me and the big man with the expression I see on a lot of mundanes who wander into my place. It’s in the middle ground somewhere between I must have heard that wrong and Oh God, I’m having a stroke. 

He turned to Karl and whispered, “Um, is he who I think he is?”

“Depends on how hard you believe,” Karl replied.

Meanwhile, even though my back was turned, I could feel the big man’s eyes boring a hole in the back of my neck. I turned round to face him.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “You can’t guilt me. I’ve got a business to run.”

“I know,” he said mildly. “But you haven’t even given me a chance to ask my question.”

“Yes, I’ve been a good boy.”

“Not that question. What I wanted to ask was, since you aren’t available, do you know anyone else who could entertain at the KidsKount party tonight? It’s just for an hour, ninety minutes, tops.”

“Wait,” whispered Old Fashioned Guy. “That’s what this is about? Helping out at a charity party?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the big man, “Did I not introduce myself? I’m Nicholas.”

“Of course you are,” muttered OFG.

“… Jim Nicholas,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard, “Holidays Unlimited. Costume and party entertainment.” 

He stuck out a meaty paw which the other man shook dazedly.

“Most of the time I’m at my desk, dispatching Disney princesses to kids’ birthdays. But this time of year, there is one role for which I am uniquely qualified.” 

He patted his belly. “But even when I add myself to the roster, this close to the holiday we get low on talent and have to call in the reserves.”

“I don’t recall enlisting,” I muttered.

“Don’t pout,” the big man admonished.

“Every Santa we have is booked tonight,” Karl put in. “Chet was all set to work KidsKount, but he’s not feeling good and doesn’t want any of the families to get sick. On short notice like this, there’s a limited number of guys who fit the suit.”

Obviously, time to get serious about that diet.

“Well?” Nicholas asked with just a hint of impatience. There’s a gym-full of families over at the school and no Santa.”

I started to object again when I was interrupted.

“Go.” Natalie said. She waved a hand toward her table of duplicates. “And if I need help, one of them used to be a bartender. Or maybe all them did. It’s hard to keep track.”

“Fine,” I held up my hands in surrender. “But ninety minutes, then I’m back here. I’m holding you to that.”

“Great!” said the big man. “There’s an outfit and bag in your office. Suit up.”

“My office is supposed to be locked.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who put the fireplace in. Now, Karl and I have some more stops to make. Ask for Angela when you get there. She’s expecting you.” He heaved himself to his feet and motioned to Karl.

I surveyed the bar one more time and decided it probably could get along without me for an hour or so. And the big man was right about the families at KidsKount. They deserved some Christmas.

“You know,” OFG said to Natalie, “for just a second there, I thought he was the real thing.”

“Closest any of us will ever see,” she said. “He spends his whole year getting ready and then runs all over making kids happy.”

“I guess,” OFG replied.

Nicholas stopped, motioning Karl to go on ahead and turned back toward the bar.

“Mark,” he said to OFG, “You can save me a trip. Here.” He swung his bag off his shoulder and plopped it down on the stool he had just vacated.

“Wait, what?”

“Boss, we gotta go,” called Karl.

“You’re a life saver,” Nicholas said. 

He touched a finger to the side of his nose and bustled out, leaving OFG/Mark to stare at the bag sitting next to his stool.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He peered inside. “Wait a second…” 

Mark set his drink down and pulled out a gaily wrapped package. Hanging from one corner was a gift tag that read “Katrina” in red and green letters.

“Katrina’s my daughter,” he murmured. He drew out another, smaller box. “Siemens Jewelers? I was just going to go over there.”

“Looks like he saved you a trip,” I observed.

“But how…”

“Hey, we all help Santa however we can,” 

Even if it’s just because we fit the suit, I thought, then had to laugh.

And of course, it was in spite of myself.