“I don’t think I have,” she replied, pouring him another glass. 

“Pour one for yourself, too.  Put it on my tab.”

She reached down under the bar and produced another glass.  She poured a measure for herself and left it sitting on the bar between them.

“It sucks sometimes.”   He paused.  “I mean, sure, sometimes it’s great… anonymity… you can do whatever you want, and nobody knows.  But other times, it would be nice to get a little credit, you know?”

“I guess I can see that.  Someone at work steal your thunder?” she asked. 

“My wife.  She didn’t steal any of my thunder, though.  She made her own.  My thunder is silent, so everyone thinks all the lightning is from her.”

“That’s kind of cryptic, Mr…” she said, fishing for a name. 

“Dixon, Jack Dixon.”  He put his hand out over the bar to shake hers.

“Lori Taylor,” she said, taking his hand.  She noted how soft it was, but he also had a firm grip.  “Do you have a ride home, Mr. Dixon?”

“Not yet, Miss Taylor… but I promise not to drive.”

Jack picked up the glass and swallowed its contents again.  He enjoyed the single malt as it burned a path down his throat.  He looked down at the glass, but the bartender didn’t move to refill it. 

As he picked up his, she moved to pick up the glass in front of her.  She swirled the liquid for a moment, enjoying the aroma.  She picked up the spices, and a hint of orange.  She swallowed her drink.  It’s smooth and woody, she thought. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dixon.  That is a very fine whiskey.  I don’t really think you need anymore, though.  I might recommend some water, instead,” she said as she put a bottle of water in front of him.  It was almost closing time.

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folio.  He slipped the black credit card from a slot in the folio and set it down on the bar.  Lori scooped it up and went to run it through the machine.  A moment later, as Jack finished off the bottle of water, she set the guest check in front of him.  He quickly signed before she could walk away, the cheap pen flying across the page.  He added a tip and folded her copy and slipped it back across the bar.  His copy and his card went back into his folio and into the pocket. 

“Are you going to be ok, Mr. Dixon?” she asked, not looking at the paper as she slipped it into the pocket of her apron. 

“I think so, Miss Taylor.  Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Lori slipped the merchant copy from her apron to close out the ticket.  It was closing time and she had a few minutes while the bar cleared.  She glanced down at the ticket. 

6   Balb25   $50    $300

Tip                    $10,000

Total                $10,300

She hadn’t been paying attention when she rang it in.  She knew that the Balblair 25 was a high-quality whiskey, but fifty dollars for a glass.  That surprised her.  She liked it but couldn’t imagine spending that much for a few ounces of whiskey.

Then she looked at the tip again.  She had thought it was a hundred until she started punching it in.  Surely that’s wrong, she thought to herself.  She turned to look, but the bar was empty of its patrons, only a few staff remaining. 

“Hey, Andy, did you see where the guy at the bar went?” she called out. 

“Out the door, Lori… I don’t care after that,” came his brusque reply. 

She finished her closing duties and grabbed her purse to leave.  She stepped out the back door and into the small parking lot next to the building.  As she walked toward her aging Nissan Sentra, she saw a man leaning against the lowest, meanest, blackest car she’d ever seen. 

“Mr. Dixon?” she said tentatively. 

“Hi, Miss Taylor.  It seems I don’t have my mobile phone.”

“It’s quarter after two, not many people would answer anyway” she smiled.  “Do you need a ride?”  As the words came out of her mouth, she wondered to herself why she would offer this man she didn’t know, a ride home. 

“If it isn’t too much trouble.  You can drive my car if you want,” he said, slurring.

She shook her head for a moment.  She knew she was about to accept, but she didn’t know why.  Normally, she did everything she could to remain anonymous herself.  She didn’t want her customers to know her.  She wanted to do her job, collect her tips, and leave. 

“Sure,” she said as he scissored the driver’s side door up.