The clock on the far wall said that it was 9:59. Ginny Smith, the bartender on duty at The Cedar Post that evening, knew that the clock was wrong. It had been wrong since daylight savings time had gone into effect, and that was almost two weeks ago. A number of her customers had commented on it, but only rarely did they suggest that it be reset to the right time. Instead, the fact that the clock was an hour behind usually prompted a remark to the effect that the night was still young, that there was time for another round. In face, that was what Bill Grandy said when Ginny said it was time to pay up. “Think I’ll have one more for the road. How about you, Gus?” Ginny didn’t give Gus an opportunity to say yes or no. “You’re one of the clever ones, aren’t you?” she said to Grandy. She said it with a smile, letting them know that she was onto their game. “But I’ve got another whole hour,” Grandy complained, even if his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m sure you have, and it’ll give you plenty of time to get yourself home. Here’s your tab.” Bill Grandy fished in his pocket for his wallet and produced a couple of bills. “Keep the change,” he said with a wink. It had been a relatively quiet evening. With one exception, all of the orders had been for beer or vodka and a mixer. Ginny felt no need to take inventory of her tips. They would be modest. “Drive carefully.” It was what she said every night as she saw her ‘night hawks’ out to the parking lot. Grandy and Hawkins were at the door when a man in a navy blue parka pushed past them into the bar. Ginny intercepted him. “Hi, Eddie. I’m sorry, we’re closed. She had no trouble recognizing the man who had come into the bar as she was getting ready to close up for the night. He was Eddie French, someone she saw frequently because he drove a truck that regularly supplied The Cedar Post kitchen with bread and rolls. Perhaps he had come for a nightcap. If so, he was late by about five minutes. “I don’t want a drink,” he said. He looked around the room, taking in the two laggards who had stopped to see how Ginny would handle the situation. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve changed my mind. Let me have some of that green stuff.” He pointed to a seldom used bottle of creme de menth. “We can’t do this, Eddie. I don’t set the hours, but we have to close at eleven. Maybe tomorrow.” Eddie French started to get up, then sat back down. Slowly. As he resumed his seas, he reached into his coat pocket and produced a gun. “I want you to open that cash register, Ginny. And I want you to give me the money’s that there. Just do it fast like, and then I’ll leave.”
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“Eddie, what do you think you’re doing? Please put that gun away. You don’t want to do this.” The two men on their way to the parking lot stopped in their tracks. The wall clock could actually be heard ticking. It read 10:07. “I need the money. Please give it to me.” “Let me have the gun, Eddie. You’ll only regret this. We’ve known each other for a long time, and this isn’t you. So come on, give me the gun.” “But I’ve got to have the money. I’m in a terrible bind - you know that. It’s the kids.” The gun remained pointed at the bartender. “I do know, and I’m really sorry. But this isn’t the way to take care of your problem. Let me have the gun.” “I’m way to far behind in my child support,” he said, his voice reflecting his distress. “What am I supposed to do?” “You’re supposed to give me the gun.” Ginny moved slowly toward him, reaching out across the bar. “Then we can talk about it.” The men at the door, apparently emboldened by Ginny’s quiet confidence, hadn’t moved. “I think it’s time to go,” Ginny said to Grandy and Hawkins. “I need to talk to this gentleman.” They got the message and left, closing the door quietly behind them. “Now let’s talk. But first, the gun.” French laid his gun on the bar and put his head down. He was crying. Ginny picked up her tip jar and came around to where Eddie was sitting and took a seat on the adjacent bar stool. “I’m sure you’d never have come in like you did tonight if you weren’t feeling desperate. I suppose we’ve all been there one time or another. Want to talk about it?” He raised his head and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes were red. She tried to coax him to share his worries, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to work. “This won’t be much,” she said, “but maybe it’ll help a little.” She emptied the tip jar onto the bar and pushed the money over to Eddie. “I have no idea how much there is, but you can have it.” Eddie stared at it for a moment, gave Ginny a wan smile, and scooped it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Are you going to tell?” he asked as he got up from his stool. “I don’t plan to say anything, but those other guys saw what you did. There’s a good chance somebody from the sheriff’s office will be paying you a visit. I promise to put in a good word for you.” Eddie paused at the door and appeared to offer Ginny a silent thank you. “Drive carefully,” she said.
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