August 21, 2017:
Luke Cage and Clint Barton discuss life as a landlord in Harlem.
Luke's Bar
It could be any other bar in New York. It's rather unassuming, built into the corner of the ground floor of an aging brickwork building with apartments above.
A set of glass paned doors lead off the vestibule, opening up into a long and skinny main room that's taken up with a J-shaped bar, while small tables dot what little open floor there is. The left wall is compromised of multi-paned windows bifurcated by white metal blinds, blazed with the occasional neon sign sporting this beer or that booze. The bar itself has a draft station and pair of speed wells along with a myriad of multicolored bottles that are shelved against a mirrored wall. The bathrooms and access to the office and cellar are at the back.
Characters
NPCs: None.
Mentions:
Plot:
Mood Music: None.
Fade In…
The bar was closed earlier, not a big surprise as there was police commotion out in the street. Once it died down, a few regulars have shuffled back in and picked a favorite stool or place at a table and are drinking away their woes. Luke's behind the bar, plunging a pair of glasses into soapy water. For a dive bar, the place is perpetually clean and more importantly, the booze is never watered down.
*
Clint is not an old time regular. In fact, this might actually be the visit that tips him from 'guy who's come around a few times' to 'regular.' He doesn't have a favourite stool yet, so instead he picks the one that has the most stuffing still in it. He drops down into the seat and yawns so widely that his tonsils are on display.
*
”Long day." It's the sort of casual observation that comes almost automatically from the bartender as the glasses he's palming get rinsed and sterilized before they are put on a mat to dry. Luke snaps a bar towel out from his back pocket, using the white rag to dry off his ham-sized fists as he crosses in front of Clint. "What'll it be?" Not knowing the other man well enough to ask, 'the usual?' yet.
*
Clint starts to speak, but another yawn comes along. He holds a fist up to his mouth. "Sorry, sorry. Beer, beer me, please and thank you." He rubs the palm of his hand against his eyeball.
*
"Sure you wouldn't rather have some coffee?" But Luke isn't one to really press the issue, he's still a business man after all and it's a matter of waking the man up not cutting him off. He's not what one would consider a flashy bartender, so there aren't any fancy spinning of bottles or flipping of glasses. He just plucks up a glass and sets it under the tap and pulls the lever, "You've been in here a few times. Live close?"
*
”Dude, if I wanted coffee, I wouldn't come to a bar. I'm kind of a coffee snob. I've even had the cat poo coffee." Clint's eyebrows go up. He clenches his lips closed to stave off another yawn. "I do, yeah. Couple blocks away. I'm uh…I'm actually a landlord. That's why I'm yawning like an anaconda dislocating its jaw."
*
"Cat poo coffee." Luke levels a look at Clint like he's not just a snob about it, he's downright crazy. A coaster sporting the advertisement for one of his liquors is set down in front of the other man and his beer clunked on top. "What sort of landlord are you? The one that spends all night fixing a single mother's broken faucet? Or the kind that spends all night fixing a single mother's broken faucet?" The inflection on the second differentiates it into something something akin to innuendo.
*
"The one that isn't inappropriate," says Clint with a wry drawl. "I was up all night because one of my tenants was having a blow-out. He's headed off to school in Boston. I didn't have the heart to tell them to turn it down." He pulls the beer towards him and takes a gulp. He seems to perk up a little once he does.
*
Luke's grin spreads easily on his wide mouth, please with both halves of Clint's answer. "Sounds like it's time to invest in ear plugs. But I feel your pain. When the couple next door starts fighting, it's like Armageddon. Sometimes, they even make my windows shake. So look, just so you know the bar might be closed a few days. Roy'll run the place when he can when I'm gone the next week or so, but he can't keep it up himself. So don't go finding another dive bar in the meantime. Luke, by the way." Sure Clint might have heard his name around the bar before, but a direct introduction never hurt.
*
"Normally I'm more of a pain in the ass about it. There's people who work early. But everyone in the building knew it was Marc's last night." He swallows another mouthful and straightens. "No promises, man. I haven't been coming here long enough to put down roots." Then, "I'm Clint."
*
Luke offers his hand for a shake, "There. Now we know each other. It'll be harder for you to take your business elsewhere." The rag he's been toting around starts to make casual cleaning circles on the bar, keeping Luke's paws busy while they talk. "Harlem's never quiet, and someone's always sleeping for whatever god awful shift they have to pull. It's like you're that greek guy pushing a rock up a hill trying to stop it."
*
"Sisyphus," says Clint, almost as a reflex. When he shakes, he's got quite noticeable calluses. Could be because he's a handyman, but they're definitely not the hands of a man with an office job. "It's also a Herculean task to stop the building from falling down around us. You know how these old buildings are. Parts are built to last, other parts were built for cheap. Or fixed for cheap."
*
Even though Cage obviously has a blue collared job, one that requires lifting/toting/constant dishwashing, his hands are surprisingly smooth but his grip is strong and firm. "The sissy guy, yeah, that's the one. And the electricity in our building was definitely done by the lowest bidder but the steelwork is solid." So he nods in some sort of knowledge.
*
"The building's still standing, that's what's important." Clint's going through the pint pretty quickly, which is probably only going to make him sleepier. "You should hire some more people instead of closing up shop. I know lots of good kids who could use some work. Well…" he shrugs. "Not…actual kids."
*
"Yeah?" Luke's eyebrows creep up on his forehead, and he leans forward on his palms, "I'm could use some help here and there. Mopping, taking out the trash. Bar back sort of stuff. But, uh…" He rolls his lips into his mouth, rewetting them with an unseen tongue. "I only trust Roy with the keys, you understand. At least for now, and on short notice."
*
Clint holds both hands up and in front of him. "Naturally, naturally." He finishes off the rest of his beer. "I consider myself a good judge of character. These kids, they've been helping me around the building for a little off rent or a little pocket money. But I think they're ready for real jobs." He reaches into his wallet, then drops enough for the beer and a tip that is almost as much as the beer costs. He slides off the stool. "The place is called Everest Heights." The locals probably have more colourful names for it. It's a place that used to have a bad rep, but no one has said much about it lately. It was supposed to be sold and bulldozed, but then, that didn't happen. "I'll send a few over to chat with you."
*
Luke slides the money away, putting all of it in the till with a little happy 'ding' of the drawer as it opens. "Yeah, thanks. I'm here most of the time. Careful on the way home, we had some trouble around here earlier. Couple of punks went on a spree and then tied themselves up in the middle of the street and waited for cops to come." Something about that makes him smirk, amusement tinting his voice as he watches the landlord of Everest Heights head for the door.
*
"Tied themselves. Right," the wry note in Clint's voice suggests he knows exactly what Luke is referring to. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm pretty street smart." He lifts a hand in farewell. "See you later, man."