Last Order

by Teodor Mihalcea

It's quiet today, given the fact that I usually get over 100.000 tourists a day, there are other bars, but
mine is too quiet. And I've almost cleaned all the glasses. This usually happens when one of those difficult
to deal with clients is about to come in. The quiet before the storm, they say. I've been through too many
storms lately. I hope this will be the last, is what I say to myself whenever a case like this comes. But then,
it's never the last. F…
Alas, the storm came upon me. A door opening sound, the bell rings, and a middle-aged man is born
in my bar. He looks nothing like I've seen before. They usually are rapists, killers, the kind of monster you
find in your worst nightmares. The special one. But this one’s so calm, so innocent. I can't make myself
to wake him up.
I finish cleaning a glass of whiskey and I place it near the sleeping man's face. My hand slipped a
little so the glass hit the bar hard. The man opens his eyes, but does not move his head. He just looks at
the glass while I pour the whiskey. The way this man remains still, makes me wonder, a special client, and
he's so calm, so... Could he really be the last one? The glass fills.
The man raises his hand and with his index finger, he tilts the whiskey bottle stopping me from
pouring. I've poured too much. I put the bottle away. The man raises his head from the bar, grabs the glass
and drinks. Ugh, a big gulp. It's disgusting. He puts the glass down and starts massaging his forehead.
I don't understand how all the special cases hate my drinks, while everybody else that comes into
my bar loves it. I’ve tasted it and it's the best you can drink. But only the special cases hate it. I have two
separate bottles for them, the special bottles, but is the same stuff. It's just supposed to make them act
naturally, to show their real side. I never tasted them myself, these special bottles, I can access them only
when they're here. The man puts the glass down on the bar again, he just took another sip, again disgusted.
“Too strong.”
“We also have vodka.”
The idea displeases him.
“No. I'm thirsty.”
I push the whiskey glass closer to him, but he stops me middle way. I need him to drink more, to
open up for me to read.
 “I said I'm thirsty, give me water, soda, something, not this poison.”
“I don't have something else. Only these two bottles.”
He's very displeased. This is going to be harder than I thought, I can't read him, I’m getting mixed
signals. He checks his surroundings, analyses the bar. There's nothing to see other than me, the bar, the
chairs and a table. He turns back to me, and makes a signal that he wants a cigarette. I pull one out and
give it to him, light it up, and then light one up for myself. Then I place an ashtray between us.
“Where are we?
“In a bar.”
“Where is this bar?”
“I can't answer that question, sorry.”
“What kind of bar is this then? If you can't offer me something to quench my thirst…it's no wonder
you have no clients.”
“Clients are, but you are a special one. When I get one of those, the bar is…we won't be interrupted,
hopefully.
“Interrupted from what?”
“Talking.”
“And if I don't want to talk?”
“It would be a very, very long, and quiet, eternity.”
“Yes, or I can leave.”
“You can, try...”
The man gets up from the bar and walks to the door. He opens the door and freezes. I just love when
I see this, the one of the few fun parts of my job. He’s terrified, and wide awake. It's clear, I can see his
face, and he can see mine. Because that's what it is on the other side of the door, me and my bar. The man
closes the door and comes back. That's good, the illusion would’ve broken if he had come to me through
the door. And it’s too soon for him to go now. I haven't decided yet.
“Alright, let's talk. Who are you?”
“I'm a bartender, the bartender of this bar. My bar.”
“Oh, your bar, and you are a bartender here. That doesn't answer my question at all.”
So this is going poorly. I guess I have to take it all in. I need an advantage. I hate this part.
“My name is…not important, everybody calls me bartender, what's your name?”
“Salvador.”
I reach out with my hand to shake his. He shakes my hand. His memories pour all through our
connection, to me. Now I have it, but I guess, is not all, but is enough to start this conversation.
“Look, Salvador…”
“People call me Sal.”
“Sal, let me help you start this conversation. I'm going to answer a question for you.”
 “Ok.”
The door opens, and an old man comes in the bar. He sits down at the table and waits. Really a bad
night huh? For all the other bars to be overcrowded…some another catastrophe I guess. I’ll have to take
then.
“What should I get you sir?”
“Beer.”
“Right away.”
I get a beer from under the bar and open it, then I deliver it to the table in an instant. The old man
looks at the beer and nods.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He takes a sip.
“Ahhh!”
He's pleased, it tastes good. I look back at Sal. Sal looks at me with a displeased face. He tastes again
from the whiskey. The face he makes, he doesn't like it at all. The boat came, I already made a decision.
The old man lived a good life, he lived a full life. It was all in the exclamation. ‘Ahhh!’
“Sir, the boat is waiting for you.”
The man takes another sip from the beer, leaves it on the counter and leaves the bar through the door
he entered. I should answer Sal's question.
“Serial killer.”
Sal's face changed. He is not scared, or panicked, but confused, like an innocent receiving a death
sentence. Why am I getting this signals, that he's innocent? Why do I get them from these difficult clients?
And some of them really were innocent…
“Excuse me?”
“I answered your question.”
“What question?”
“Why are you here.”
“I don't understand.”
“You like games right? You are, a big gambler.”
“Yes.”
“Let's play a game then. I ask a question and you answer, you can only say the truth. I can tell when
you're lying. And then you can ask me a question, and I answer. I always tell the truth. And you can tell.
Sounds good?”
“So what's in it for me? Every game has its stakes, risks. What do I win, what do I loose?”
“I know you like stakes, so, if you win, you win everlasting happiness, but if you loose, you loose
everything.”
 “That doesn't sound vague at all. But what do you loose?”
“I have my own stakes.”
“That's not fair.”
“My bar, my rules. It doesn't have to be fair.”
“So I ask a question.”
“No, I already answered a question for you. Now I ask you a question. Do you remember how you
got here?”
“No. I was… I don't remember how I got here.”
“Your turn.”
Sal's looking at me, he is thinking to ask me how he got here.
“What stops me from leaving this bar?”
“If you leave, you'll pay with your own existence.”
“That doesn't sound good.”
“No it doesn’t.”
I see he has an idea about what's going on, but he can't find it out until he remembers his last moments
before coming here, that's the beauty of this place. My bar, my rules.
“From your point of view, have you lived a fulfilling life, until now?”
“Yes.”
“Your turn.”
“Aren't you going to contradict me? Tell me that I lied or...”
“You said the truth. My turn.”
“Wait, I haven't asked my question.”
“Of course you did. And I answered it.”
“This is impossible…”
“Why did you refuse to kill your killer?”
“Why, did I refuse to, kill, my killer? What does this even mean?”
“Answer the question please. Why did you spared your killer?”
“My killer.”
Sal's face shows that he's realizing the difficult situation he’s in. He takes a sip from the whiskey. It
tastes awful but he already had an even more awful taste in his mouth.
“I'm dead?”
“I cannot answer you until it's your turn to ask. So answer mine first.”
“I'm dead. I remember. I remember how I got here. I didn't stop, my killer.”
 “Why?”
“I couldn't.”
“Yes you could. You had the possibility. You could've killed him. Why didn't you?”
“Because I'm not a killer. How could I kill somebody?”
“Simple, like you did, kill, all those other people.”
“I haven't killed anybody…”
“Have you ever killed in your life?”
“No!”
Strange. He's telling the truth. What is happening? Weren't those his memories? No. It's him, it's his
memories. He killed them. But…
“Why am I here?”
“Because you're dead, and you cannot enter heaven, or hell, until I decide.”
“You are deciding if...”
“What have you felt when you killed all those people?”
“I haven't killed anybody. I am not a killer, not a serial killer. I don't kill!”
“But they're dead. You took they're lives. They've been through my bar, and they were all bearing
the killer's mark. Your mark.”
“I never killed anybody. I feel pain already. Felt. I couldn't inflict more pain. I just wanted to help
myself, stop myself from feeling this pain. So I saved everybody I met on my way. I helped them. Stopped
their pain, their suffering. Yes. I saved them. So that, one day, they could save me too.”
I see truth. Only truth is coming out of his mouth. I see it, clear as never, the whitest words ever,
untainted, pure.
“We'll come back to this question later. Your turn.”
“Am I going to hell?”
“Not yet, I haven't decided. Where do you deserve to go, hell, or heaven?”
“I…don't know.”
“You are a killer, and you believed you saved all those people, but you don't know where you deserve
to go.”
“No.”
Sal is making a pause. Too much information for him. He drinks from the glass, again is disgusted
but he doesn't stop. He's poisoning himself. Damn, this really will be hard, now I see remorse.
“What is happening?”
“Let's take a pause from the game, from you. I'll explain some things.”
“Thank you.”
 “This, as you’ve already figured, is the place where people come after they've died. Most of them,
leave instantly for their decided destination, or wait for the boat to come back. You see, they already know
where they deserve to go, conscience and all, it cannot lie. So the boat takes them, to heaven, or hell. The
boat can take only one person so the bar gets crowded pretty fast. I decide where they go as I see them
come inside the bar, I read their conscience, and it’s obvious where they deserve to go, they are believing
themselves so. It's their conscience, even the most vile criminal has it, and knows deep inside where he or
she deserves to go. So I just serve them with something to drink while they wait for the boat, while I look
around their memories, their lives, just to do a double-check. Sometimes, and this happens once in a few
decades, but sometimes I get a special case. Like yours. Where I can only read conflicts and uncertainty.
So I take them, get all their past through a touch, usually a handshake, and discuss with them until I can
make my mind. And I can make a decision. In these cases, only I can decide what happens, whatever they
truly believe. These cases are hard, because they also affect me. I'm…I'm also a gambler, like you, and
more of a killer than you've been. I was a promoter for this bar before being a bartender, I brought people
here. Let's put it simply, I was death. And then I was promoted to the role of the bartender. And my boss,
made a bet with me. If I make a good decision, a right decision, in a special case, just like yours. I get to
join that person, on the boat. Being heaven, or hell. But I’ll be left off in heaven. But I never made one, so
I wait for that special case, that I can finally send to the right destination.”
“So, if you make a good decision, and that person goes to heaven, or hell, and you’re right, you are
free, and in heaven?”
“Yes. But I've worked here for centuries, and I had a few over a hundred special cases. And I haven't
met that person yet. Or I sent that person to hell. Never sent one to heaven…”
“A few over a hundred…people and all went to hell, and didn't deserved it.”
“Yes. Is God's land, I can't send someone that doesn't deserve there.”
He's scared. He has no idea how scared I am. The last bartender, sent a very bad person to heaven,
he got fooled by his act. And then he ceased to exist. That's why I haven't sent any of the special clients to
heaven. And I think I never will…
“And the decision, regarding, where do I go?”
“I haven't taken it yet. But I'm close. One last question actually.”
“Ok.”
“What have you felt, when you…saved those people?”
“I… Nothing. I don't know. It was too much. There wasn't a sensation, nor a feeling. Nothing. But
after, I felt good, I felt happy, I felt full,”
“Ok. The boat is waiting for you.”
“The decision?”
“You'll see. Sorry.”
Salvador get's up from the chair and leaves. The bar is empty. I should get ready. It will get busy
any minute now. But. I feel like, the decision is not right. I've felt that a few times before, is hard living
with that. And there's no client coming in. The bar should be full by now. The boat hasn’t left either.
I'm overthinking it. Maybe another storm is coming. Maybe it always took this long for the boat to
leave and I just didn't realized it until now. Or maybe the storm hasn’t left yet. I take the glass that Sal
drank from to clean it. I take a sip. It's awful. My drinks never taste like this. This is for the special cases,
I look for the bottle but is already gone. I thought they were suffering, that the drink only got the worst out
of them. But, this kind of drink, it feels like it puts the worse in you. He wasn't suffering, none of them
were suffering. I've played a rigged game, all this time. How could I win, against God? How many of them
deserved to go to hell? None…?
Clients start coming in the bar. But I run outside. The boat is leaving. I get in the water and start
running to the boat and jump in it. Sal gets shocked by seeing me.
“What are you feeling now?!”
“Now?”
“For those people you saved! What are you feeling now?!”
“I…happiness. They are not suffering anymore, I'm not suffering anymore. I feel happy.”
I quit. What happens, happens. We set sail to heaven, and we’ll see there.
“Good… Good answer.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I'm joining you.”

THE END