Chapter Two - Barney Lynch is Dead

The bar fell silent in a moment, the words ringing off of the dusty boards that made up the wall. An empty class touched a table and the clink of a few cubes of dirty ice filled the air that a moment ago had been busy with the noises of the late-shift workers catching a couple of beers before they went into their jobs.

Charles' arm went up to his mouth and wiped a few stray drops off of his moustache. He slowly put his half-full bottle down on the table in front of him and stood up. "How?"

"I don't know, Chuck. I just heard he died."

"It might just be a rumor, James. It might just be another stupid rumor coming out of the mid-day shift. He was probably just injured and it got exaggerated is all. It doesn't make any sense for him to die. He's been around way too long, way too long."

Jim sighed and walked up to the bar. He put his hands down wide and leaned against them, his head hanging. "I don't know. I've got a source, though. It's a source I trust. I don't think they'd lie to me and they saw it and said he was dead."

"Who's your source?"

"He doesn't want me to say."

Charles scoffed. He spit on the floor and walked up behind Jim, a few of his friends standing and coming with him. "Why the hell not? Who starts a rumor like that and won't come out in the open and say it? That's bullshit, Jim. That's bullshit."

Jim whirled around. "Look, Chuck, DFM isn't going to be happy 'bout this either way and I don't thing they'd like it known this early! I understand why he doesn't want them to know he's the one that leaked this. I wouldn't want them to know if I worked there. I wouldn't."

"'Course you wouldn't, Jim. You're a coward."

"I'd be a coward if I told you who told me. You know that."

Their eyes locked a moment. Just a moment. The men behind Charles shuffled nervously.

"I guess you would be, Jim." Charles moved forward next to Jim at the bar and his friends went back to their table. "You look jittery. Real jittery. You need a drink?"

"You know I don't drink Chuck."

"That's probably why you need one."

"I just came in here to tell you guys what I heard. You'll probably find out about it again later but you're his friends and I thought you deserved to know."

"I 'appreciate it. I really do. Take care of yourself, Jim."

Jim walked towards the bar door and opened it slowly. He turned at the last second and looked into the dimly lit room. "Guys. I don't think it'd be looked too kindly on if DFM heard I was spreadin' this around. Can we keep it between us?"

"Yes, Jim," Chuck said, "I think we can handle that."

Jim walked out. The bar remained silent with his absence except for the sound of glass against teeth. A small man looked over at Charles.

"Chuck, you think he's really dead? I mean, you know Jim better'n the rest of us. You think he's tellin' the truth?"

"Yeah, Mark. Yeah. Jim ain't never lied to me before and I don't think he'd start now. 'Course, he might have been lied to. It's been known to happen but he was deadly serious. Deadly serious. I imagine it's best to trust him in this case."

"Well, Chuck… What should we do? What do you think we should do?"

Charles straightened himself out and turned from the bar. He looked at the twenty or thirty people in the room. "How many of us knew Barns?" A few of the people in the bar murmured quiet consent. Charles said louder, "I said how many of us knew Barns?" A small chorus of "I did"s rose, and a few with additions, the occasional "I knew him at work," or "I went to church with him," or "I knew his mam."

Chuck walked to the middle of the room. "Well I reckon we ought to take a collection for his old lady and kids, right? Make 'em some kind of gift show we're here for her with her husband dead. Don't have to be big. Just whatever you've got. She'd appreciate it and I'd appreciate it." There was a touch of menace in the way he said the word "appreciate."

The room filled with a light rustle as twenty men reached for their wallets.

An old pickled egg jar was pulled out from behind the bar, rinsed out quickly, and passed around. A few men put in a couple of dollars; one less beer for them. Some put in pocket change, catching glares as the tinkle of quarters and nickels on glass echoed off of the walls. Most of them proceeded to put a twenty dollar bill in bashfully. The jar went around the room until it went to Charles, who took out a small wad of twenties and slowly counted out five of them, putting them in the jar.

"Alright guys," said Charles, "I think we oughtta be able to at least help her out with this. Just to show we're thinkin' of her."

A quiet chorus of consent started and then stopped as the door creaked open. Sylvia Lynch walked into the room. Suddenly everyone was dutifully examining their glasses and bottles. Only Charles walked up to her, still carrying the jar.

"Hey Chuck," she said, "What's that for, the little league team?"

"Sylvia, I'm so sorry."

"Why? I ain't got no kids. Don't bother me if the little league team doesn't have enough money for new bats. But I'll chuck in a couple bucks anyways; can't hurt the little bastards none. Barney here yet?"

If looks could shatter glass there wouldn't have been a clean table in the bar.

"Sylvia," said Chuck, "I'm so, so sorry."

Her smile became brittle and dangerous. "What are you talking about Chuck? I asked if Barney was here yet. His shift's up and he should be in soon, right? Speakin' of which, Mark, your shift started five minutes ago. Shouldn't you be out of here?"

Mark jumped up from his seat. "Yeah, yeah I should. Bye, Chuck. Good luck." He left the bar as quickly as he could, slamming the door behind him.

"He was sure in a hurry to get out of here, wasn't he, Chuck? You got something to tell me?"

"Sylvia…"

"Just tell me."

"Sylvia, Barney's dead."

Every muscle in her face twitched at once. "That ain't possible Chuck. I don't know who's been leadin' you on, but that ain't possible."

"Sylvia, I'm so sorry. We took up a collection. To help you out."

"Give the money back, Chuck, ain't no way Barney's dead."

"I know it's hard, I know you don't want to believe it. I've seen it before. He worked a dangerous job an' all of us here loved him like a brother. I know money can't make it any easier but it'll at least help keep you afloat until you've recovered a bit."

"Chuck, give the God damned money back to these poor men, I saw Barney on the way over here."

"What?"

She sighed and sat on one of the stools at the bar. "Yeah, I saw Barney walkin' over here from the plant. He didn't look dead to me, fit as a fiddle, but he didn't seem to be happy to see me drivin' past. I figured it'd be best to get over here before he got here and made a damn fool out of himself. Drunk if I can recognize it. Who in the hell told you that good for nothin' husband of mine was dead?"

"Jim did."

"Jim's a filthy little liar and you know it. You an' Barney grew up with the skeezy little rodent, I'd think you'd no better. Joe, give me a beer, why don't you? Seeing as how I'm a grieving widow now."

The tension in the bar broke suddenly. A few laughs were heard, and a whole lot of angry mutters, the word Jim being paired with an assortment of violent verbs. Chuck looked at Joe, the bartender, and said, "Joe, give this lady what she wants, it's on me."

"Alright, Chuck," said Joe, "Now listen, Sylvia, don't be getting' soused before you drive home, you hear?"

"No problem, Joe."

The bar quieted down to a murmur as conversation filled the air. Sylvia drank quietly and Chuck gave everyone in the room their money back.

Barney walked in looking embarrassed.

"Hey guys," he said.

A loud voice from the back called, "There's the old corpse now!" and the room filled with nervous laughter.

"What?"

"Barney Allen Lynch, what in the hell do you think you're doing looking so sour with me drivin' past?" said Sylvia, walking up to him angrily with her beer.

"Sylvia, I can explain—"

"I bet you can, you good for nothing louse. We're goin' home for it, though, no point in all the goddamn busybody gossips havin' something juicy to spread around like the plague."

The bar filled with honest laughter as Sylvia prodded Barney out the door to the car.

Half the men in the bar stood up suddenly, announcing their intention to head to work now, might as well, the fun's all over anyways. Chuck glowered at a picture on the wall and Joe collected the tabs from the men with money and noted the totals for the men without. Normally he would have been more stringent, but it was a Friday and a payday and he knew he'd get his money back as soon as the checks were cashed. Just after the bulk of the men had left, Jim walked in the door again.

"Hey guys, why the long faces?"