The Liar
Chapter Four

Rumbling like a stirring volcano, a sleek motorcycle shot down the streets in a happy disregard for the speeding limit. For one of the very few times he decided to use magic, the rider conveniently made it so everyone chose to ignore this fact. He grinned in pleasure at having another opportunity to drive around as he scanned the signs decorating the buildings lining both sides of the road.

Ah, there! A tavern. Bar, as they tended to be called now in America. He missed old Europe on that score. “Tavern” was a much cooler word than “bar”, which was rather blah.

Brining himself back to attention, he pulled into a vacant parking lot and switched the engine off. Since it was so early in the day, he was able to park right in front. Posted in the window was a notice that they were looking to hire a bartender, he noticed as he swung one denim-covered leg over the back of his vehicle. Pulling his helmet off, he shook out his hair and donned a confident smile as he strode into the establishment.

The tired-looking man behind the bar looked over at him. “So it seems like, for once, the early hours pay off.” He laughed derisively. “First man ever who’s walked in before ten.”

“It’s the price of being in America,” offered the Liar, shifting all of his weight to one leg and holding up his palms in a gesture of helplessness. “Everything’s open 24/7, even if there aren’t any customers. Principle of the thing, or so they believe.” He chuckled.

“Too right.” The bartender scratched at his graying hair, then ran a hand along his stubbled jaw.

“It says you’re looking for bartenders,” the angel continued, still smiling as he let his arms drop to his sides, shoving his hands into pockets. “I’m willing to take over this shift and the late-late shift. I’ve done bartending before, and if it comes to having to haul someone outta here, I can do that, too,” he asserted.

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he looked the young-looking guy over. He was only of average height and he was skinny. Lanky, that was the word for him. His demeanor was so relaxed that it was hard to believe he would even consider violence. “Is that so?” he challenged skeptically.

“Yes.” The Liar looked him straight in the eye as he responded.

“Well, the guy on-shift’s gotta test you, and then you can go in for an interview. So, c’mere. Show me you know your way around a bar.”

Grinning again, the Liar placed one hand on the counter and vaulted over. He studied his surroundings for a minute, went in back, came out again, and then made three cocktails, poured a beer, a set out a bottle of vodka. Eyes flicking to a price list, he pulled out his wallet and did the mental calculations in his head and then placed the exact total beside the register. He then rang it up, and the till agreed with his math.

“Is there anything else I have to do right now? Because if not, I’m going to drink this. But I figure you might want me sober for any additional tests.” He buffered his nails on his shirtfront before laughing at his own pretentiousness, and running the fingers of that hand through his mop of light brown hair.

“You said you can deal with rowdies,” stated the bartender as he exited from behind the counter and stood in the middle of the floor, rolling his broad shoulders. “I’ll play the rowdy.” The man couldn’t stop a smile from flashing across his face as he thought of this skinny guy trying to take him down.

The Liar smiled as well, following the other man’s path to the floor. He walked up to the bartender, who was several inches taller than him, and looked him in the eye for a second as he stood there placidly. Abruptly his fist shot out into the man’s short ribs, causing him to bend over as he lost all the air in his lungs. He grabbed the bartender’s arm and spun him around, twisting the appendage into a painful spot. Walking, he forced the man to move with him, and used the other’s body to open the door. Letting the man go, the Liar planted his foot in the small of the man’s back and kicked him out onto the asphalt.

When the man, quite burly and probably twice the Liar’s weight, rolled over to look at the kid who had just kicked his ass, the angel reached down, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up with apparently no effort.

“I’m Scien Testament, by the way,” he lied, using his newly-acquired name.

“I’m Richard, the guy who’s gonna make sure you’re hired.”

“Scien” clapped Richard on the shoulder, laughing in delight. “Excellent! But if we’re done here, I’ve got some alcohol to be seeing to. Write out anything I need to know and stuff it in one of my pockets, because I plan on being too drunk to remember anything you tell me. I’ll probably need to be reminded of your name when we next meet.” He patted the man’s arm twice, and then strolled back inside, gathering up his liquor from the counter as he flopped into a seat that took his fancy.

* * *

“You,” began the Liar, shaking his finger at her, “you’re not nice at all.” He flung his arm out wide, nearly falling off his chair in the process. Clinging to the seat desperately, he tried to retain his balance, and it seemed to be a losing battle.

“You’re acting weirder than normal.” Michele shot him a suspicious glare. Although, after only a day, she hardly knew what his “normal” was.

“I am not!” he told her emphatically, waving his arms around in denial. That lost him the battle and he fell over, crashing into the floor. Clawing his way up so that his torso rested on the seat of the chair, he declared, “I’m acting drunker than normal.” Now he was seated again, and spinning around on the computer chair. “Whee! I knew there was a reason I missed vodka!”

“And now I know there’s a reason I never want to see you drunk again.”

“Aww, why’s that?” He pouted at her. “I’m not that bad. Just a little unbalanced.”

“In the unhinged kind of way,” muttered Michele, trying unsuccessfully to return to her book as the Liar continued to use her chair as a jungle gym.

“See?! That’s why you’re not nice.” He cackled. “At all.”

“And now your tones don’t match what you’re saying. You’re pretty far gone, aren’t you?”

“Pfff, of course. I’ve been drinking since…what…ten? this morning. Yeeees, indeed.” The Liar continued to spin around. “Whee!” he shouted, closely followed by “OOF.” as he found himself on the floor again, one leg still up on the chair. “I should call Marcus! I think I’ve said that before…now where is the phone….”

“On the desk.” She figured he’d find it sooner or later, so she might as well just tell him right out where it was.

The Liar reached up and pulled down a cell phone. “Now what was his number…ah, yes!” He punched in eleven digits: one, area code, local code, and the number itself. Putting it to his ear, he heard two rings, and then a man with a deep, slightly rumbling voice picked up with “Hello?”

“MARCUS!” yelled the Liar in delight.

“Oh shit. Not you.”

“C’mon, lighten up. And in the spirit of that, you should come visit me. And work with me as a bartender, and then we can drink and…uh…drink.”

“If I come for a visit, will you promise to leave me alone for another few decades?”

“Never!”

“Then no.”

“Stop playing mean. You’re not very good at it. What happened to your mission of making sure I didn’t make too much of an idiot of myself?”

“Lost cause, I’m afraid.”

“Please, Marku-chaaaaaan?”

“Fine,” Marcus grumbled. “Just don’t ever call me that again. Or I swear to you, I will kill you this time.”

“No you won’t. You rescue stray kittens.”

“I could always call Elizabeth…? She’s here in New York, making a killing as the CEO of some company or other. I’m positive that she would be happy to kill you for me.”

“How come both of you get to live in New York, and I’m stuck in…actually, I really don’t know where I am. Oh, well! You’ll come tomorrow?”

He could practically feel Marcus rolling his eyes. “Yes, all right, then. I’ll come by tomorrow. You’re damned lucky we can all find each other with relative ease, because you, sir, are scatterbrained. And you’re ridiculously bad at giving directions.”

“Fantastic!” the Liar declared, conveniently choosing not to hear the latter half.

“One question, though.”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Of course.” The Liar sounded surprised that the other had even thought to ask that question.

Click. With an exasperated sigh, Marcus had hung up.

“That was that Marcus you were talking about yesterday?”

“The one and the same. And my confidence is renewed that the pair of you will get along famously.” He nodded happily.

“And why is that?” She didn’t look up from the pages of her book.

“Because you both adore me!”