A bit on the bar

The tattooed hand wiped down the bar when then the young
sailor approached.

“Rum and make it quick old man.”

The weathered tattooed face stared at the lad. His eyes bore
into the youth.

“One bit.”

The young sailor slapped the piece of eight on the bar. The tattooed
hand moved faster than he could have imagined.  The scarred, weathered hand held his hand to
the bar while the other hand cuffed him.

“That is fer yaaahr cheek.”

The young sailor stood open mouthed. The rum was placed in front
of him. The bit was pocketed.

“Shove off.”

The lad backed away, with the rum, and sat in the corner.

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