“I am worried about that vandal hitting the bars in town. It seems like only a matter of time before we’re next.” Junie frowned as she counted out a drawer for the evening, while Emerson paced the boards of the Gangplank. It was still early in the evening but Emerson, in typical fashion, was already well primed.
“We need to make a preemptive strike,” Emerson snapped his fingers. “Hit them before they hit us!”
“A preemptive strike. I like that. But at whom?” said Junie. “We don’t even know who is behind this.”
“Grafitti at the Durkin and ‘Cuffs, broken windows at the Bucket…”
“Don’t forget the harpoon through Mr. Underby’s portrait.” added Junie.
Emerson pursed his lips. “It’s got to be Lupindo – or that savage of a bartender he employs.”
“How do we know it’s not the Temperance League? Martin?” Junie turned towards her bartender. “Didn’t you say your mother was coming here?”
Martin was standing in a curious pose, his left arm draped over his head and his right foot tapping an irregular cadence behind his left leg, his eyes unfocused and vacant.
“Malus? You alright, son?” Emerson and Junie looked at each other, then back at their bartender.
“I got it,” Malus said suddenly. He quickly emptied his tip jar into his pocket and walked out into the still bright summer evening, leaving the door open behind him.
“Hey,” Emerson said turning to Junie. “Is his shift over?”
“That boy is up to something.” she replied, watching him retreat down Prince Dakkar Boulevard.