The Oak Tree Pub and Sly O'Shea

The doors swung open one more time and in walked Mr. Whiskey Sours himself, the man who had acquired squatter's rights to the south end corner stool many years ago. 

"MacKenzie!"  Sly O'Shea, the barkeep who had gained ownership of this establishment with a full house draw in a poker game one night, would always lead the cheer.  And always followed by the echo of the other regulars who had no better place to go than this waterfront watering hole, "MacKenzie!"

"What in the name of Holy Mary happened here?" MacKenzie, a police detective by trade, surveyed the damage left by goings on before he had arrived. 

Sly answered as he went through his constant routine of washing and drying mugs, "Oh, your worst nightmare was here having one of his freaky fantasies all over the place."

"Oh."   MacKenzie did not  need to take this line of questioning any further, that one bit of info answered all questions that would normally follow.

MacKenzie took his seat, spotting the four lookers who were filling out the table just beyond the bar.  He tipped his fedora their way, hoping for a little smile in return.  He didn't get much except a little glint of hope from the gal with yellow roses on her blouse.  On the bar in front of him were waiting his two whiskey sours, Southern Comfort and a slice of lemon. 

"Sly, old boy,' MacKenzie half-whispered pulling a photograph out of his brown tweed jacket pocket, " I was wondering if you've seen this fella around here in the last few weeks.  He goes by the name of Killer Kellan." 

"Mean looking cuss," Sly smirked.  "Yes, he was in the other night with some tough looking goon named One Eyed Jack and some exotic dish he kept calling Tish or Trish."

 "Tasha?" 

"Yea, that's it, Tasha.  What'd he do?"

"Ah, just want to ask him a few questions about this whole Nick Bouton affair.  Lord, what a mess that turned to be!"

"Hey, Sly.  What about the dames at the table?"

"Ah, MacKenzie, they're way too young for the likes of old geezers like us... I think their students over at that School for Writers."

"Ah, if I were a younger man, Sly."

"If you were a younger man, you'd be working with Sherlock Holmes.  Did I ever tell that Holmes used to frequent this pub ..."

"Lord yes, every time I come in here.  Now, skip the story and give me one more whiskey sour, skip the lemon too ... Ladies, let me introduce myself, I am Lieutenant  McKenzie of Scotland Yard."

 

 

 

 

 

The End

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