Author: Richard Dalglish

Harry walked into Jake’s Tavern, nodded to Meredith behind the bar, and perched on a barstool. He was the only customer. A distant rumble, like a truck downshifting, rippled through the cool silence inside the bar, and Harry felt the floor quiver. Bottles shook, a tinkling sound as Johnny Walker trembled against Grey Goose.
“How is it out there?” Meredith asked.
“Could be worse.”
Meredith set down a beer glass and opened a bottle of Samuel Adams. Harry poured, filled the glass, left a nice head. Before he could take a drink, the door opened with a creak and Harry turned to look. A stranger stepped in. He stood tall, well over six feet, and wore odd clothing in a shimmering pearl gray color, not street clothes, not quite a uniform. He fixed his gaze on Harry. “It is time for you to choose.”
Harry frowned and turned back to the bar. Meredith was glaring at the stranger.
“Pay it no mind,” Harry said.
The stranger approached, boots clacking on the wood floor. Harry felt the stranger’s breath on his neck. “Back off,” he said without turning around.
“It is time for you to choose.”
Harry grinned at Meredith. “I choose the beer nuts.”
Meredith laughed and dropped a bag of nuts on the bar in front of Harry.
The stranger looked at Meredith. “It is time for you to choose.”
“You heard the man,” Meredith said. “Back. Off.”
“It is time for you to choose.”
Meredith reached under the bar, grabbed a baseball bat, and waved it at the stranger. “You can’t beat the person who never gives up.”
The stranger backed away. Then he turned, strode to the door, and walked out. A sound like distant thunder rolled, and the floor trembled again. Harry gave Meredith a questioning look.
Meredith shrugged. “Babe Ruth.”
Harry nodded.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
“We’ll see,” Harry said.
“Yeah,” Meredith said.
Three minutes later, the door opened. The stranger stepped inside, followed by two comrades wearing the same odd style of clothing.
“It is time,” the stranger said. His two companions spread out on either side of him. Harry finished the beer in his glass and poured in the rest of his Samuel Adams. He swiveled on his barstool, stood up, and looked at the stranger. “All might be free if they valued freedom and defended it as they should.”
The stranger made no reply.
“Know who said that?”
The stranger remained silent.
Harry pointed at the label on his Samuel Adams bottle. “He did.”
Harry threw the bottle at the stranger. It hit his head with a clunk, dropped to floor, and rolled against a table leg. The stranger and his companions turned and fled. Harry walked to the door and closed it before returning to his barstool.
“Didn’t know you were a history buff,” Meredith said.
Harry shrugged. “Didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”
“Listen,” Meredith said. “Hear that?”
Harry listened. “The rumbling stopped.”
They were quiet then, listening only to the sound of beer being poured into a glass.