It was a Friday night, a busy time that he always tried to avoid, but he needed a cold Guinness, and well, he missed Sam and Carson.  He stayed away from the beach bar too long and what the hell, he deserved a cold one and a little socializing with a friend, and maybe that would clear his head enough for his next visit to room 103 at the dreaded School 42 in Chicago.

He chose the front door this time because he had nothing to hide, and he knew what fate would bring, and he welcomed it with confidence. And as usual, as soon as his cane pushed the door open and the patrons saw him, they yelled “Ollie” and everyone turned to stare.  So much for a surprise visit, but he figured he was as recognizable as a big yellow school bus on a Nascar race track.  The end of the bar, near the exits where he always sat for an easy exit, was already taken by customers, but when the old man entered, they turned around and realized they needed to sit somewhere else, out of respect. They were two burly guys with bushy back hair, only partially covered at the nape of the neck by their Harley leathers, but they quickly ordered a Guinness for Ollie, got up and found other seats, tipped their hats to Ollie, pointed to the American flag on their leathers, and sat at an empty booth.

Ollie pointed his cane at them, smiled, then flipped it 360 degrees into a sword-sheath pose and the crowd applauded the old guy.

“Ollie, it’s been a long time, we missed you!  But I knew why you hadn’t been back, you know, with everything going on and people looking for —”

“Good to be back Sam.”  He grabbed his Guinness the bikers bought for him, took a couple gulps, then said, “Guess I won’t be buying any beer today, Sam.”

“Reckon not.”

Another Guinness was placed in front of Ollie by another customer, who shook his hand, then went back to his table, proud to have met the old man and contributed to his drinking pleasure.

“You seen Carson recently?”

“No”, said Sam.  “I believe he figured you would stay away from this place since word was out, and that girl you know, she —”

“I’ll find him.  We need to talk about a few things.”

After a few minutes, the shadow man came in, sat in a corner, ordered some sweet tea and began to read that old book again, never looking up. Sunglasses in his front pocket, and beretta m9 snug on his hip.

Her heels clicking on the ceramic floor announced her entrance, and all patrons turned and stared, and her rhythmic hips happily and automatically played a mellifluous honey-soaked melody that all patrons had no choice but to drink in.

Ollie kept staring straight at Sam, whose mouth had flown straight open as he stared, hypnotized by the melody unfolding in front of him, and without turning around, Ollie said so she could hear when only footsteps away, “So candidate 42 has arrived. I wonder if she’s carrying her shiny gun?”

“Huh?” said Sam.  Candidate 42?”

The girl with the bouncy blonde hair stopped playing her walking symphony and sat on Ollie’s right, eyeing his cane.  She said to Sam, “I’ll have a —”

“Veronica, would you please sit on my other side please?” The old man never let anyone set close to his cane, on the right side.

She went over to the empty seat on Ollie’s left, and finished her order.  “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Guinness it is.”

“How did you know it was me, without looking, Ollie?”

“I just know.”

She took a drink and smiled.  “Yeah, so what they say is true.  Well, I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time, you’re quite a ghost, you know.”

“I appear when the time is right.  So, tell me, did you graduate from Camp Peary already, and your boss Peter sent you after me already, fresh from graduation?”

Her smile faded quickly and she reached for another drink, then stopped in mid-air, as if to preserve her thinking and replied, “Um, how did you um know, about Peter, and candidate 42?”

“Veronica, at my age, and with a brain that surprises me sometimes, you must understand that there may be a possibility that I have developed certain skills and that I may have made a few contacts in my life.”

She said nothing but stared at her beer, wondering where she was going to take this next because the old man was too unpredictable.

“I’ve tried to meet your, I guess, student/ friend Carson, and he seems to have learned from you how to —”

“Best to stay away from Carson.”

His right hand reached and found his cane handle.  It stayed there as he used his left hand to take another swig.

“But Suzy seems nice,” she said.  “Met her at an ice cream shop.  I think we could be friends.”

The shadow man saw Ollie gripping his cane with tense knuckles and put down his book, surveying the situation. The old man didn’t usually do that. But Ollie remained calm and said, “Veronica, I’m sorry about your car.”

“What do you mean, my car?”

“I may be wrong, but a flock of geese just decided that the front seat of your convertible mustang looked like a toilet. I heard their honking, unmistakable.  Didn’t you hear it?”

She immediately got up, ran out to her car, and turned white, when she saw her driver’s seat full of geese crap. She remained motionless for several minutes, trying to understand what had just happened. How?  She ran back in to the bar, but Ollie and the shadow man were gone already.

She thought, they were right about this old man.

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