“Hi beautiful, did ya lose your best friend?” asked the large jolly bartender/owner, Manuel.
“Yes I did. Walker is gonna be away for a while. Family stuff, you know?” Caroline knew to never divulge Walker’s true occupation, or talk about her and Walker’s past.
“When the cats away the mouse can play,” he joked while twisting off a Budweiser cap and sliding it in front of his only female customer.
Santaella had a laid back atmosphere. Its outside patio overlooked the ocean, and today the sea was exceptionally calm and the sky exceptionally blue and cloudless. If it were not for the police helicopters that is.
“What do ya think is go’n on?’ he asked pointing upward to the passing copter.
“Some drunken tourist fell overboard probably while fishing. Or maybe it’s just a military drill to keep the soldiers fit and alert.”
Manuel reached under the bar for the television remote control and switched the corner based flat screen television set bolted to the wall, to the news station. Caroline knew that when Walker was involved, news stations were commandeered to broadcast only small bits of information and the public was best kept in the dark about most details.
“Did ya ever get the jukebox fixed?” she asked trying to snap out of her depression. “I feel like dancing.”
“Oh sure it’s fixed,” said Manuel. “Have’n pretty white girls dancing’ is good for business.” He then slapped a ten dollar bill onto the bar in front of Caroline who diligently accepted it and proceeded toward the jukebox.