Wet Work - A Greg Kelton Short Story - Plot & Excerpts
The place was nearly empty, as usual, with just a couple of locals minding their own business at the bar, drowning away their sorrows. Kelton ordered a pitcher of Guinness and headed for a table near the rear of the bar, right next to the emergency exit, giving him a clear view of the entire room. He didn’t expect any trouble but had long ago conditioned himself to not take any unnecessary chances. Kelton had just started on his first glass of beer when an unfamiliar man dressed in an expensive suit stepped into the bar and headed back towards Kelton without so much as a pause. He was smoking a cigarette and carrying himself as though he had a specific purpose in mind. His haggard, wrinkled face pegged him at around 65 years old but he carried himself like a much younger man. And his eyes shone like those of a teenager, full of mischief, like you were the punchline of some joke only he knew. Kelton just sat there, instinctively knowing that the man was here to see him. He wasn’t concerned—there was no threatening vibes coming from the old man—but he was curious.
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