The Mentor

Luke was barely discernible through the hovering clouds of lingering second-hand cigarette smoke and low-level mood lighting as he sat facing the rear wall.

Propped up by his arms, his vacant red-eyes fell over the six empty and six full shot glasses spread out on the table in front of him.

Luke slipped his gold shield from his belt and slammed it onto the table, right beside the once treasured wallet-sized photo of his fiancée. The two things that he held special in his life, now sat side-by-side on the table in front of him.

He lifted another shot, paused briefly to admire the honey-gold contents while he rolled the shot glass in his fingertips. With a flick of his head he drained the glass in one gulp then returned the empty to the table.

His eyes dropped to the photo on the table; a three inch by two inch smiling headshot of the love of his life, and up until recently, the woman he planned to marry. He lifted the photo and collapsed back into his chair. His shoulders slumped as his glazed eyes never left the small photo perched in his fingertips.

Luke's face tightened. With a defiant shake of his head, he ripped the photograph in half, then flicked the pieces across the table.

Maybe he was reluctantly toasting the sudden end of their relationship, or maybe he simply tried to numb the hurt, but as the fractured photo floated to the table, Luke lifted shot number eight and quickly downed it, then forcefully slammed the empty glass back onto the table.

Luke’s eyes shifted to his gold shield. He lifted it from the table and cupped it in his hand. It was now all he had left, but it too was under threat of being taken away.

He lifted up shot number nine. He rolled the glass through his fingers as his thoughts rewound back to his Lieutenant’s threats. His bleary focus returned to the raised shot glass sitting perched in his fingertips.

His thoughts went blank. ‘Fuck my life…’ he blurted then drained the glass in one gulp.

After he slammed the empty onto the table Luke fell onto his outstretched arms, as the warming liquid slid down his throat. His eyes fell to the collection of empty shot glasses before him. How could everything have turned to shit so quickly?

A deep, but calm voice emanating from somewhere behind Luke distracted his wallowing. ‘That’s not going to help you with your problems, son.’

Luke glanced over his shoulder. An elderly man stood just back, behind him. Luke returned his bleary-eyed gaze to the wall in front, ‘Who says I’ve got problems, old man…?’

The elderly man moved into Luke’s view and stood at the end of the table. Luke slowly lifted his bloodshot eyes to the standing man.

The old man was a typical, but stylish grandfatherly type. He wore a dark grey fedora hat, a full length light weight overcoat over a dark suit and striped tie and carried a walking stick.

‘Do you mind if I have a seat?’ the old man gestured to the seat across from Luke.

Luke extended his open hand. ‘Be my guest…’ Luke said. He watched as the old man slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite Luke.

Once comfortable, the old man leaned his walking stick against the rear wall and removed his hat, which he placed on the table to his left.

The old man’s silver-grey hair was tidy and short, probably barber styled, and it framed his well-weathered, but tanned face. The many lines and wrinkles embedded on his face were characteristic of an elderly man having lived a long and eventful life.

Luke noticed the handle of the walking cane was actually a small skull carved into what appeared to be ivory.

‘Like your handle there…’ Luke said with a lift of his chin towards the propped up walking cane.

The old man turned awkwardly and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘It was a gift actually. It sort of grew on me after a while.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Luke offered his guest.

The old man raised a hand to Luke. ‘Thank you…but not for me. I’ve had sufficient.’

Luke felt a little uncomfortable as the old man sat silently staring at him. Several seconds ticked by before the old man eventually spoke.

‘You’re not the first person with relationships problems son...and you certainly won’t be the last, but knocking back shot after shot is not the answer to your problems…Take it from someone who knows. Believe me…I have been there, just like you.’

Luke leaned onto his elbows as he regarded his visitor. ‘Who says I’ve got relationship problems, old Man...?’

The old man lifted his chin to the torn photograph on the table. Luke’s eyes followed to what was left of the photo.

‘Well…tonight I don’t think it will hurt...’ Luke said. 'So anyway…to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’ Luke asked.