as he put the pan back on the burner, and the remaining contents started to burn inside.
‘Alvina, my friend! Come, come out of the cold and inside.’
‘Marquis, it’s fine to see you. How is business?’
Marquis was a man who was either terribly aged or was ageing terribly. His stringy white hair was unkempt, his smile missing a few teeth. His face resembled a leather apron that had been balled up. Despite these very obvious and significantly distracting misfortunes, the eagerness he radiated was second to none.
‘Business is fine. No difficulty. Your friend?’
Cole gave his name whilst examining the ripped and soiled stool that would be his seat. The bar wasn’t any better, peppered with numerous cigarette burns and stains. The hairy patron beside him grunted as he devoured his meal, spraying grains of rice across the bar with a number landing in Cole’s lap.
‘Cole,’ Marquis cheered far too enthusiastically, reaching over the bar and shaking his hand vigorously, ‘nice to meet you.’
‘You as well.’ Cole withdrew his hand in defeat, finally sitting.
‘Do you eat?’
‘I don’t know,’ Cole asked, slightly taken aback at the broken language. He turned to Alvina, stifling a smile. ‘Do we?’
‘Be kind,’ she insisted, turning to the vendor. ‘Yes, we do. We will have pork buns, egg soup – peppered – and a fried apple, each.’
The order was hastily scribbled down onto a notepad with vigorous nodding. ‘Drinking?’
‘Two Red Sail Specials.’
Marquis grinned approvingly whilst scribbling into the notepad. ‘Warm nights, warm nights for you.’
Immediately he spun on his heel, retrieving a pair of glass tumblers. They were filled by a side-standing cask on the bar, a bright red liquid settling in the glasses before being slid across the bar top.
More rice scattered onto Cole’s trousers, but despite noticing, he now lacked the will to protest. The drink itself resembled equal parts diesel and paint thinner. With a brief inhalation Cole decided it was entirely feasible that those were its actual ingredients. He watched as Alvina drained half of the glass with a single swallow.
‘I won’t even ask what’s in that.’
‘Best not.’ Alvina spat out a cough. ‘I doubt he knows himself so don’t shame the poor man.’
Cole summoned the bravery to do the same. His initial assessment of the beverage was accurate, for as soon as the liquid was tossed back, his throat attempted to spit it back up. Finally, he swallowed it away and spluttered loudly, causing Marquis to hoot aloud whilst preparing the food. Alvina patted her colleague’s back firmly until he could speak once more.
‘Delightful,’ Cole lied, eyes still watering.
‘Just another thing for you to get used to if you’re slumming it with the rest of us.’ Alvina chuckled and sank the rest of her drink with one confident motion. Marquis instantly shuffled before them and refilled their glasses, much to Cole’s horror. The second went down just as easily as the first for Alvina. Cole, however, cradled his to make it last.
‘Mess up those clean hands, get dirt under those pretty fingernails …’
‘You can cut that out now,’ he whined, teeth gnashing in frustration.
‘Tell me something, Cole. You shun something like this, like you’re allergic to it. You even look down on me for simply suggesting this fine eatery. Why?’
‘No!’ Marquis gasped in shock, eavesdropping.
‘I’m afraid so, but don’t judge him too harshly – he has yet to taste your cooking. There is plenty of time to apologize.’
The proprietor grinned from ear to ear, shaking a spatula at the woman. He turned back to the griddle.
‘Why do you do that? Back to your roots ain’t it?’
Cole lowered his drink onto the bar, his eyes narrowing in question. ‘What are my roots exactly, seeing as you seem to be an expert on all things me?’ he probed, with a much more sour tone.
‘Now, now, don’t get all uppity. I meant no offence. I just meant you got Settler’s blood in you is all – just an observation I’m making. Settler folks get trod on, looked down upon, I should know … I’ve endured plenty of shunning. Name-calling. Some of the remarks made by the more uncouth folk are grounds for hurting.’
‘Some of that blood in you, is it?’
‘A tad.’ Alvina smiled. ‘My mother’s side. I figure that would be obvious just by looking at me.’ The woman rarely drew attention to her heritage, probably deeming it a moot point of conversation. It was likely only in his company that she felt comfortable enough to discuss it, even though she could have had more tact in her approach.
‘Then you know how hard it is to court respect from others when all they can see is the superficial – and judge you on it. It should never come down to the colour of skin. The place they’re born. Things like that are out of one’s control. Judging a person because of these qualities is unjust.’ Cole dashed a mouthful of the sour drink down his throat. ‘And money always, always underpins that. I can guarantee there’s not a villain you’ve heard of who doesn’t bathe in wealth.’
‘You’ve got money,’ Alvina pointed out.
‘Not any more I don’t thanks to Jack. That little stunt put plenty out of pocket. A lot of people, a lot of our kind, are out there wanting.’
‘Posh folk?’
‘Settlers,’ Cole corrected with a grunt. ‘Those whom we share blood with. They’re out there starving. Perishing in gutters. Others aren’t as lucky as us, to have a place to lay their heads and a meal ready. It’s our duty to correct that if we have the opportunity,’ Cole replied with a tint of anger to his words.
‘Yeah, well what should be and what transpires ain’t exactly bedfellows now, are they?’ Alvina tapped her coffee-coloured fingers upon the bar.
‘One’s heritage is out of one’s control. Judging a person because of that quality is unjust. Letting them die because of it is abhorrent.’
‘I suppose you’re right. But you’ve done good. Been elevated.’
Cole paused. ‘Let’s just say I’ve always been motivated to make a go of things despite circumstances to the contrary. What’s that old expression? Play the hand you’re dealt.’
‘Quite.’ She struck her glass against Cole’s own. ‘And to that I say ante up.’
Cole eventually had to confess that he didn’t mind his meal. It wasn’t perfect of course, far from it, but there was an ambiance that Cook’s Alley provided that made him forgo his usual stuffiness. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he relaxed, even to the point of enjoying the drink that he slowly poisoned himself with. Alvina commented that it was
