Two Sharks Walk into a Bar

by David Krugler

About the Author: David Krugler is the author of two World War II spy thrillers, both published by Pegasus Crime: The Dead Don’t Bleed (2016) and Rip the Angels from Heaven (2018). Both received starred reviews in Publishers Weekly. He has also published three nonfiction books including 1919, The Year of Racial Violence: How African Americans Fought Back (Cambridge University Press, 2015) which was released as an audiobook in 2020 by Tantor Media.

Excerpt

Carol’s Pub had the sorriest, most raggedy-assed pool table Meredith had ever seen. The felt was scuffed, nicked, and stained; the cushions, battered and uneven. A folded piece of cardboard—torn from the lid of a beer bottle case—leveled one leg on the warped linoleum flooring. The pocket points were misaligned and two had hairline cracks. Cigarette burns marred the edging, dark welts curling like sneers from the composite plastic.

The location befit the table’s condition. Way back of the tavern, wedged into a nook haphazardly created by a windowless brick wall, walk-in cooler, and broom-and-mop rack. A narrow plywood mantel for bottles and ashtrays jutted from the brick wall. A faded Bicentennial banner sagged from two nails. Someone had penned a mustache on George Washington, a beard on Thomas Jefferson, and goggles on Benjamin Franklin. Four stools with ripped cushions, a Pabst light with fringed shade, and two long-haired punks in Levis, T-shirts, and neck chains completed the décor.

Punk One was taking a shot. A hard left cut on the seven ball into a side pocket. Meredith didn’t watch the balls. She took in his stance, grip, elbow angle, and bridge, keeping her eyes on the cue’s glide as he shot. Smooth, not too hard, but with a wobble. Unconsciously, he slipped his bridge as he finished, probably because he was thinking too hard about keeping his right elbow aligned with the cue. He still dropped the seven ball, left himself good for a corner pocket kiss on the one ball.

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