Foggy Dew

Having been rebuffed by the office of the Mayor umpteen times, Dr Puck decided to forge formal complaints with the Bucket of Blood, knowing that fink of a public servant was the owner of the rancid establishment. To give off a more serious and sombre atmosphere, he donned a derby and wore spats. The fur coat added something, but he wasn’t certain precisely what. On the other hand, it exuded a certain regality, so he was altogether pleased with the ensemble when he made he way to the bar. 

Dot Hook, the bald barmaiden, was tending the bar that evening while that brute Medusa Jones lurked in the background, grumbling over a clipboard. Bologna knocked once on the bartop to announce his presence. Rufus the Drunk awoke with a start from the other end of the bar and snorted. Puck called out: “Ahoy-hoy there Miss Hook, I would have a word with you when you are not otherwise occupied. Engaged, even.”

Dot narrowed their eyes then made their way to Bologna’s end of the bar. “What’ll you have, Dr Fuck?” they asked with a sarcastic sneer. 

“I’ll have you know I am here to issue a formal complaint.” he said. “And, I’d like a martini.”

Dot sighed, rolling their eyes. “You know we only serve Foggy Dew.”

He gestured at the chalkboard behind him. “Sign says Canal Water.” 

The barmaiden nodded. 

“Is that a euphemism?” he asked

“It’s a description. Consider it an alternative. It’s that, or Foggy Dew.”

“I stopped drinking the Dew after that week of blindness.” he stated flatly. “A world without mine own reflection is too cruel to contemplate. Harsh, even.”

Deuce snerked, but kept her eyes glued on the clipboard. Dot stared at Bologna with something bordering on thinly veiled hostility. “Then... I suppose you’re out of luck.”

Puck smiled. “I perhaps could make an exception this one time.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Dot said.

“Eh? No? Why not?”

“Because we are close to out, and I would sooner save what we have for loyal customers. Like Rufus and Otis here.” she indicated two rubbydubs at the end of the bar. One looked vaguely familiar to Dr Puck. He looked back to Dot. The less familiar looking one went into a seizure and tumbled from his stool to the floor. This was largely ignored by those around them.

Puck began to rant: “Now listen here, my marks are as good as anyone else’s. Better actually, I put more work into mine.” He licked his lips, deciding perhaps that had been a bridge too far. He decided to abruptly change the subject to thereby bamboozle them. As his good father had always told him: bullshit baffles brains. “As for the formal complaint I wish to declare, it begins thusly…”

Deuce looked up from the clipboard. “Hunk will show ya where ya can file that.” she said, then motioned to the hulking bouncer who had been menacing a couple near the back. He suddenly loomed behind the Doctor. 

Puck held up one finger in protest, then suddenly found himself sprawled on the other side of Lower Abney. From upside down he saw Hunk brush his hands on his trousers, then march back down the iron staircase in to the Bucket of Blood. “That’s unkind.” Puck muttered as he unwound himself. He stood up and replaced the broken cigarette in his holder and peered down the street. A short person was pulling a wagon from the monument end of the street. “What’s this now?” he asked himself. 

The wagon was full of bottles clinking. The short person was a child, and looked vaguely familiar. “Say there lad!” Bologna called out. The youth skidded to a halt, lighting a cigar. Bologna sniffed the air as the bottles clattered together, and then it all clicked. “This is Foggy Dew…” he whispered.

“What’s it to ya?” the child asked.

“You brew this?” he asked.

“Yup, in my junkyard.”

Puck made a face. “You own a junkyard?”

“I got a lot going on, mister. I keep pretty busy.”

The Doctor looked around. “You ever hear of that adult attache for the child urchins?”

“Attache?” the child asked.

“Liaison, even.”

“Oh. That.”

“It was my idea you know.”

“That was a bust, is what it was.”

Bologna straightened up. “Well, that.” he said, flicking an ash from his cigarette. “That is because it was not handled correctly. This girl Trish, she botched the entire thing, if I may be so bold.”

The child shrugged. “Never hearda her.”

“Well, I am not overly surprised to hear that, I have to say I suspect she is an abject failure in all things. As I mentioned previously, she made a complete botch of the entire liaison program, which as I mentioned was my idea, and further that it was improperly implemented. Are we straight thus far? Clear, even?”

“Um…”

“Perfecto. That’s Italian. You see, it was never intended to be open to other contestants. I mean, it was my idea, why would I concoct a sche-ehhh-er plan for someone else? Rubbish. I offered my services and next thing you know these other two are working for the rotten little…” He licked his lips. “Precious little … whatever.”

“Yer ramblin, mister.”

“You sell this concoction to the Bucket of Blood alone?”

“Yeah, I work alone. I brew it alone, I sell it alone.”

“I mean, you only sell it to the Bucket of Blood.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s an exclusive contract.”

“What is the benefit of that for you?”

“It’s exclusive. Miss Deuce says exclusive is good. People pay big money for exclusive.”

“And DO you get paid big money?”

“Compared to what?”

“Precisely. This is why you need an adult liaison, because children are notoriously stupid. I could be selling this swill all over town. It may give people the delirium tremens, but with a fancy label and a little razzle dazzle, it could be a certified hit.”

The child looked at him. “Pass.”

Dr Puck took the cigarette holder from his clenched teeth and wiped a gloved hand down his face. “You miserable little……….” and muttered off into inaudibility. As the child pulled their wagon to the the top of the Bucket of Blood steps, Medusa Jones and Hunk appeared to assist in offloading the Dew. 

Puck stalked off toward the east end of town, vowing that all his drinking would be forever on that side of the city.