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The Altar at Midnight
The Altar at Midnight Doing something for humanity may be fine—for humanity—but rough on the individual! He had quite a rum-blossom on him for a kid, I thought at first. But when he moved closer to the light by the cash register to ask the bartender for a match or something, I saw it wasn't that. Not just the nose. Broken veins on his cheeks, too, and the funny eyes. He must have seen me look, because he slid back away from the light. The bartender shook my bottle of ale in front of me like a Swiss bell-ringer so it foamed inside the green glass. "You ready for another, sir?" he asked. I shook my head. Down the bar, he tried it on the kid—he was drinking scotch and water or something like that—and found out he could push him around. He sold him three scotch and waters in ten minutes.
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