Bollinger Pub

“Langford, you ever heard of the Bollinger Pub?”

“Yeah. I heard of it many years ago but thought it was closed.”

“Well, I just met the strangest guy. He called me from across Broad street, near the Empire Building. Waved too. And then he shouted that he’d meet me with a gift at the Bollinger Pub on Tuesday, around 7.”

“Do you know the guy?”

“Nope. Never met him before. Somehow he knew my name.”

“That's weird. But what about him. What's his name?”

“Jackson? At least, that was what I thought he said. Seemed a bit snookered, but I am still curious. I think I’ll go on Tuesday.”

“But you didn’t actually meet him, did you? I mean, shake hands and all.”

“Well, no, but he called my name, and I responded, and we agreed to meet at the Bollinger. So, I think in these rather chaotic times, that actually qualifies as meeting someone. But that’s just me.”

“I see. Do you mean that as a statement or a question? You seem a bit unsure. I always thought meeting someone meant pressing the flesh a bit.”

“Well, yes, I get your point. But I had a conversation with him, even though it was short and across the street. So, I met him—that’s my opinion. By the way, do you want to go along with me?”

“Sure, I will give it a go. How about you just pick me up. I haven’t been to the old Bollinger in a decade. Like I said, I didn’t realize it was still there. What did he look like? This Jackson fellow?”

“Tallish. Slim. Dark hair. That’s about as much as I could see.”

“A mystery. I like a bit of mystery.”

***

“I think I have heard of this fellow, Jackson. Yes, I had a friend who heard a guy named Jackson calling out to strangers and offering to meet with a gift in hand. And that some of the gifts are quite astonishing. So, you can tell Langford that he isn’t the only one who has seen the guy.”

“Really? Still seems far-fetched to me.”

“I know. It did to me too, but I saw a commotion near the meat counter at the Central Market downtown. A tall man with brown hair ran off, and when I asked one of the other folks standing there what happened, they said he showed up with a gift. And that his name was Jackson.”

“Hmm. Jackson. And by the way, a gift? For whom?”

“A poor old lady ordering a pound of pig’s feet. The gift was in an orange box. She didn’t open it there, but I heard later that a bottle of cognac was in the box. Expensive cognac. And that’s not the only time I saw him. Two other times—once again in the Central Market and then in front of Bollinger Pub across the street.”

“Interesting! Langford said he is meeting with his man at Bollinger’s on Tuesday. You should come too, Leo.”

“Splendid. What time?”

“We’ll be there around 7.”

“Right-O. And by the way, I haven’t seen old Langford in quite some time.”

***

“It’s 7:30 already, and it looks like Jackson isn’t here!”

“Hey, guys, Jackson already left. He was here for a while but got a call and had to leave.”

“Hey bartender, you sure. He told me to meet him here at 7?”

“Well, I’m not sure what to say about that. But he paid for the first round for you guys.”

“Cool. Jackson’s a sport?”

“You could say that, I guess.”

“Well, how about we all have a round of Guinness Extra Stouts?”

“Good choice, my friends.”

“Well, here’s to you and Langford!”

“And to you as well, Leo.”

“You three look like happy bloaks, my friends, and I’m happy to be your bartender when you need your next round!”

***

“Langford, I enjoyed going to the Bollinger tonight, even if this Jackson never showed up.”

“Left early, but he showed up.”

“Me too, Langford. I’m not sure about you and Leo, but with my job and family, I just don’t go to a pub very often. How about let’s make it a routine. We can call it Jackson’s Night?”

“You chaps have something there! How about I tag along as well?”

“Well, of course, Leo. And if you have other gents to bring, the more, the merrier.”

***

“Boy, this Jackson’s Night deal has really gone bonkers!”

“Just been a month, and it seems like all the gents in town are here!”

“Yeah, it’s quite something. But I still wonder who the guy was on the street.”

“It’s still a mystery.”

***

“Here is your whisky. As we discussed, all you do is call out these names—John, Peter, William, Martin, Langford, and the others on the list. Just call them out, and when someone responds, tell them you’ll meet them at the Bollinger. That’s all you have to do. Oh, and if it’s a woman, hand them the orange box.”

“So, I just call the name and tell them where to meet. That’s it?”

“That’s right. Tell them 7pm on Wednesdays. We already have Tuesdays and Thursdays covered.”

“And my whisky is on the house?”

“Sure, buddy, your lunchtime shot today is on the house. Just don’t show up here at night. Go somewhere else. And if anyone asks, your name is Jackson.”

“Jackson? Okay, I think I can remember it. Nice name. Seem to hear it a lot these days. In idle talk and such. Oh yeah, and how do I know if the names on the list will work?”

“They always do, at least so far.”

“Okay. You got a deal. And mum’s the word. My lips are sealed. But I still don’t see why you’re doing this. It’s just a mystery to me.”

“Yep. It’s a mystery. That’s why it works. People love a little mystery to solve and to think about. But once they get here, they just like being out and drinking with their chums. And the mystery remains just that—a mystery.”