No one answered him. Cruz waited patiently, standing still. He knew curiosity was one of the strongest human drives. His call for a golf partner was so absurd it had to be answered. Anyone within earshot would be wondering what the fuck that was about. They'd just have to check.
So Cruz waited, and after a while he was rewarded.
A face slowly appeared over the bar counter. At first, all Cruz could see was the bald, brown-spotted top of someone's head; then pale, watery eyes surrounded by loose, wrinkled skin. Cruz forced himself to smile.
"Good morning," he said.
The eyes flicked left and right, checking for other presence. They found none, and gradually the rest of the face rose above the counter. It hadn't been shaven in a long time: long wisps of white hair hung from the hollow cheeks. It was a very old face, with a small inverted mouth that suggested an absence of any front teeth.
