[Memory Excerpt from the File of Finnegan “Finn” Walsh, Candidate for Transfer]

  — Agent file #7011883281

  Simone Ashton walked into the dive bar, shaking the rain from her thick jacket. It wasn’t a place she had been in before specifically, but it looked like hundreds of others worldwide that she had been in. The low light did little to hide the stains on the floor or the furniture, and the two lit-up pool tables looked one scratch away from having torn felt.

  Some janky country song was playing on an old jukebox in the corner, and an old, extremely intoxicated couple was slow dancing despite the quick beat of the song. She stepped up to the bar and got the bartender’s attention. “I was supposed to meet a young man here. Maybe six feet tall, short brown hair?”

  The bartender was a tattooed middle-aged woman in a tank top. She grinned and pointed to a booth in the back of the bar. “Go get him, sister. I don’t know what he did, but he has a nice, tight ass. You’re gonna have some fun tonight!” She winked, leering at the booth. “If you don’t want him, don’t you worry. I’ll take him home.”

  Simone looked at the woman, revolted, and walked through the bar. She stopped five feet away from the booth, examining the young man she had met months ago. He did not look good. With a bruised and cut-up face, Finn looked like he had been in a fight and hadn’t been the winner. She wondered whether he was worth the time and effort.

  She fingered the vial of liquid in her pocket. It was unlikely he would be able to taste it, as drunk as he was. If he hadn’t been the best candidate she had found in the past few years, she would have just turned and left. Her pool had been limited, though, considering the requirements she had been given. Even though this train wreck was the best candidate, he didn’t meet all the requirements.

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  After analyzing him for a moment, Simone made up her mind and slipped into the booth across from Finn. “Finn, you look like hell,” Simone stated, not even attempting to hide her disgust. “When I got your call, I was a little surprised by your wanting to meet in a bar.”

  “Been through hell. Don’t wanna talk bout it,” Finn said, shaking his head and slurring his words badly. “Ma’am? I’m in.” Finn was having a hard time not rocking in his seat.

  “How much have you had to drink?” she asked, a little disgusted. She had remembered him being so well put together. But this… The State Department did not need people like this. Yet she wasn’t actually recruiting him for that.

  “Not enough to forget yet. But I’m trying. I need to forget. And go… on whatever mission you’re sending me on,” Finn replied.

  “Are you sure, Finn? If you make this decision, there’s no turning back.” She questioned.

  Finn looked down at the shots of whiskey or tequila he still had in front of him before looking back up at her and pushing one shot closer to her. “Not sure how many shots there are. Want one?”

  When he looked up, she poured some liquid from a vial into the shot of liquor. She had palmed it from her pocket before sitting down. “No, thank you,” Simone replied. She carefully moved the full shot glass back to the line in front of him.

  “Suit yourself!” Finn said and drank them down. Then he noticed he missed one and drank it down too.

  Simone looked at her watch and back at him. “Shouldn’t be too long now, Finn. Good night.”

  Finn’s smile turned quizzical. “Um, yes, ma’am?” He slumped forward, and his head thudded twice on the table. He was out cold.

  Simone Ashton touched her earbud. “Edward, our guest is ready for bed. Come help him, would you?”

  Three men came from the bathroom and grabbed Finn, helping him out the back of the bar. Simone followed, leaving a twenty on the table.

  They had a long drive ahead of them.

  [End Memory File Transmission]

  Man, that's dark. Anywhoo, that bartender! Man! I have known some like this... almost always trouble!