A Quick Pint

"That's right," the man said. "I'm half-alien."

That was what tipped it over. We were only supposed to be out for a quick pint, but sometimes life decides to create a wave and you just have to ride it out.

It was the first time we'd visited that particular bar. The place was newly opened, so new you could still smell the paint drying. "The Lost Sheep" hung over the entrance in bold letters. We agreed to pop in to check it out, then move on to our regular haunts later. They seemd to be aiming high, judging by the decor. Everything was coated in chrome and LEDs, crowned with a carborundum bartop.

Drew went to get the drinks, while Tom, Jess and I grabbed ourselves a table by the tall windows looking out over the river.

"No' a bad place, eh? said Tom, gazing out over the city.

"Yeah, I like it," said Jess. "I wish I'd dressed better."

I never judged a pub on anything but its beer, so I held my tongue. I scanned around the bar several times while we waited, taking the place in. How I didn't spot the guy at that stage I would never know. His ragged mat of hair should have stood out in the crowd of gel-cuts and razor-straight highlights. His oxfam chic should have screamed over the droning crowd of labels and accessories. It's a wonder I couldn't smell him over the mix of paint, booze and expensive fragrances. Somehow he still managed to escape my attention, and that of the surly giants guarding the gates. He was a chameleon, a ninja no-hoper, hiding in the last place you'd ever look.

"Twelve quid for four drinks," Drew said, setting the tray down on the table. "Not bad, really."

"Just don't go asking for chasers when it's my round, ya scammer!" Tom said, tossing a piece of screwed up paper at him.

"You're just jealous because you can't drink like a real man," Drew replied, flexing his muscles like a poor woman's Mr. Universe.

"I've carried you home enough to know you can't either," I added, taking a first sip from my pint. A line of foam hung on my upper lip for a moment, before being wiped away by my sleeve.

"You're as bad as each other," Jess countered. "I've watched all of you drink yourselves under the table trying to be macho." She raised the straw of her pre-mix bottle to her lips.

"I'd struggle to get drunk too, if I was on the lemonade," Drew said, waving a dismissive hand towards her drink.

"There's vodka in it too, you know."

"Just tastes like sugar to me."

Jess sighed. "Give it time. You'll be crawling to the toilet later, and there's no chance I'll be holding that greasy mess you call hair."

"Hey! I just washed it this morning," Drew said, running fingers through shoulder-length blonde hair. "Conditioner too."

"Oooh! You're quite the new man!" Jess said.

"You'll be wearing guyliner next, ya fanny!" Tom said shaking his head.

It was during that peal of laughter that he decided to make his entrance.

"Is anyone sitting here?" he asked, motioning to a free chair at our table.

We sat for a moment, taking him in. His hair formed thick knots, poking like twigs from under a thick wollen hat. His face was almost totally covered by a wild beard, the only patches of exposed skin suffering from a red, lumpy rash. He wore a leather waiscoat over a long-sleeved t-shirt. The right sleeve sleeve shifted from nicotine yellow at the shoulder to black as it reached the cuff. The other had been unceremoniously removed, exposing a gnarled, tattooed arm. Denim cutoffs hung frayed ends over worn boots, sole flapping, lashed together with fragments of string. The smell was a mix of booze, stale urine, and a twinge of something else, something like a dead bird on a hot day.

We looked to each other, silenced by his presence.

"No, it's free," Jess said, breaking the trance.

He pulled the chair out and seated himself, letting out a deep breath of meaty air. Had we known he meant to sit at our table, we may have worked harder for an excuse.

"So, you come here often?" Tom asked, stifling a nervous laugh.

"First time. Just came in to fill my tank," the man said, raising a tarnished hip flask into view. "Need my tackling fuel."

Tom lifted his pint from the table. "I'll drink tae that," he said. We mimicked his action, taking a swig, or a sip, from our drinks. The man raised the flask to his lips, taking a long draught. He closed one eye, and sucked air through pursed lips. "That's just the ticket," he said, replacing the cap. "George, by the way." He offered us a dirt-stained hand. In turn we took it, reluctantly.

We sat for a moment, stuck for words.

"So, you seen any good fights recently?" George asked.

What an ice breaker!

"Me and Tom watched enter the Dragon the other day," I offered.

"Aye, the bit with the mirrors was classic," Tom said, miming a spear pinning him to the chair.

"Jack and I saw Pirates of The Caribbean on the weekend. That had a bit of action. I was watching it for another reason, though," she said, eyes twinkling.

"That camp pirate?" Drew said. "The only thing worse is Russell Brand."

"He's hot too," Jess said, her eyes drifting.

Drew clicked his finger in front of her face. "And, you're back in the room."

She grabbed his hand, twisting his index finger.

"Easy, tiger," Drew said, withdrawing his hand.

"Who do you reckon would win out of a fight between pirates and ninjas?" Tom asked.

I let out a laugh so concentrated all that emerged was a painful snort.

"Where did that come from?" I asked.

"I dunno. The films, I guess."

"Bruce Lee was not a ninja," Drew said.

"Close enough, though." Tom said, shrugging. "I reckon pirates would have them, anyway. A cannon would take a ninja out, no bother."

"Do the pirates have their boat with them?" Jess asked.

"Aye, they're fighting on boat." Tom replied with the certainty of a child.

"Pirates would have a definite advantage on water," I said. "Although the rigging could be a good spot for a ninjas to hide. Chuck throwing stars, and whatnot." I tapped my chin with my finger. "I'll say ninjas, to split the vote."

"I'll go with pirates," said Jess. "They have guns."

"A peg-legged, hook-handed alcoholic beating a highly-trained stealth assassin?" Drew said. "You're mental. Ninjas for the win."

"It's all down to you, George," Jess said, looking to our guest.

"I reserve judgement." George said. "Pirates and ninjas are not things I have much experience with."

"Stalemate it is then," said Drew. "They live to fight another day."

"I've got another one," Tom said. "Who would win? Aliens or terminators?"

"What kind of aliens? Those skinny little green things?" I asked. "They wouldn't have much chance."

"They can do mind control, can't they?" Jess asked. "They would just tell the terminators to switch off."

"You can't mind control a robot, Jess," Drew said. "They don't even have a mind."

"What if the aliens were robots too?" Tom said. "Alien robots would batter ours, surely."

That's when the bomb dropped.

"My Dad was an alien, you know." George said.

Drew spat a mouthful of lager back into the glass. "You what?" he asked, wiping his chin.

"That's right," George said. "I'm half-alien."

We were stunned into silence, grasping for something to say. George filled the gaping void.

"My mother was abducted. They took her to their ship, experimented on her," he took another swig from the flask. "She woke up in bed the next day, and assumed it was a dream. A month down the line she realised she was pregnant, at 18."

"You, George, were that baby," Drew said, putting on his best theatrical voice, "and this is your life!"

George continued without pausing. "Here's the strange part. She was a virgin."

"I think I've heard this one before somewhere," Drew said, rubbing his eyes.

"I doubt it," George said. "Her parents, the old-fashioned type, couldn't bear the shame of having her in the house. She took to the road, fell in with a group of travellers. I was born in the back of a caravan, in the end."

Tom began to plan a tiny violin, until the moment before George looked at him.

His eyes darkened. "Do not mock the misfortune of others," he said, before brightening. "She used to play a game with me, when I was young. I was pretty good at it."

"Peek-a-boo, was it?" Drew asked, smirking.

George turned his attention to Drew. "Not quite. Would you like to see it?" He reached into the inside pocket of his waistcoat and removed a dog-eared deck of cards.

Drew sighed, and fished for his wallet. "I've met your type before. How much for you to just go away?" he asked, counting his change.

"No, I want to see the trick," Jess said.

"Me too," Tom added.

I was in two minds. Magic always frustrated me, knowing it was a trick but not knowing how.

George passed the deck to Drew. "Take a card."

He checked the deck, then pulled a card out, holding it close to his chest.

"Six of spades." George said.

Drew raised his eyebrows. "That was a cheat. Try again."

He took another card from the deck.

"Jack of clubs." George said, picking his teeth.

Drew looked behind him, checking for a mirror. Nothing but a sea of bodies. He shook his head, and passed the deck to Tom. He took a card, checked it, then placed it face down on the table.

"Two of diamonds."

Tom smiled, then passed the deck to Jess. "Nae a bad trick, big man."

Jess spread the deck on the table, examining each card. Finding nothing, she began to pull a card from the deck. Before it had even cleared the pack, George spoke.

"Queen of Hearts. Too easy. Try again."

Jess' eyes widened, and she chose another card.

"Ace of diamonds."

A whistle escaped her lips, and she passed the deck to me.

I looked over the deck, though I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for. After a futile search, I took a card.

George hesitated for the first time. "Four...no...king of hearts."

I smiled, and swung the face of the card past my friends, before showing it to George.

"The ace of spades," I said, restating the obvious.

George shook his head, and laughed. "Can't win them all, I suppose," he said.

I was about to place the card back in the deck when he stopped me.

"Wait. Place the card face down on the table."

I did as he asked.

"Keep your hand there."

I pressed my hand fimly onto the table, sandwiching the card beneath.

He closed his eyes, a low hum escaping his lips. His head swayed slightly, before he opened his eyes.

"Now, check your card."

I lifted the corner. The king of hearts. My heartbeat raised for a moment. I tossed the card face up on the table.

"That's not so impressive. I've seen street magicians do better," Drew said, leaning back in his chair. "What's the trick? Double-faced cards? Markings?"

George smiled and tapped his nose.

"I know anther trick," he continued. "It's not for everyone, though."

"I'm interested," Jen said. I would be lying if I said I disagreed.

"Good." He pointed his index finger at me, and his pinkie at Jess. "You two will be together."

We looked at each other, and laughed. It didn't seem likely, at the time.

He pointed to Tom. "You will soon return home. You will go on to do great things." He shifted his attention to Drew. "And you. You are moments away from a fall from grace."

Drew eyed the man suspiciously. "Right, that sounds interesting." He turned to face us. "Do you want to go somewhere else? This place is getting stale."

"No need," George said, collecting his deck of cards and getting to his feet. "I was just leaving anyway."

I found my wallet, and emptied the change pocket. "There you go. For the trick."

He shook his head. "No need. My business is your pleasure." With that, he turned and strolled out the door.

We sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Tom cracked the silence. “Great things, he says? I always had my suspicions.” He raised both fists in the air in celebration. “And you two getting it on, eh? Wonders never cease.”

“I hope that miserable old git falls from grace,” Drew remarked, arms crossed.

“Now, now, Drew.” Jess said. “Don’t be so rude. He was alright, I liked him.”

“Should I run and give him your number?” Drew asked.

Jess spared him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t want to make you jealous,” she said, toying with the straw between her teeth.

I looked down at the table. Where the deck of cards had lain, a folded piece of ancient paper sat. I reached over, picked it up and unfurled it. It was a photograph, yellowed with age. It showed a woman, hair held up above her face revealing soft features. She was pretty, in an old-fashioned way.

I examined the back of the photo, looking for a name. One word was scrawled on the back. “Mother”.

I turned the photo over to my friends, who eyed it eagerly.

“She looks so normal,” Jess said.

“You’d never know inside her lurks David Blaine’s bastard child.” Drew said with a smirk.

A overweight bartender began clearing glasses away from the table, wisps of thinning hair rearranging themselves, ruining the illusion of a full head of hair. He caught a glimpse of the photo over Drew’s shoulder.

“I remember her,” he said, before catching himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy.”

“Where from?” Jess asked.

“She…well….she was a working girl, years back.”

“And here I was thinking she was a virgin,” Drew said, laughing.

“I imagine she was, at some point.” The bartender replied. He looked away, lost in memories. “Nice girl, if a little highly strung. Had a kid, if I remember rightly.”

“I think we just met him,” I said.

“Really? How was he?” the bartender asked.

“A little the worse for wear,” said Jess. “Still sharp enough to fool us though.”

“He always was a trickster, that one. Especially with a deck of cards. The little sod could take your money like it was his all along, even as a child.”

He wiped the table down one-handed and hoisted the glasses to shoulder height.

“If you see him again, tell him Uncle Buster says hi.”

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” Drew said, tossing the photo onto the table. The bartender was already out of earshot. “So, turns out our magician wasn’t quite an immaculate conception, then?”

“She could have started working after she got kicked out of home?” Jess offered.

“You’ll believe any old rubbish.” Drew said.

Tom looked at the clean table.

“So, another here, or should we move on?” Tom asked, already feeling to pull of alcohol.

“Let’s move,” Drew said, “before he comes back.”

“Are you scared he’ll impregnate you?” Jess asked.

Drew threw her a dirty look, and we pulled ourselves to our feet. I grabbed the photo before I moved away, hoping that I would bump into George again, someday.

We walked out the doors, our mood returning to normal. Drew was discussing the ways George’s trick could have been accomplished.

“I used to have a friend who did the same thing with a coin,” he said.

“I’ll bet he had to touch your hand, though.” I replied. “George never came near my card.”

“He’s good, but not perfect. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

That would have been the last we ever spoke of George, if not for the events which followed.

Drew swung his jacket over his shoulders, but as he did his shoe met something with less purchase than the cement it left a moment before. His foot slid forward, legs buckling. His arms got tied up in his sleeves, and he clattered to the floor. When he recovered himself, a large brown streak had appeared on his trousers. It was mirrored on the pavement where he fell.

“Get a bit worried there, Drew?” Tom asked.

He craned to see the stain, then grunted.

“That’s my night over then, I guess,” he said. He took a look at the queue for the bar. Every head was turned to him, pointing and sharing jokes.

“Thank you. Thank you all.” Drew said, before storming off down the street.

I didn’t see much of Drew after that night. He got promoted, I think, and didn’t have so much time for us any more.

Tom moved back up to Scotland, and after a few years began what was to be a successful career as a stand-up comic. We went up to see him live a few months ago. His act was mostly anecdotes, every now and then we would hear one we recognized, and nudge each other knowingly.

Jess and I? Well, old George had us there. It took a while, but gradually we accepted what that strange old man took only a few minutes to figure out. Once we saw it, things moved pretty fast. Buying a house, marriage, kids, all done in a couple of golden years. What were big fears to me, have now transformed into my biggest joys.

Every once in a while, we sit the kids down, and tell them about the day we met an alien. Afterwards, I always find myself taking that little scrap of paper from my wallet. As I look at the photo, I can't help but wonder how different all our lives might have been without a little white lie, told by a woman I would never meet.

Some lies have implications far beyond their original intent, I suppose.

But maybe, if they are told for the right reason, they really can work out for the best.