I was weary from doing and talking about my dream. I was getting tired of thinking about dream related activity. In fact, come to think of it, I was just tired.

"I'm tired Sam," I said honestly. "Can we just go get that drink?" Another yawn followed.

Sam can be a handful, among other things, but he never messed with anyone if they're sincere with him about what a pain in the ass he was being.

The cab ride was pleasant and without incident. Sam backed off making riddles about my dream time and we were at the new bar before we knew it. The cab let us out on the corner of a crossroads in a section of town located in-between China Town and Fish Town.

I paid the cabbie and dropped two dimes and a penny on the ground while taking my money out of my pocket. I didn't bother to pick them up.

We walked a few blocks in uncharacteristic silence until Sam stopped and pointed at his new bar.

"There it is," He said, pointing to recently renovated storefront nestled in between a wig shop and a used bookstore.

"Nice."

Sam unlocked the door and we entered. The interior was long and skinny, I'd say from looking maybe 16 feet wide by 60 feet long. The flooring was stained and cracked from what looked like years of neglect. The ceiling tiles were yellow with nicotine stains in some spots and brown with water damage in others.

The bar itself was almost as long and wide as the building. It was worn and tattered looking, with initials carved here and there looking like poorly done tattoos. It appeared structurally sound, so it had that going for it. I sat down on a stool with a rip in it, lit a cigarette, wrote my initials in the dust on the bar top, and said to Sam "Looks fantastic. I thought you had it renovated though?"

"Just the front, so it blends in with the rest of the block. We're getting gentrified around here, appearances are everything."

"They sure are. Got a name yet?"

"Sam's Bar."

"Solid. Simple and to the point."

"I thought so too, thanks for noticing. What'll you have?"

Usually, I say something like "Whatever you're having." but if you say those kinds of things to Sam he just pulls two full bottles of rum out and hands you one. I learned that the hard way more than once and sometimes I re-learn it, depending on how the day went.

"Whiskey sour," I said.

"Coming right up," Sam answered while pouring whiskey into a highball glass. He then squeezed a lemon wedge over it and dropped a single defenseless ice cube into glass before placing the finished product in front of me.

"Good stuff," I said after my first sip, "I'm glad you're not between bars anymore, was starting to miss hanging out in here. Does Danny know about this place yet?"

"Not yet. I'll let him know as soon as I get all the paperwork with the city ironed out. If he knows, he'll want to see it. Which would be fine if he ever went anywhere alone. Can't have him and his whole entourage making a scene in here before everything's above board."

"That Danny, he's the very definition of a character."

Sam took a long pull from his glass and said "What's the deal with the street urchins? Waiting on something or just wanting to hear anything?"

"Well," I lit a cigarette, "Now that Youmotepp is out of the way the city's gonna need a new crime boss. Nature abhors a vacuum..."

"Wait," Sam interrupted, "I thought nature adored a vacuum?"

"Nah..," I began to say but changed my mind "...Well, depends on the make and model I suppose."

"Right, so any news on who's planning to take over the city, crime wise?"

"Well, not really. That's what I need to talk to the urchins about. Last I heard a gang of werewolves was planning on moving in."

"I head something about that too. Bad news, if it's true. I'd be happy with some ghosts or maybe ghouls running the crime thing. They get the game. Crime is all slow nickels."

I slapped my hand on the bar more loudly than I needed to and proclaimed, "Damn, why didn't I think of this before? Golems would be perfect for this. Do you have Frank's phone number?"

"Frank Stein? Don't think so. Doesn't he have a set of telephone letters?"

"Not since I won them from him at cards. The urchins should be able to contact him. I'm expecting one here soon."

Contacting the street urchins I had hired to gather information for me wasn't that difficult a thing to do. All I had to do was think about where I was and that I wanted to see one of them. Ten minutes or so later, one would show up.

We finished our drinks and started another. After we repeated that process two more times, the door opened and a child in dirty clothes walked into Sam's Bar like he owned the place.

"Hey Mr. T.J., you wanted to see me?"

"Hey Jax, how's it shaking?" I said.

"Ah, you know. Same shit different ass," he answered.

"I hear ya", Sam said. "Have a seat." A glass of beer appeared on the bar in front of the stool Sam had picked out for Jax.

Jax sat down and took a sip of his beer. From the way he drank it, it was obvious that it wasn't his first one. Some folks might object to a kid drinking beer in a bar with two half-lit old guys, but street urchins have different rules than non-street urchin kids. Besides, it was a light beer. Jax drained his drink and asked for another. Sam obliged, trying to give him a new glass with the new beer.

"Nah, too fancy," Jax said. "Keep using the same glass please."

Sam smiled and gave me a slight nod of approval. I wouldn't be surprised if this time next week he has his own gang of street urchins.

"Hey, can I bum a smoke from one of you guys?" our young guest asked.

I tossed my pack on the bar, set my matches down next to them and said, "Help yourself, Jax."

Jax lit a cigarette and relaxed into his stool a bit. "Thanks. What did you want to ask me about, Mr. T. J.?"

"Well, a few things. I'm expecting a turf war soon..."

"Nature does adore a vacuum, doesn't it?" Jax asked.

"Well, sometimes, Sam and I were just talking about that...anyway, have you guys noticed any new monsters in town? I don't mean the usual drifters. I'm talking about clans, packs, families, official sounding stuff."

Jax inhaled and finished his second beer. He then sat quietly for a few moments, lost in thought. A few minutes later, the fog had cleared from his eyes and he answered me, "Well, maybe. My memory ain't what it used to be. I hear beer is good for memory recall. Maybe if I had another it would jog the ol' noodle a little bit. "

Sam smiled and refilled Jax's beer glass.

"Thanks a lot, Mr. S, appreciate it," Jax uttered as he was taking a sip of his third beer. "Yeah, that did the trick. I remember hearing about this guy Frank coming into town and asking some weird questions."

"What kind of weird questions?" Sam asked as his face perked up.

"Real weird shit. Like 'Do you children know who runs the numbers game around here?' and 'Is that massage parlor owned by The Mob, The Tong, or a sole proprietor?' Stuff like that. That what you looking for?"

"That's the stuff, yeah," I said. "You get a last name?"

"I didn't, but Luke and Erica were the ones who met him, this is all second hand to me," Jax answered while lighting a cigarette.

"Hey Jax," Sam interrupted, "You got one lit already, buddy."

"Yeah I know, starting with the third beer I like 'em two at a time."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. It was clear he was pretty amused by the proceedings.

"Jax," I said while producing a fifty dollar bill, "Take this and get some food for the gang. I'll give you a couple of packs of smokes and a growler of the good stuff before you go. I'm looking for someone named Frank Stein. He's tall, his skin has a slight greenish hue to it. He moves slow and talks deliberately. Any of that sound familiar?"

"Wow gee whiz, a quintuple sawbuck. Thanks Mr. T.J. ! None of it sounds familiar to me personally Mr. T. J., but I'll ask around and get back to you as soon as I can."

Sam, Jax, and myself sat around bullshitting for another hour or so before Jax announced that he had to leave to go check on his bets at the OTB joint around the corner. Sam showed him out through the back door. A drunk kid walking out of a bar is never good for business. At least not the kind of business that's good to have.

"How old's that kid?" Sam asked after showing Jax out.

"He says he's 7, but I think he might be lying to make people think he's older than he is."

"Who lies about being 7? There's nothing to gain. Not like seven-year-olds can vote or rent a car."

"Street urchins have a weird culture."

"Are they all that way?"

All the ones I've met so far are pretty much just like that."

"Damn," Sam said. "He might give Danny a run for his money someday."

"Maybe. Life expectancy of a street urchin isn't that long, though. Unless he gives it up or gets adopted, he'll probably be dead before he's old enough to drive."

"That's a real shame."

"Sure is," I said through another yawn.

My eyelids were getting heavy and the back of my head started to feel like it was being pushed down by a giant. I stretched my arms out and yawned again, more dramatically than the last time. Sam excused himself to the bathroom and I felt my head slump downwards. I folded my arms on the bar and used them as a pillow. The last thing I remembered hearing was Sam singing softly to himself "Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, life is but a..."