It was the culmination of all of life’s issues that led Eli to this little café nestled in the nook between one supermarket that uses child labor from Bangladesh and another mega store that uses child labor from China. One could say without a doubt that he was lost. It wasn’t a secret either, especially from Barbara, his neighbor. She’s the one who saw Eli through the window of his house at two in the morning, naked and blasting anti-establishment music. The second person who knew was her over-the-top right-wing husband. He thought it was unneighborly of Eli to have invited Barbara over when she saw him dancing in the nude. After that night, Eli would go on to never recommend fighting naked.

The café in the nook was Café Moz. It had tables that lined the walls of the neighboring stores, covered by umbrellas, The and enclosed by faux iron fences. He didn’t have to walk all the way inside before the hostess shouted that he could sit anywhere. Eli’s choices were nearly limitless as it was Wednesday around two, and the cool autumn rain was just starting to dissipate.

There was a bar area with no stools, and all the seats by the windows were booths. It goes without saying that the booth is more comfortable than standing. Their menus were colorful and worn on all the edges. Before Eli looked at everything on the menu, a tall man wearing a white collared shirt, khaki slacks, and brown leather shoes approached the booth. His hair was clearly dyed black, and wrinkles and bags under his eyes betrayed the Botox in his forehead. He introduced himself as Regi, the owner.

“Good afternoon, sir; I’m Regi, the owner. Is this your first time here?” He had an English accent. Cockney, Eli thought.

“Hi, Eli. Yes, it’s my first time here.”

“Good then. If you’re hungry, I recommend the house special pie and coffee.” He said excitingly.

“I’ll take the pie, but I don’t drink coffee. Any house special tea?”

“No house special tea, but we do have a selection of tea in the back.” Regi flipped the menu over and pointed at a list of teas.

Eli pointed at one on the list, and Regi smiled, then left with the order. At that point, as Eli watched Regi leave to the back, he noticed the woman entering behind the bar. Her dark brunette hair was collected loosely into a bun. From the booth, he saw her wipe her eyes and nose with tissues and toss them away before washing her hands. She had been crying, and Eli became immediately curious as to why. It was none of his business, but he wanted to know. He thought about how to approach her to make his sudden interrogation seem not so sudden. He made a plan, then made another, and after making that second plan, made a third that he discarded to make one that he was confident would work. On his approach to the bar, a waiter passed him with a slice of the house pie. It smelled like pecans. At the bar, he discarded his final plan and instead asked her directly what was wrong.

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“Nothing,” she said. “What can I get you?”

Odd, he thought. There was no smile or banter from her. He was accustomed to a certain level of customer service to help patrons buy more drinks and leave bigger tips. He pressed her, this time trying to match her mood.

“That’s not true. If you don’t want to talk about it because it’s personal, then don’t tell me. But I am curious.” Eli leaned on the bar counter.

“It is personal, and I don’t care that you’re curious. I’m still not telling you.”

“I know. I said I was curious because I was giving you the reason why I came over. Not because I was trying to convince you to tell me.”

“So, carrying on this conversation is still you not trying to get me to chatter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So then, can I get you anything?”

“Baileys.”

With the Baileys in hand, Eli returned to his booth to find Regi waiting with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The tea was also at the table.

“What’s all this?” Eli asked, taking a mouth full of pie.

“I proposition.” Regi smiled, pouring out whiskey for both men.

Eli downed the Baileys and then set the cup at the end of the table. “What proposition?”

“I want you to buy this cafe.”

“Why the hell do you think I could do that?”

“Don’t be coy, Eli. I’ve seen your face in the papers. You might have done a good job of keeping the news away from the telly, but the newspapers, they still run.”

Eli stared at Regi and downed the whiskey, then poured himself another. He had tried his best to keep the news stations quiet, and he even went after the newspapers, but one always slips through the cracks. Always.

“Convince me,” Eli said.

“Oh, that’ll be easy. Unemployed billionaire, young, nothing to lose and everything to gain! You have nothing else to do now. Why not start with Café Moz?”

Eli shook his head, unimpressed.

Regi slumped in his seat. He stroked his mustache with his index finger and thumb. He groaned as if deep in thought or frustration. Eli couldn’t tell or didn’t care to know.

“You done a lot of good. I’m going broke running between these two mega fucks. People here will lose their jobs if I close down.”

“There are other jobs. I’m sure it’s not that hard finding a job as a hostess or waiter.”

“Don’t be a twat, Eli. I thought you were better than that.”

Eli thought that too. He looked over to the bartender with the red hair. She was serving up a drink for another day wanderer that had made their way in.

“What’ll you do if I buy this place?”

A grin stretched across Regi’s face. The wrinkles in his eyes became more profound, but his forehead stayed taught. “I knew you were interested.” He drank his whiskey, “Early retirement, I’m older than I look.”

Eli poured more whiskey for the both of them. He raised his glass and toasted, “To Café Moz!”