John the Barman. (Short story part 3.)

This is a re-post of a short story I first began posting in September 2016, when I first joined steemit.
The story was first published in 2013 as an e-book and is based heavily, in location on my old local pub and my good friend who worked behind the bar.

Lucifer sat watching the music channel as he supped at another bottle. The sound for the television was muted but Thor had selected a string of rock tracks from the jukebox so some kid called Justin whatever was presently appearing to sing ‘Enter Sandman’. All things considered, with just seeing this Justin prancing about on stage, Lucifer was thankful the sound to the TV was switched off. What the youth of today classed as dancing left a lot to be desired.
Suddenly he felt a vibration in his pocket and he reached in to pull out his mobile phone. He pressed the screen, read the text message and groaned.
“Can you get me a double whiskey and a lager top, Father’s on his way and Gabriel is tagging along.”
John nodded and got up. “Are you still not talking to your brother Gabriel?”
Lucifer pulled a face. “The guy’s a dick. He delivers one message, gets a bit of fame and thinks he’s the ‘big I am’. If it wasn’t for the fact he always hides behind Father, I’d kick his ass.”
John nodded in a non-committal sort of way as he put the glass of whiskey on the bar and grabbed a glass for the lager top. By the time he’d poured the drink, they heard footsteps on the stairs and Gabriel walked in. He was wearing a postman’s uniform and dropped his mail bag by a stool.
“Father will be up in a minute, he stopped to catch up with some tramp with a dog.” Gabriel picked up the lager top and took a sip. “So Lucifer, how’s work, keeping you busy?” he asked smugly.
“Sod off delivery boy, before I take that bag and ram it up where the sun doesn’t shine,” Lucifer said angrily.
“Lucifer! Be nice to your brother,” a voice said from the top of the stair.
Lucifer sat up a little straighter on his stool but didn’t turn around. “That was me being nice Father, I gave him a warning rather than just showing him what I plan to do,” Lucifer replied sullenly. “So who were you talking to?”
“Jack, he keeps getting drunk and then disturbing his neighbours, waking up their baby with his singing,” God answered, walking into the room. “Then the baby’s mother starts praying for him to be quiet and she really believes in prayer so it’s like someone shouting in my ear. It puts me off doing the Sudoku in the paper.”
“So what did you tell this Jack?” Lucifer asked.
“I gave him a severe throat infection and told him if he has another drink, it will fry his liver. Then I gave him a few choice visions,” God said, sitting down.
“You think it will work?” Lucifer asked. “Will he stop waking the baby up?”
“Sure it will work, he ran off and got hit by a bus,” God replied dismissively.
“Wasn’t that a little extreme? I’ve seen you leave here some nights singing at the top of your voice,” John said, aghast. Lucifer and Gabriel both nodded their agreement at the fact of God singing while drunk.
“Well maybe the visions were a little too much, but how was I supposed to know he would run like that? He had a walking stick with him,” God said, looking at the whiskey glass in front of him. “I did make sure the dog went to a new home and ordered Peter to fast track him through the Pearly Gates.”
“Well that’s something I suppose. Who took the dog in?” John asked.
“Angelo, the guy from the kebab shop down the street,” God answered. “He seemed happy to be looking after it.”
“Well if I were you, I wouldn’t be calling into Angelo’s for a kebab for a few weeks.” John warned them. “He does have a reputation around here.”
“He wouldn’t… would he?” Gabriel said, the colour draining from his face.
“He is on the list of borderline possible inmates for my place,” Lucifer said with a smile. “And dogs do go missing a lot round here.”
“Enough Lucifer, stop winding your brother up, Angelo does not use pet dogs to make his kebabs.” God said sternly and then took a sip from his glass before continuing. “So John, a little quiet in here this morning isn’t it?”
“It’s the rain.” John explained, happy at the change in subject as he shut out the image of the tramp getting hit by the bus and his dog becoming kebab meat. God was a nice bloke and could be really thoughtful but at times, the Old Testament thinking would take over. “Only the hard-core oldies pop in when the weather’s bad.”
God looked over at Thor and Hercules, Thor had a hand in a pocket on the pool table and as Hercules took the shot, the red ball fell into his palm. Taking the ball, he put it into the holding area for the balls on one end of the table.
“Lucky shot,” they heard Thor grumble.
“You should stop them doing that,” God said.
John put down the paper with a shrug. “They’re doing no harm and there’s nobody waiting to play.”

To be continued.