The Master Returns

The tapas bar in Haifa was buzzing with conversation and light music that desperately wanted to be a club mix. Busses and cars passed outside with the usual cacophony of traffic in Israel’s second-busiest city. The clouds portended rain, but who could tell in a country built on a desert on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea?

Peter sat at a small table off in a corner. He sat alone, waiting for a friend. It was his first time out in public since the incident had happened. Subsequently,, it was more about funeral planning and grieving the end of a wonderful man. Now he was trying to alert everyone that things had taken quite a different turn. He wanted to keep it off social media or messaging apps. This message was better delivered in person. Besides, he wanted to avoid ending up in the middle of a riot or in jail again.

“Hey Peter.” Peter turned around to see his friend shaking off his coat and sliding into the table.

“Hi, Thomas, pull up a seat.”

Thomas hung his jacket and slid into the chair. He leaned forward toward Peter.

“I’m surprised you’re showing your face in public,” Thomas said as he pulled out a bar stool and slid into it. Peter had a glass of red wine in front of him. Thomas ordered the same. The pretty bar tender with the roman nose brought him a glass and set it down on a napkin coaster on the…