His white hair was neatly bed back from a deeply tanned; severely lined face。 A gold wedding
band winked from his wrinkled; leathery hand。 As Nate approached; the man stood and gripped
Nate?s palm。
?Nate Archibald。 You?re the spitting image of your father;? Chips growled with a Scottish accent。
He looked at Nate with crinkly…lidded blue eyes beneath bushy white brows; and motioned to the
leather…cushioned chair across from his。 ?Sit。 Have a drink。? Chips sat back down and gestured to
the waiter; a man in his forties with neatly bed sandy hair falling over a wide forehead。 Chips
pointed at his glassful of amber…colored liquid and held up two wizened fingers。 ?You like scotch??
He cocked an eyebrow at Nate。
?Sure。? Nate shuffled his legs under the table。 ?Anything?s fine。? The waiter leaned in; speaking
softly。 ?I?m sorry; sir;? he whispered apologetically。 ?I?m going to need to see some ID。? Nate
paused for a second; feeling like he?d been trapped。 He?d already agreed to have scotch; but now
he?d have to show his fake ID。 Was Chips setting him up? He gulped and reached into the back
pocket of his cargo shorts; retrieving the battered brown leather wallet his dad had given him for
his sixteenth birthday。 He pulled out the fake ID he?d gotten off the Internet。 It looked pretty good;
and it usually worked?except for the fact they?d mixed up the hair and eyes categories; so if you
read it closely it said ?brown eyes; green hair。? The waiter peered at the ID for a long moment and
Nate shifted in his chair guiltily。 When the waiter looked up; he shot him a wry smile。 ?Very
good;sir ;? he added; handing Nate back the laminated card。
?I always say;? Chips declared; ?that all it takes to cure life?s woes is a bottle of good scotch and
the open sea。? He chuckled and slapped the tabletop with one hand as if to punctuate his speech。
Nate nodded lamely as he leaned back in his chair; trying to get fortable。 He glanced around
the room。 He was the youngest person there by at least forty years?clusters of wizened old men
were gathered at every single oak table; each man gruffer and stonier than the next。 One of them
had an actual eye patch。 The old cyclops squinted in Nate?s direction with his one good eye。
Before Nate could start to muse on what terrible sailing accident had caused him to lose his
eyeball; the white…jacketed waiter returned and placed a glass of scotch in front of him。
?Thank you;? he mumbled。
?Cheers; my boy。? Chips lifted his tumbler and then took a huge swig。 Nate quickly followed suit;
gagging on the fiery amber liquid。 The scotch was freaking strong?stronger than anything he?d
ever had?and Chips was drinking it like lemonade。Whowas this guy?
?You?re nothing like what I thought;? Nate blurted out; turning red and taking another small;
tentative nip。 From everything his dad had told him about Chips; Nate had thought he would be a