“Conquer the Day?” he asked. “Is that the name of the place?”
“It is,” Eddie answered. “It is one of the oldest bars in Chia, dating back to well before the town became a mere suburb of Bogota.”
“I like the name,” Jake said.
“You will like the place as well,” Eddie assured him. “A simple working-class bar frequented by simple working-class Colombians. Come on. Let us go enjoy some beer.”
“Let’s do it,” Jake said.
The door opened. The two security guys got out first, looked up and down the street and then nodded to Eddie. He and Jake then exited the vehicle, smoldering cigars still in hand. The rain was still coming down, so they quickly moved under the awning that stood over the front door. One of the two security men then entered the establishment. Jake tried to follow but the second security man, who had stayed outside, held up his hand, motioning for him to hold up for now.
“They’re just making sure that ... you know ... we’ll be able to find a place to sit once we’re in there,” Eddie explained.
“Of course,” Jake said. He took another puff on his cigar and let the smoke drift off into the rain.
A minute went by and the security man, apparently having been given the okay on his earpiece, gave another nod. He opened the door to allow Eddie and Jake to enter. Do these guys ever talk? Jake wondered as he stepped through into the bar.
Conquistar el Dia was like pretty much every other working-class bar Jake had ever been in. There was music playing from the speakers. There was a long wooden bar that ran the length of one wall, and it had a large mirror behind it, racks and racks of booze bottles stacked in front of the mirror, a half dozen or so blue jeaned and pullover shirted men sitting at the bar with a few modestly dressed women. There were cocktail tables scattered about here and there with a few more men and women sitting at them. There was a tattered old billiards table in one corner and a few electronic dart boards in another. There were a few differences from American bars, however. The thick haze of cigarette smoke was one thing—smoking in bars had been outlawed in California a few years back. The fact that all of the conversation, all of the signs on the walls, the posters, the advertisements, even the music, were in Spanish was another.
That conversation seemed to fade out to nothingness once Eddie and Jake entered. Everyone seemed to be staring at them for a moment. And then, slowly, everyone turned their eyes away and went back to their own business, although at a lower volume than before. The security man who had entered first was standing at a corner of the bar, where several empty seats were available. He pointed to them.
“Let’s head over,” Eddie suggested.
“Let’s do it,” Jake said.
He followed Eddie over and they grabbed seats next to each other. Once they were seated, the two security men took up separate positions: one by the restroom door, the other by the main door. Jake looked from one to the other for a moment and then shrugged it off.
“So...” he said, turning to his host. “What’s good here?”
“Have you ever tried Club Colombia Brava?” Eddie asked.
“I never have,” Jake told him.
“It’s one of the better brews made by one of our national breweries,” he explained. “A flavorful pilsner with a healthy kick.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said.
One of the bartenders came over. He was a man in his late forties, his face weathered by time and likely alcoholism. He sported a mustache almost as thick and unruly as Eddie’s. His eyes appeared to be nervous as he looked at his two customers. He said something in rapid-fire Spanish. Jake was able to understand just enough to gleam that he was welcoming them to Conquistar el Dia and that he considered it an honor that they were patronizing the establishment.
“Gracias,” Eddie responded. He then fired back some Spanish of his own. Jake followed along enough to get that Eddie was telling him that his friend here was from America, was a famous musician, and that they would very much enjoy two Bravas from the tap.
“En sequida, Señor, ” the bartender said. He then quickly pulled two glasses down and went to the tap.
He returned less than a minute later, two frosty glasses of an amber colored beer in hand. He set them down before them on cocktail napkins.
“Gracias,” Eddie told him. He then pulled out a leather wallet. “Cuanto te debo?”
The bartender shook his head sternly and spit out another rapid-fire burst of Spanish; the gist of which Jake understood was that Señor Gomez’s money was no good here.
Eddie smiled and nodded approvingly. “Gracias, Gracias,” he said, his eyes warm. He put his wallet away and then turned to Jake. “I make a lot of donations to local charities here in Chia,” he explained.
“I see,” Jake said with a nod. He picked up his beer and had a sniff. It smelled like beer.
“A toast,” Eddie said. “To unfettered business dealings.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jake told him. And he did. The beer was actually quite good. Not as good as Lighthouse Ale, but it blew any mass-produced American beer right out of the water. And it did indeed pack quite a punch. After only one, Jake felt the definite beginnings of a strong buzz in his head.
“Do you play darts, Jake?” Eddie asked him.
“I have been known to throw a few,” Jake allowed.
Eddie smiled and nodded in the direction of the dart boards. “Perhaps you would accept a challenge from me?”
“Perhaps,” Jake said. “Is it the same game here as it is in the states?”
“Where do you think the dart boards come from?” Eddie asked. “We start at three hundred and one and work down to zero.”
“That’s how we play it all right,” Jake said. “Let’s do it.”
“Of course, the game is a bit more entertaining if a wager is involved,” Eddie said.
“True,” Jake agreed, “but I don’t have much Colombian money on me, as I mentioned.”
“I have enough of that,” Eddie said. “I propose a more lucrative wager.”
“Such as?” Jake asked.
“Three out of five,” Eddie said. “If you win, I take fifty thousand American dollars off the agreed-to price of the Avanti.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “Interesting,” he said slowly. “And if I lose?”
“You add fifty thousand American to the price.”
Jake smiled a little. He was sure he could beat this guy. But then he had a second thought. Did he really want to be perceived as hustling a Colombian drug lord? “Uh ... well ... Eddie, before I agree to the wager, I think I should make a disclosure.”
“Yes?”
“I am very good at darts. Not only do I play it when I go out to a bar, I have one of these machines in the entertainment room of my house and practice quite frequently. My wife and I play almost every time we go out to a pub ... and we rarely lose.”
“I will consider myself advised,” Eddie said. “Is it a bet?”
Jake held out his hand. “It’s a bet.”
They shook on it. And then they went to play, carrying their beers and their cigars with them. Jake quickly found out that Eddie was quite good at the game as well. But he was not quite good enough. It took all five games to declare a winner, but Jake edged him out in the end, putting the last dart in the double 10 slot to bring his score down from 20 to exactly 0.
“Well then,” Eddie said, a smile still on his face. “I guess that’s it.”
“Yep,” Jake said, eyeing him a little nervously, but the man did not seem the least bit upset that he had just lost fifty thousand American dollars.
“How about we have one more and then hit the road?” Eddie asked.
“Sounds like a plan,” Jake said.
They returned to the bar and Eddie ordered up two more Bravas. As they sipped them, Eddie said, “It’s been quite enjoyable socializing with you, Jake. If you ever come back to Colombia, I hope we can do it again.”