The two of them sat there, staring at their glasses. They each had their of Johnny Walker, black for one, red for the other.
The bar tender walked by, they almost simultaneously motioned toward their glasses.
The pour seemed slow, but they paid no attention to it. Garbed in black suits, with white shirts and black ties, they hunched over their vessels, as if protecting the precious liquid from some evil darkness.
"I just can't wrap my head around it, Gabriel."
"I know Joseph."
"I mean, today was one of those days you read about, you watch in movies, man."
They were the only ones in the bar. Springsteen played on the jukebox, but it was a song the brothers didn't recognize.
"Fuck man, I know. The thing I can't understand, is why we didn't cry."
"Well, I know why. We hated him"
"Hate is a strong word for the dead."
"Come on, you remember all the years of shit we dealt with. It got worse the older he got. No one wanted him around anymore, you even said that three years ago."
"Yeah, but remember that time when I was seven, and you were five.'
"Oh shit, the time at the baseball diamond by home."
"Yeah, remember we hit and played outfield all day?"
"And he pitched all day long for us. He always did place the ball in a great spot."
They were quite again, staring into the void of their glasses.
"That was a good day."
"Yeah, it was."