Author: grasshopper

And now for something different, a #HighCastle tale from another perspective.

Disclaimer: I am just a dedicated fan. I am not affiliated with Amazon Studios

Club High Castle

The Truth is Never What it Seems

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I watched the amber liquid splash into my patron’s glass as I poured him a shot. The chatter hummed in the background; it was quieter than usual tonight, but I wasn’t about to complain. The cover charge was working. I had one rule in my bar: don’t cause trouble…also no weapons. Just because this was the Neutral Zone, didn’t mean we had to act like animals. 

I glanced at my patron and set the bottle of whiskey down. 

“Did you hear about what happened at Moe’s?” he asked. I turned and sighed. 

“There’s always something going on there,” I muttered. “Someone shot up that place last week over a girl.”

“Rumor has it he’s in bed with the Yakuza.” 

“He’s not.” 

But I was. 

They kept the peace and offered protection in exchange for drinks. I wish I didn’t have to rely on them, but it was the only way. 

There were times I missed the civility in the Reich. A shudder ran through me. I could never go back; not after the illusion was shattered and reality stared me in the face.

They had ripped my father from his desk and shot him in the head. I remember their black uniforms, shiny boots, and the cold indifference as the one in the leather coat pulled the trigger. 

All over what? Unknowingly giving a blonde haired, blue eyed member of the resistance a ride in the rain. 

Or so I was told. 

I frowned and went to put the whiskey on the shelf. My patron tapped his thick finger on the counter. His handsome brown eyes met mine. 

“More?” I asked. He nodded and slid his glass towards me. 

“Five Marks just to get in is pretty steep,” came a hearty drawl. I glanced up to see a man with shaggy brown hair and a 5 O’clock shadow sliding into the empty stool beside my patron. “A cold one, Lovely,” he winked. I stiffened as I shot him a fierce glare. 

“Well, that’s a no,” he smirked. “Message received. Say, how ’bout helping a man out?” He shifted and produced a wanted poster from his jacket. I recoiled. 

“This bar is for peaceful patrons only. You’re better off hanging that up at the bar on Main Street. I don’t want any trouble.” 

“But you didn’t even look at it.” 

“Fine,” I muttered. If it would get him the hell out of my face, I’d read it. I snatched it off the counter. 

I should have cried.

I should have been angry, but all I could do was erupt into laughter. 

“Hang this up,” I ordered, shoving it into his chest. “Your first beer is on me.”

“This is most unwise,” my patron whispered. “He has eyes and ears everywhere.” 

“Ha! He’s not going to bother with a tiny bar all the way out here,” The newcomer laughed. “What’s he going to do? Come all the way from his fancy office in that high tower of his to this dingy little bar?”

“The rabbit would be wise not to-”

“It stays,” I said. I looked them both in the eyes. “This is the man who murdered my father.”