The men stood in worn brown suits, hands in pockets and hats pulled down over their eyes. At the entrance to the bar their silhouettes stood as still as two ghosts. Outside the rain dappled against the windows and one man brushed droplets from his sleeve. They stepped into the bar, scanning the place. A skinny barman poured gin into a high ball at the other end of a long wooden counter and didn't look up as the men moved with ease toward him. When the barman finally looked up they were at the counter in front of him - their eyes hidden and their mouths set in silence. The barman spoke to them low and husky  as he poured. 

'What'll you guys have?'

They didn't answer right away. Instead both looked toward the door, one of them, the stockier one drummed his fingers on the counter. The other guy looked back at the bar man, 'beer.' 

He adjusted his jacket, as if the shoulders didn't quite fit. He pulled a few notes from his pocket and dropped it on the counter. The bar man swept it up with one hand as he slid the high ball glass across to a waitress with the other. Nothing else was said. He came back with two beers and placed them in front of the men. They appeared not to care, neither grabbed their bottle. The door was still in their sights. 

At a table by the window an old man with glasses and white hair took a sip of his whisky while reading a paper on his table. A couple sat at the far end where the waitress hovered dispensing the high ball cocktail to the man. 

 The shorter of the two men brought his beer to his lips as his eyes moved from person to person in the bar. They stood with their backs to the bar for a long time while the barman busied himself from end to end. The clinks and clatter of glasses and bottles didn't disrupt their focus. The taller man tugged at a sleeve and took sips from his beer. Outside car horns echoed in the night traffic. 

Neither man spoke as they drank.