Then there’s nothing to say.The mix of voices and music feels like its own kind of atmospheric pressure, like there’s no room to say anything even if we wanted to.Which, I guess we don’t.The bartender comes back with our drinks, and then instead of standing in silence, we’re drinking in silence.
“You said you had a project,” Sam finally says.He’s hardly touched his beer.Maybe because he thinks I’m going to roofie my new bride or something like that.
“Yeah, right.So, we’ve got a Greek Life outreach planned in a couple of weeks.That’s part of the strategic plan—getting partner organizations connected to WISP, finding opportunities to raise awareness, offer services, that kind of thing.”
Sam looks around.The Sigma Sigma guys tend to be White, wealthy, and pretty.There are plenty of girls mixed in too.He’s studying them the way a cop does, and it looks unexpectedly good on him.He’s still got that baby face, but I’m starting to think little Sammy Yarmark can be a hardass if he needs to.
Sometimes, at the strangest times, memories pop into your head.And now I’m thinking about the filthy basement of an abandoned warehouse.I’m bleeding from where a fucking booby trap got me in the arm.And Sam is the one applying the tourniquet, making sure I don’t bleed out.
I hadn’t thought of him as a kid then.Or as little Sammy Yarmark.
I pluck at my T-shirt, trying to get some air, and I take another drink.
“So, what do you want me to do?”Sam asks.
“I want you to be in charge of that.You’re going to follow up with my Sigma Sigma contact.You’re going to plan the outreach activity.”
“What does that mean?”Sam asks after another look around the bar.“Like, a party?”
“Well, not exactly.But I wanted you to have an idea of the clientele.”
And sure enough, he starts studying them like he’s RoboCop.Having his attention somewhere else is actually easier than that slow build-up of pressurized silence between the two of us, so I let him do his full-body scans and cyber-whatever-the-fucks and analyze the shit out of these Sigma Sigma bros and the girls they invited to their party.And I drink my beer.
The worst part is that Sam has never made a thing out of it.Never given me shit about how he’d saved my life.Never even talked about it, really.He’d been a baby back then—bad hair, bad skin, and just starting to get out of his bad attitude.But it was the kind of thing most guys would have brought up, one way or another, at least once.Especially around a bunch of other guys.Especially when that kind of shit carried weight.I mean, Sam could have ridden that for a year or two, easy, and been the department’s hot shit.Now, thinking back, I don’t even know if he got a medal or a commendation or anything.If he didn’t, that was messed up.And it’s messed up, too, that I don’t know.
“Okay,” Sam says.“I’ve got some ideas.I might come back tomorrow, ask the manager a few questions.I know it’s not a party, but are we doing food?Drinks?”
“What do you think?”
He makes a face.
I laugh.“You wanted a project.”
“I know.You sound like Mr.Somerset.”
“Oh God, kill me right fucking now.”
That makes him smile.A real smile.And my second realization of the night is that you don’t get a lot of big smiles out of Sam Yarmark.When he first came to the department, he was like one of those yappy little things chasing after the big dogs.That changed, though, after he started following John-Henry around, and now I wonder if maybe he’s too quiet.I don’t know what he does outside of work.I don’t know if he has friends.What else don’t I know?
“I’ll figure something out,” Sam says.“Do you want me to submit a plan to you?Or a proposal or something?”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
He nods, but he says, “I’ll probably do it anyway.”
And that makesmesmile.It also makes me realize how John-Henry must feel.The kid, I’m starting to suspect, might be a fucking bulldozer.
Sam drains his beer and sets the glass on the bar.“Anything else?”
“Uh, yeah, actually.”And once again, I’m blushing like I’m a fucking virgin or something.“I guess we need to figure some stuff out.You know, about us.If we’re going to pull this off.”
Sam’s eyebrows come together.“Like what?”
“I don’t know.Your middle name.What you do for fun.Lots of shit that we’re supposed to know about each other.But mostly, how we’re going to act around each other.”I absolutely hate the word, but I can’t come up with anything better.“To see if we have chemistry.”
I wait for him to bolt, but Sam stands there, eyebrows still knitted together.And then he says, “Should I tell people I’m the top?”
It’s a bad moment because I’m mid-drink, and I cough most of it up.
