He sighed and scratched at his scrub brush straight scalp.“I worry about you.”
“When haven’t you?”I’d known him forever.All the neighborhood kids did.
He sipped his coffee, waiting me out.My sarcasm wasn’t going to win points tonight.“Are you sure he’s in your past?”
Most definitely.“It was a temporary blip.I’m good now.”
His eyes lifted.“Yet you’re drunk.”
“It’s still technically my vacation.”
He leaned back to scan the bar.A habit that carried over from his days on the force.“Have someone follow you home, or take a rideshare tonight.Do not walk there alone.Understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I mean it.There are people asking questions.And you coming in here and lying about your honeymoon and marital status isn’t going to fly.Those folks scrutinize any inconsistency.”
I knew that.But the file the FBI had on me must mention at least twice that I was a pathological liar who couldn’t provide a straight story if you held me at knife point.
A memory flashed through my mind.One of many I’d like to forget.Maybe it was mentioning Carnival earlier, or the way my rabid brain couldn’t let go of one douchebag assassin, but that moment was frozen at the forefront of my thoughts.
I caught myself gazing into space.Something Casey Kelly did often.It was called “a thousand-yard stare.”What it really was could be summed up as PTSD trauma processing.Sergeant Kelly earned his during a shootout gone horribly wrong.It stripped him of his rigid moral code and replaced it with blood, dishonor, and nightmares best solved through liquid therapy.
Mine was more insidious.I’d lived with little cuts to my psyche ever since my Grandfather was dubbed, “The Outfit’s Accountant.”His life work reduced to headlines and sensationalized stories.
While he embraced the Family—capital F—he kept hisfamilyout of it.But the FBI decided that his weak spot was an avenue to harass, exploit, and torture.They were given legal means to terrorize a simple suburban family for over fourteen years.
Then Jaja died.
And the trouble got worse because all the money he’d scraped together to provide for us when he was gone was tainted with sin.
The nightmares never stopped.They just got worse.I should have at least tried to fight them off.Instead, I embraced them…made fun of them… crafted an entire persona that couldn’t be wounded.
I was too sober for this shit.“I need another drink.”
“Like hell ya do.”Casey motioned to Molly so he could order a second coffee, plain, and one for me.
“I’m going to be up all night.”The caffeine wouldn’t be fully to blame, but it certainly wouldn’t help.
“Better than a having a hangover.Are you taking my opener tomorrow?”
I nodded.I’d be here whether I was working or not.Might as well give everyone a break and do something.
Molly set my mug down, doctored exactly as I liked it, except for the Baileys.I knew it was missing as soon as I raised it to sniff.
“Then, cheers.”He lifted his cup to match mine.
No sooner than I finished sipping, a shadow moved from the hallway back toward the bar.
And my heart stuttered before picking up the pace to flightandfight levels.
Ringo-fucking-Devlinwas in my bar.I tracked him the entire distance from the back hallway to his seat in the prime spot where the curve of the bar hit the north wall.There were two stools tucked into the corner where the bar flap interrupted the short leg of the “J.”I liked to sit there because you could watch everything that happened in the main bar as well as check out anyone taking the stairs to the overflow lounge in the basement.
That bar was only a third the size of the main floor’s.Most nights the door to it was locked.That didn’t stop curious folks from tugging the brass handle.And, if I wanted to escape there tonight to ignore Casey’s no-drinking decree, I’d have to walk right past my nemesis to get there.
I’d rather gnaw my arm off.
Casey finished saying something I’d completely missed.He stared at me, waiting for a quip or a snarky reply.
