Chances Are

by Lee Brazil

  Chapter Four

  "I'm at a loss."

  My bar sat on a corner lot with parking on two sides. That cinderblock wall divided my parking from the neighborhood on the rear. It was one of those overpriced, reclaimed neighborhoods where a homeowner's association made the residents miserable with all their Stepford home rules. It's their fault I can't live in the apartment over my bar, what with the constant lawn mowing and tree trimming and construction noise. Their anal retentive maintenance rules were responsible for that fence being freshly painted every time some kid graffitied it.

  The other side of my lot was bordered by an evergreen hedge that both the neighbor and I agreed should be allowed to overgrow its former boxy shape. I could see it all so easily now. Gerry, the cute scruffy kid who I trusted with my Wednesday deposit had stolen my money. He'd either handed it off to someone on the other side of that cinderblock fence, or it was still there, hidden. I'd bet he'd just leaned over and tucked it down there, thinking he'd retrieve the bag when the furor died away.

  I'm sure he didn't consider things like someone else coming along and finding it before he got done with the cops. I'm sure it never occurred to him that everyone in the place who looked at him would know he was lying the minute he walked in. No. Because he was used to me…walking around with my head up my ass not noticing shit because I didn't have to anymore.

  He caught me looking and rubbed at the smudge. The still tacky paint got on his hands and he rubbed it on jeans. His expression grew frantic, and he grabbed for the water glass and napkin. Darrin caught his hand and replaced it on his jeans. "Son, I'm going to ask you one last time to tell us what happened. If you're still inclined to lie, then I'm going to have to let the boys take you in when they get here."

  Gerry just kind of went limp in the seat. He grabbed the wet napkin and pressed it to the injury on his head, and this time Darrin didn’t stop him. I was at a loss as to why, but Darrin put down the notebook and handed Gerry his nearly empty whiskey glass. A bit of indignation sparked, but I ignored it.

  Gerry shuddered. His chest swelled as he breathed deep then the words tumbled out so fast I could see how hard he'd been trying to keep them in. "My brother called. His kid's needing surgery and he doesn't have the money for the hospital co-pay for it. I don't have any money either, Chance, and I know it's not right, but I know you have plenty of money. I figured you wouldn't really miss it. Phil and I, we got no one else to call when things like this go wrong. Lacey's just a little kid and deserves a chance to do something with her life. She doesn't get that surgery then she's going to die. The money was there…you wouldn't miss it. So I took it. I used a rock from the back lot to bang myself up, rolled in the parking lot to make it look like I'd been tossed around."

  I couldn't look at him any more, his face all covered with smears of dirt and blood, his eyes bright with tears, cheeks flushed. I stared over his shoulder at the door he burst through all of what? Twenty minutes ago? There was a tiny little ache in my chest…the chest I thought was numb for ever after. The one thing I'd been grateful to Cannon for was that fucking numbness…and now, not only were rookie cops and frat boy bartenders slipping under my guard and worming their way into my life, but they were going to be allowed to hurt me, too? Well, there's more than one way to numb what you don't want to feel.

  "Frankie!" He looked over when I called, and at my gesture brought me a bottle of whiskey and three clean glasses. I filled each one about an inch from the brim, saw Darrin eyeing me slantwise. I took a gulp from one glass then swirled it in the light as heat burned away the pain and the numbness returned. I glanced back at Gerry who picked at his jeans with grubby hands.

  I should have been angry, but I wasn't. He's right. I won't miss that money. It's a small amount, and I have all I'll ever need from the insurance payouts over my career ending injury. What bothered me…I was suddenly struck by his story. Not the niece, 'cause yeah, that's sad, but if he'd asked I probably would have paid for the surgery. The whiskey masked the fact that I was actually kind of hurt that he didn't ask. So I blurted that out because I was too busy mulling over the sense of fucking loneliness his confession created. Loneliness that went beyond the pain, beyond the numbness that cured the pain…it was a well of darkness…a mirror without a reflection?

  Shit…Who was going to ever call me for help with something like that? Who can I call when I need like that? Not fucking Cannon Malloy…I couldn't even call him for a ride. And after our last meeting, he wouldn't call me if his life depended on it.

  No one. I got friends, and I got customers, and I got former coworkers, and fuck buddies…and I got no one I could call and no one who would call me. No one who would steal for me…

  "Where's the money, Gerald?" Darrin's voice was hard, judging. His gaze kept wandering to that whiskey glass I pushed toward him, and it was embarrassing how much he really wanted it. I saw him tremble with the need. What the fuck happened to Darrin that that glass of whiskey was so much temptation? What brought him to my bar when he should be out working? Why the fuck am I getting all this now? I'm disgusted that I didn't notice Darrin's problem before, disgusted that Gerry couldn't just ask for the money he needed. Who the hell has Cannon made me?

  It doesn’t matter. I don't fucking want to be this guy anymore; I set the whiskey glass down with a snap. Living hurts.

  "Let him keep the money."

  "Are you insane? He stole from you!"

  Rory. "I told you to wait for me in the office." I glanced over at him, and he looked livid. His skin was dark with anger, his lips tight. His body was tense and still, and suddenly, I wanted him. Not just release, but him. Maybe he could be someone that I could call…maybe I could be someone that he could call. Maybe there were more ways to deal with the pain than numbing it.

  "I’m not some lap dog you can put where you want it."

  "I didn't say you were. I don't need the money. He does. I'll dock his pay until it's paid off."

  Gerry jerked upright on the stool. "I’m not fired?"

  "Did you want to be?"

  "No, but I stole from you. How can you forgive me? How can you trust me?"

  "I can't. I'll be making all the deposits. You'll be doing a lot of mopping." I watched Rory sputter while I spoke to Gerry. "I care about you, kid, and I wish you'd come to me with your problem in the first place, but I understand that it was impulsive, not premeditated, and I'll get over it."

  Rory's blue eyes narrowed, his lips went white. He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door just as two uniforms stepped inside. He brushed past them without speaking and Darrin waved them over. It occurred to me that rather than watching the place where Rory used to be standing, I should go get the money before someone else found it. Letting Gerry rip me off was one thing, letting some punk from the neighborhood do it was something else.

  I don't know what Darrin told the cops, and I don't care. Nothing was stolen as far as I'm concerned, and maybe, just maybe, Gerry gave me something I needed in exchange.