Otherwise Occupied (Evan Arden 2)

“That’s cool,” I replied. “I hear the rooms here are really nice.”

“You aren’t a guest?”

“Nah,” I said. I wiped the back of my arm across my mouth. “I just like the bar. Other sports bars around have kind of a crappy crowd, you know?”

“I do,” he agreed.

I made a point of scooting my chair a bit so he could sit down without going all homophobic on me or anything. Sports guys could get kind of uptight sometimes, and I didn’t want something that simple to blow my chances. We talked about the team’s performance over the season and their chances for the Super Bowl and then went on to politics.

I argued with him about one of the viewpoints expressed on the nightly newscast. I took it just to the precipice of pissing him off and then dropped back down. We eyed each other cautiously for a moment before touching our drinks together once more in a truce sort of toast.

It was all about as perfect as it could be until he insisted on shots. I probably should have known better – really wasn’t much of a drinker. I’d have a drink or two, yes, but that was usually it. Being out of control wasn’t my favorite feeling, but sometimes the job called on you to do shit you didn’t want to do.

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“Did you play?” I asked Jim as I tipped back the third.

“Nah,” he said. “I love the game, but I was never good enough to play more than JV. You?”

“In college, yeah,” I said with a frat-boy grin. “Tight end freshman and sophomore years and then screwed up my knee. There went my scholarship. I couldn’t keep up with everything after surgery, and I never was the same again.”

“That sucks, man,” Jim said. As some sort of celebration-slash-condolences he bought the next shot, which we both downed too quickly to count, so we had another.

“I always thought I’d play for the Raiders someday,” I mused. “I guess since that didn’t happen…well…you know. Life and shit.”

“I do know that,” Jim agreed.

I didn’t really think he had any idea what he was agreeing with, but it didn’t really matter. We did another shot, and my head was getting a little fuzzy. I didn’t drink often, and it was hitting me a little harder than I expected.

“I got laid off a week ago,” I told him. “I was a mall cop, if you can believe it. It was kind of a crappy job – mostly chasing teenaged shoplifters – but it paid the bills.”

“Have you been looking for something else?” Jim asked.

“Looking, sure,” I responded. I waved down the bartender for two more shots since it was my turn to buy them. “Finding is a whole other thing. I like the security stuff, though.”

We did a couple more shots, talked more football shit, and bitched about the economy until the hotel bartender finally tossed us out. Jim and I shook hands, and he wished me the best of luck. I jotted my cell number down on the back of one of the cardboard coasters used at the bar and asked him to call me if he heard of any work.

Once Jim was out of sight, I pushed my way through the revolving doors and hailed down a cab to take my drunk ass home. I hadn’t actually planned on drinking as much as I did – I didn’t like the out of control feeling of intoxication – but it seemed to have served its purpose as far as “bonding” with Jim was concerned.

I stumbled into my apartment and nearly fell over Odin twice as I attached his leash and took him out the back door. My head was swimming, and I had such a rough time just getting Odin outside in the first place that I decided to forgo the leash law and just dropped the people-end of the thing. Odin never wandered off anyway, and it allowed me time to lean against the wall of the building and debate the merits of puking in the bushes versus puking on the rocks.

Splatter was bad, so I maneuvered a little closer to the bushes.

The dog went about his business, watered down a couple of sticks that were likely going to be bushes in the spring, and then took a shit next to the sidewalk. That’s when I realized I hadn’t brought any doggie bags down with me.

There was no way in hell I was going to make it all the way back up to the apartment and then down again to clean up shit. It was going to have to wait until morning, and whatever neighbor who was out at this time of night to complain could suck my cock.

I whistled, and Odin lumbered up next to me. I checked around to see if anyone had noticed my dog-owner’s ultimate sin, but there wasn’t anyone around. Just as I was picking up the end of his leash to take him back inside, Odin decided there was something seriously interesting about the “flower bed” recently constructed in the park. There weren’t any actual flowers or even any dirt – just a lot of slate rocks. I was actually considering puking on them, but Odin was more interested in what was down around the brick base. I sighed and let him continue on – it was easier than moving, anyway.

Odin suddenly stopped sniffing at the ground and let out a growl.

I looked up through blurry eyes at the two kids who were walking across the grass of Lake Shore East Park, coming from between the buildings on East Randolph Street. It really was too late for them to be doing anything legal, and the way they looked up at me and nudged each other was so obvious, it was almost pathetic.

At least, it would have been pathetic under other circumstances.

Normally this situation wouldn’t have concerned me. Two punk teenagers didn’t tend to be much of a challenge, but I was drunk. Aside from drunk, I was also unarmed and feeling pretty damn stupid to boot.

The two kids moved off to one side of the walkway where the light wasn’t as good, but I could still see them pretty well. One had dark hair and a pretty beefy build, and the other was smaller, thinner, and had red hair in a greasy mop on the top of his head falling over into one eye.