by Mia Ford
As night begins falling, however, a slow trickle of clients come in. Some are regulars that I recognize by name, and many of them give me a chipper greeting before looking to find their usual spots. A handful of unfamiliar faces come in; two college-age students giving each other high fives raucously demand that I give them their drinks straight away, making me hope they won’t be trouble, and a man in a business suit slumps in before finding a seat in the furthest corner from the bar.
When nine o’clock winds around, I find myself just busy enough to not be troubled with any thoughts of Jessica or the house. The college students had gotten quite drunk very quickly, and are now sloppily attempting to play pool. I debate the merits of kicking them out, but they haven’t caused any problems (yet), so I leave them be, resolving to keep an eye on them for a little while. The other clients have come in and out steadily.
Eventually, a familiar face comes through the door. Ethan Martin beams at me when he sees me looking his way, and he ducks under a flailing pool cue without batting an eye in order to sit at the bar.
“Grant!” he says loudly when I get closer, reaching over the bar to clap me on the shoulder. “How are you doing, man?”
Ethan is a man who is very careful to put on a carefree mask when he’s out and about, belying the tiredness that hides beneath.
“Ethan,” I say with a nod. “How’s Lily?”
Ethan beams, the smile more genuine this time.
“She’s been doing pottery in class,” he laughs. “She brought home this horribly misshapen bowl and tried to make me eat out of it for dinner.”
I snort at the image.
“Anyway, Georgia is looking after her for me tonight, to give me a little break,” Ethan continues. “I love Lily to death, but it can be exhausting to be a single parent, sometimes.”
“I…can’t imagine,” I admit.
My mind wanders briefly. What would one of my kids look like? Would they be as tall as me? Would their hair be as black as mine, or blonde, like…
My head is fucking with me tonight, it seems. I ruthlessly squash down the thought.
“You good?” Ethan asks me, peering closely at me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say with a shrug. “Went to the house today to look at it, and my head’s been rushing me down memory lane ever since.”
“Sorry to hear it, man,” Ethan says genuinely. “Speaking of the house, any news on that front, yet?”
“It’s looking like we’re going to lose it,” I say with a noncommittal shrug, trying to pretend that the thought isn’t as awful as it is. “Liam and I were talking about looking into other places… We’ve raised a lot, just not enough.”
“Other places?” Ethan wrinkles his nose in distaste. “I understand maybe needing to start thinking about that, but…”
“The deadline is in three days,” I remind him. “We don’t have any choice, anymore. It’s either find somewhere else or just meet up here.”
“Can’t we just do that?” Ethan whines.
I roll my eyes. For a responsible single parent, the man can be remarkably childish, sometimes.
“No,” I say bluntly. “The owner, Peter, wouldn’t be too happy about that, and you know it. We’d scare away the rest of the clients.”
Ethan scowls. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. It isn’t like we’d cause any problems. But I get your point. This place is out for a regular meeting place, and you and Liam think we need to find somewhere else. I think we still have a chance to save it.”
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “On what grounds?”
He grins slyly and leans in. “I might just have a good idea…”
Alex
The walk light flashes green and I cross the street in a crowd. No one gives me a second glance. As a small-time private detective, I appreciate the anonymity, but I can’t help but think, with irony, of how different it is when I’m wearing the Roughshod Rollers jacket.
I part from the crowd and continue on to my destination; a large shopping center in the middle of Philadelphia. The afternoon is beginning to draw to a close, but the streets are still thick with people and I think longingly of the moment when I will be able to escape to the city outskirts, where I will find the Anchor Bar and the sanctuary of the Roughshod Rollers.
Not yet, though. I still have things to do today, things that I must get done before it is too late.
I cast my mind away from thoughts of the house. Right now, I have more important things to worry about. Like the fact that I have run out of milk and, without milk, I cannot make any more coffee. Luckily, the shopping center is only a few blocks away from my agency, so I decided to brave the crowds.
It’s just as busy inside the center as outside, but I slip through the masses with ease. There is no one who calls out to me, but I recognize several faces. There’s the woman who hired me to follow her suspicious boyfriend who ended up married with another family. A store owner concerned with a thief who turned out to be one of their employees. A man who believed his garage was getting broken into every night, though closer inspection made the embarrassing discovery that it was simply a group of squirrels making their home there. All small cases, but I have never professed to want anything larger, and it helps me keep the bills paid.
I make my way into a grocery store and head straight for the cold section. All I need is one carton of milk…
“What the hell are you doing here?”
At the sound of the loud, obnoxious voice, I groan loudly, not bothering to care whether my assailant hears me, and turn around. The familiar scowling face of Hayley Reed comes into my view, and I return her frown with all the force I can muster.
“Buying milk,” I say, deadpan. “Is that a crime now?”
She flushes, but the embarrassment is gone as quickly as it appears - a sneer making its way onto her face instead. I hate this woman. She would be beautiful, with her round face and large eyes framed with soft, auburn curls, but her personality is rotten to the core. Or maybe it’s just me that she shows this side of herself to; no one else ever seems to have any problems with her.
“Just seeing your face is an affront,” she sniffs.
“Then go shop somewhere else,” I snap. I don’t have time for this. Normally I’m perfectly happy to exchange biting insults with her in a never-ending battle of wills, but not today. “I’m here for milk, and that’s it. Take your sharp tongue somewhere else.”
Her eyes widen in shock as I turn away. It’s rare that either of us ever walks away from an argument with each other; we’re both stubborn to a fault and never like to be perceived as having backed down.
“No witty comeback,” she sneers at me, recovering quickly. “Too busy to face me, or too much of a coward?”
My eye twitches at the insult but I continue moving away, reminding myself of the phone call I’m waiting for.
“Or, are you too depressed by the loss of your little clubhouse,” Hayley says loudly.
I stop in shock and turn around.
“How the fuck do you know about that?” I demand.
She scoffs, her eyes triumphant. “Grant told me, of course, while the girls and I were in there for drinks the other night.”
Grant… Of course. The man is a great friend, but he’s also the world’s biggest gossip.
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she continues, tossing her head. “After all, you have to go home and cry about your loss, right? Or do you still think you can save that stupid, dinky place?” She sneers. “Not that it’s worth it.”
I don’t have time for this.
But…
“Real mature, Hayley,” I snarl. “Tell me, have you grown up at all since we were teenagers? If you must know, then, yes, we are still trying to save the place, because it is worth it to us.”
Hayley lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Are you serious? I know you never give up, Alex, but that takes it to a whole new level.” She rolls her eyes. “Give it up; you’re never going to save it and everyone w
ho donated to try and save your pathetic lives will have lost money for nothing.”
A tidal wave of rage rises in me. I turn back around fully and step toward her.
“Does it make you happy to kick someone when they’re already down, Hayley?” I ask in a low, cold voice, and she leans back, shocked; I’ve never spoken to her like this before. “Tell me, how would you feel if you were about to lose your home and all the memories in it?”
Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens and closes several times, but no sounds come out. Knowing that she has nothing to say to that, I turn away, my shoulders tight. I don’t need this confrontation right now.
“Wait!” she suddenly says.
I should just keep walking. Against my better judgment, however, I stop and glare at her over my shoulder.
“What?” I snap.
“I’m…” She looks away, ashamed. For a moment, I think she might apologize, but I know she won’t - not to me. Neither of us has ever apologized to each other, and to do so now would be a failure, even if she did just cross a line.
“Don’t worry about it,” I huff.
She sighs. “Well… I did donate, you know. To save it.”
Of all the things she could have said right now, that’s the last thing I expect to hear from her. I stand stock-still, gaping at her.
Hayley donated money to help save our house for us? I know she only said what she did before to get a rise out of me, and that she didn’t actually mean it. But to actually go so far as to donate money?
She flushes angrily and scowls at me.
“Which, just so you know, has nothing to do with you,” she growls. “I just felt bad for Grant, is all!”
I’m too surprised to say anything as she tosses her head arrogantly and flounces away. Once she is gone, I shake my head.
Wonders never cease, it seems.
I collect my milk easily after that and slip back through the crowds once more. Aware of how much time I’ve taken, now, I keep up a hard pace until I slide into a small backstreet and stride up it. Eventually, I come to a two-story apartment.
On the first level, there is an optometrist, and I see the receptionist in the window. She waves at me with a smile as she works at the blinds, and I unlock the door beside the window so I can go up the narrow stairs and I emerge into my office on the next floor.
It isn’t much. My desk is underneath the window, and there’s a couch with a coffee table in front of it to the side. A small television is in the corner, and a tiny kitchenette takes up the far side of the office, beside which is a door to a little bathroom.
I close the door behind me, shrugging off my coat, and go to my desk. There is no blinking light on my answering machine, which means I haven’t missed the call yet. Good.
While my club mates have been working themselves ragged, I have been working a different angle. It started nearly a month before our house came under threat, when one of the men from town hall came to me, a little-known detective, for help. One of their officials, he had claimed, was corrupt, and he wanted proof of his dealings.
Then our club’s house was threatened, and I had an entirely new reason to hunt every bit of information I could find on William Burke.
I put the milk away in the fridge and flick the switch on my kettle. The sun is going down, casting shadows across my office, and I eye the orange sky through the window quietly. I like this time of the day when the world is peaceful and there are no expectations. No father to be disappointed, no Hayley to sneer at me…
My phone rings, breaking the silence. Normally this would irritate me, but I have been waiting for this phone call. I spring into action and head toward the desk, lifting the receiver up and pressing it to my ear.
“Howard Detective Agency, how may I help you?” I say calmly, trying to slow my beating heart. With only three days to go, this is my last chance…
“Alex Howard?” the woman on the other end asks.
“That’s me, may I ask who is speaking?” I return.
“My name is Paige Lopez… You left a message for me?”
“I did,” I say, my mouth dry. “Are you willing to speak with me?”
The woman goes quiet. She is silent for so long that I feel my hopes beginning to slip away. I sit slowly in my desk chair and put down the pen that I had gripped in a white-knuckled hold as soon as I reached the desk, ready to note down anything this woman could tell me.
Then…
“Yes.” Paige takes a deep breath and then laughs quietly. “Yes, I am.”
A triumphant smile slowly blooms onto my face.
I have him.
Tom
A low wave of sound greets me as I kick the door to the Anchor Bar open, and I sneer at it. On my left side, the black-haired girl presses her huge breasts against my side and giggles at the expression on my face. The brunette on my other side makes a face and grabs my arm with her long, painted nails.
“Didn’t you say it would be quiet?” she pouts.
“It is,” I say shortly, and step forward, dragging the two girls after me.
They step willingly at my side. They know what I want and what I’m after, and they’re happy to play that game with me. Regardless of what others might say of me, I’m not about to go after the unwilling. It is, after all, so much more interesting and satisfying when others are playing the same game.
I see Grant and Ethan at the bar; their heads bent together. Ethan is the only one in his jacket since Grant is behind the bar, serving drinks. They look up at my approach and I scoff at them both before passing them by, the ladies displayed prominently on my arms.
We reach a table not too far from the bar and I drop my arms so that I can fall into a chair, kicking back in it so I can put both feet on the table.
“Get some drinks, will you?” I say to the girls.
They giggle and rush off. I see Grant reluctantly pull himself away from his conversation with Ethan and I wonder, for a moment, what they are talking about.
Then I decide that I don’t care. Fucking assholes don’t want to involve me, then I don’t have to think about them, either.
Brunette returns first, a beer in her hands. As she sets it down, however, some of it sloshes over the edge and drips on my jeans. It isn’t much, but I roar my displeasure anyway.
“Fucking bitch!” I snarl. “See how you like it!”
I splash the entire mug at her. Several of the other customers in the bar are looking at me in shock, and a pair of college students freeze as they play around the pool table, where they are consistently missing the balls they are trying to hit. But many others simply roll their eyes and look away.
Brunette sputters and wipes beer off her face. Her makeup is running, leaving her looking deliciously wrecked, and she looks like she’s about to cry. I reach out to grip her hips and tug her toward me and, despite her tearful expression, she comes willingly, wriggling against me. I lean up until my lips brush her ear.
“Get me another one,” I growl quietly.
I let her go and she rushes away. The black-haired girl returns then, carrying two red drinks that are obviously for the girls. I grab one of them, deciding that since the brunette cost me my drink, I’ll take hers. I down it in one go, grimacing at the fruity taste of it.
Brunette returns quickly, and she has two drinks, a beer and another red concoction. I sneer over at Grant, who frowns back at me; he obviously saw me snag the drink that wasn’t mine and decided to replace it.
“Yo, Tom, any news?” Ethan asks casually from the bar.
I scowl at him.
“No,” I say shortly, hoping he’ll shut up and leave me alone.
“But you said last week that…” Ethan persists.
“I fucking said no, dickhead,” I snarl, glaring at him. “So, piss off.”
Ethan rears back, smile finally falling from his stupid face. I know I’ve hurt his feelings, and I feel a moment of regret; I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I have a minor soft spot for his daughter, and I�
��ve just ensured that I won’t get to see her for at least a few weeks.
Then I grow irritated all over again. The fact that Ethan is okay with me babysitting his daughter means that he does know I’m fond of her. Asshole.
“Fucking hell,” I hear Grant muttering. “Never liked him much…”
I scoff. As if I care.
“Yeah?” I call back, letting Grant know I heard him, and he at least has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “No worries, I fucking hate you all, too!”
I laugh and lean back in my chair. Grant busies himself at the bar and Ethan turns away with a scowl. The brunette girl simpers, trying to make up for her earlier mistake, still damp from the beer I poured on her. The dark-haired girl, however, is giving me a considering look.
“What?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at her.
“If you hate them so much, why do you wear the jacket?” she asks, head tilted to the side. “You’re always wearing it.”
I sneer at her and she looks away. I think about answering, but I have no desire to get into personal details with a woman that I’ll be pushing out my front door as soon as I can tomorrow morning. So I just laugh at her and pick up my beer.
The Roughshod Rollers. Despite the way that I sneer and scoff and insult them, I still wear their jacket. I’m still part of that little group. Many have asked me why I don’t just move on and find a group more suited to my temperament, but I’ve either ignored them, on a good day, or beat them into the ground for daring to ask, on a really good day.
I never answer the question.
Probably because I don’t really have an answer.
Loyalty is likely what it comes down to. I’ve been with the Roughshod Rollers almost since the beginning, and I’ve seen just about everything. I was there when George passed away. I was there when the roof of our house first caved in, forcing us to scramble to find someone to fix it. I was there, at the hospital, with many of the original members, when George’s mother passed away.
