Page 5 of Unhinged

Chapter 2

“I didn’t expect that kind of welcome.” He laughs and sighs simultaneously as he taps his fingers on the bar. Amos Goddamn Vaughn. I never thought I’d see my former boss’s bald head and smug face again. Reluctantly studying him, I see he has adopted George Michael’s Faith beard, complementing his small hoop earrings and a black T-shirt. I’m sure he’s wearing jeans and his black biker boots, so all he needs are the aviator sunglasses to complete the look. I don’t know if that should impress or offend me on behalf of George Michael or gay men everywhere.

Amos leans forward, his tapping fingers morphing into a fist. He tightly says, “I’ve been speculating how you’ve been since you took off with only a rushed phone call to me, quitting your job after the Halloween party.” He smiles at the surrounding drunks and then smirks at me. “I see it was purely a climb up the corporate ladder.”

I shake my head, still trying to grasp the gravity of the garbage pile in front of me. “You just can’t help yourself. Your snide comments are exactly what I don’t miss.”

“A more truthful ditto.”

Rolling my eyes, I ask the Alcoholics Anonymous flunkie next to Vaughn what he wants to drink. I try to concentrate on what he says, but Amos’s stare is heavy and unnerving. I have to ask twice what Otis from Mayberry wants to drink.

When I reach under the counter for the bourbon, Amos says, “I knew you’d be here.”

As I open the bottle, my hands shake even more. “How’d you find me? Here? At this bar? It’s not exactly my emergency contact,” I ask on the edge of despair, not really wanting to hear the answer to that. I have a feeling I know the answer already.

“You know, you could have made it a little more challenging than running home to your mother.”

Surprised, my mouth falls open, and I stammer, “I didn’t do that.” My dad’s house is too loud with estrogen. It also makes me feel closer to my sister and not hate myself so much.

Apparently noticing the tug-of-war happening in my brain, Amos says, “You can’t run from me anymore. Or anything else.”

I side-eye the drunk to the left of Amos, who is engaged in our conversation or hallucinating that he’s at the Copa Cabana and wondering when the showgirls are taking the stage. I shrug as panic escalates when neither says another word while staring at me. “Does it look like I’m running?”

“Since you’re up, grab me another beer,” Otis from Mayberry sneers.

To get away from Amos, I go to the cooler behind me and take my time, grabbing another beer.

“Are you brewing it?” Otis complains. When I return, handing it to him with a frown, he complains, “Good thing it’s not an import.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because your liver’s passport expired. Make sure you mention that to your probation officer next time you piss into a cup.” With the mention of a probation officer, I think of Nico Ferrera, an almost-friend and probation officer back home in Richmond. Well, I guess it used to be home. Hell. Maybe it never was. Just thinking of that place sends jolts through me, and not any kind I’d wish upon even Amos. Maybe.

Grabbing another shot glass, slamming it down, I pour another one. As I swallow, Amos asks, “Drinking on the job? I didn’t know you to drink much off the clock either.”

“I guess you didn’t know me then,” I lie, avoiding eye contact as I shove the glass away and move to the next lush.

With Amos ogling me, I turn to the three college girls squealing their orders. The red head takes her time as her gaze undresses me, and with Amos in proximity, I wish she would imagine me in snow gear and double-wrapped in a tarp. What the fuck is it with the women in this bar, eyeballing me like I’m the last man on earth?

All three then giggle as they watch me. I mean, shit. I’m not interested in another one-night stand yet, but I’m not fucking dead. Still, I’m done associating with college brats.

Amos clears his throat loudly. “Maybe you should slow down with the drinks.”

I make a face. “What the fuck are you talking about? That’ll only piss off people.”

“I meant yours.”

“You can leave now, Amos.”

He shakes his bald head with the Members Only beard. “Nope. I have planning to do.”

“For your exodus? Have a pleasant trip. If you go now, I won’t cry too hard.” Maybe laugh a lot.

“Business plans.”

Pouring a drink for a man who could pass as Captain Morgan’s twin brother, minus the pirate garb but keep the missing teeth and the scurvy, I splash bourbon all over the counter. Grabbing a towel, I glare at Amos as I pray to Moses on the Mount or in a Walmart parking lot I misheard him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m pretty sure you know what it means, Rod.”

Stopping at the bar, Candi laughs. “Rod? Did he just insult you?”

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