Page 1 of The Guy in the Alley

CHAPTER ONE

Trace Kalecki

“Dearborn Clover, Trace speaking,” I said, answering the phone as I logged in to the computer. I wasn’t a fan of our new payment system; it was a whole fucking process just to open the register.

“Yeah, hi, I was wondering if you’re showing the home game tonight,” a man said.

What the fuck was it with people? Did they call a clothing store and ask if they sold shirts? Huh? Christ. This was a sports bar smack-dab in the middle of Chicago—yeah, we were showing the home game. Didn’t matter the sport either; the answer was yes.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“Great, thanks.” The guy hung up, and I sighed impatiently and finally got into our system. We were good to go for a new day. Two big games. We were bound to be busy tonight. Most of the tables were booked from seven.

Adam showed up a few minutes later, and I waited to see Bella running after…

“Where’s my girl?” I asked. I had another week to make her OD on Chicago before they returned to California.

Adam rolled his eyes and tore off his beanie and gloves. “Ev casually threw out that he was spending the day watching old movies, so she stayed with him. I swear she loves him more than she loves me sometimes.”

I chuckled and did a final wipe-down of the bar. He could complain, but he loved it. He’d been with his architect hubby a few years now, going back and forth between Berkeley and Chicago, and when I heard Bella had begun calling Ev Dad and saying how much she loved California, I knew I’d lost her. She’d started school there last fall.

“How’s the new kid workin’ out?” Adam asked.

I pointed to the station where we kept cocktail garnishes. “He thought it was a good idea to cut up fruit right here.” Hence why I’d needed to wipe down the bar before we’d even opened. I’d come downstairs to find random lime wedges and cherries all over the counter. “He’s Petey’s problem now.” I’d sent him back to the kitchen.

“Look at you, being all boss-like.” Adam smirked and sat down on a stool. “Maybe you’ll survive without me.”

Yeah, maybe. Still felt weird, though. Adam and I were supposed to be the “kids” of the place. I ran all over, doing what was necessary. Adam had been a bartender here for six or seven years. Then, all of a sudden, my folks decided to retire and move to Florida. They’d already been snowbirds for a decade or so, leaving me in charge over the winter. Which I’d been happy with. I was only thirty-two, so I had been in no rush to shoulder more responsibility.

Now the whole fucking place was mine.

“You okay, bud?”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and nodded once. I was okay—but a lot was riding on this quarter. I’d spent our meager savings on fixing the place up a bit, new padding for the booths, some chairs had been replaced, we’d repainted the walls dark red, new payment system, upgraded security, and a new menu design.

As much as it made me feel like a sellout, I’d made the decision that we should cater more to tourists. My old man had been set in his ways, preferring to focus on old-timers like Jerry and Malcolm, who came in most days to waste their pensions at the bar.

The place was a little less Irish than it’d been before the winter, but not a lot.

“Did I do the right thing with the changes?” I asked.

Adam glanced around the place, nodding slowly. We had a main dining area, where every booth had its own flat-screen. Then three smaller areas. We had the Wrigley on the other side of the tiny arcade, where we hosted bachelor parties, elaborate game nights for big corporations, and family reunions. Then the Junior Circuit, a semi-open space suited for children’s parties and families. Lastly, the Green. It was dedicated to sports my old man had never cared for, such as golf, figure skating, swimming, tennis, and soccer.

It was also where we hosted our soup kitchen on Thursdays and Sundays.

“Honestly…?” Adam turned back to me. “I don’t think you had a choice, Trace. It was adapt or die.”

I sighed. Yeah, that was the problem. He knew what the rent was too. He’d seen the stacks of bills. Especially now in the winter—fuck, utilities shot right up.

January had started off with a record-breaking snowstorm, and we hadn’t recovered yet.

“Personally, I thought it was hilarious to see my man with a paint roller,” Adam said, sliding off the stool again. “I’ll go change.”

I grinned. “At least he was great at the decorative shit.” More than great, I had to say. The man could draw like a professional—I mean, he was one—and he’d painted our city’s sports logos, street signs, and retired jersey numbers to blend in with all the other memorabilia.

* * *

I needed one more Petey and Adam on my staff. Petey’s experience and history with us allowed me to never worry about the kitchen. He ran a tight ship and treated his staff fairly but with no bullshit. Similar to Adam, though he was more of a big-brother type to the waitstaff. He was a couple years younger than me, cheerful, and encouraging. When he was in town during summers and winters, he was the top dog behind the bar. But it wasn’t enough. I needed someone permanent.

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