Page 4 of My Undead Heart
“But you’ve done so much for me.”
“And you return the favor by hooking me up with financial advice. I couldn’t have opened South Side without you, Danny. I hope you know that.”
“Hey, I’m glad I could do something for you for once. Guess I’m killin’ this adulting thing pretty hard, huh?” He glances around the room. It’s impressive what he’s achieved with this firm just a few years post-college.
“Like a beast.” I pull my lips up in a smile that matches his, the only real physical characteristic we share. Where his skin is dark, mine’s light. He’s average height and lean. I’m tall and built. I like to rock the five-day-old scruff, but he prefers to stay clean-shaven. It fits with the monkey suit he has to wear daily. “Now, I’ll let you get back to corporate America. See you tomorrow morning?”
“Shit. I hate that you have classes that early, man. But yeah, I’ll be there. Nikki’s digging the results.” He stands from behind his desk, running his hands over the rigid abs he hides beneath his dress shirt, and then flexing his arms so they bulge against the fabric.
I shake my head and stand. “You’re fully whipped, little bro. You should be proud of your muscles. After so many years of twig arms, I’m surprised you had it in you.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be UFC champs.”
“I can’t claim that title anymore.” It’s difficult to not taste the bitterness when recalling how my fighting career ended. To not feel slighted. But shit happens in life. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. It doesn’t do any good to wallow in something that was. “Later, brother.” I wave and he does the same.
“See ya ’round, Matt.”
When you taste fame for a hot second there’re people from your past life, the time when no one knew your name or gave two fucks about you, who glom on and can’t wait to tell everyone how they know Matt Haywood. But when you fall from grace, and inevitably you will, those people fade back into the pockets of their horribly boring existence. The small circle of individuals who don’tneedyou for anything, what’s left after the fallout ... those are the people who always have your back.
Isaac Zigalenko—Zig for short because no one can fucking pronounce his last name—is one of those people. He still lives in the neighborhood we grew up in and he took over his old man’s bar after his pop started forgetting things. Or maybe he was botching biz on purpose, but either way, filling the vodka bottles with water was enough for Zig to take over management.
“Hey, Zig.” The door bangs shut behind me as I wave to where he stands behind the bar and walk further inside the dimly lit space. A glance around tells me Zig has been busy since taking over. The bar itself hasn’t moved, but the interior feels fresh, vibrant, not at all the worn down, men only, speakeasy type of establishment from our youth.
“Matt!” He finishes loading a row of clean glasses as I walk over. “How the hell are you, brother?”
“Still breathing. Can’t complain. Business good?” I slide onto an empty barstool.
“Pays the bills. Can’t complain.” He grins. “What can I get you?” He reaches for a glass but I stop him with a shake of my head.
“Actually, I’m here for a favor.”
Zig reaches back to the bar top behind him and leans against the wood. “Sure. Whatcha need?”
“A job,” I say, but when his brow shoots up I quickly amend, “I’m still running the gym, just looking to pick up a shift or two. If you have the work.”
“You mix drinks?”
“Only in my apartment. But I can learn.”
Zig’s fingers tap against the bar a long moment. He’s always been a thinker, not one to jump into a fight until he’s calculated the risk. Probably why he’s the owner of a profitable business. I wait patiently. He taps the counter one last time and leans forward to meet my stare. “Hate to ask, because I know it’s shit work, but I could really use your help with security. Friday and Saturday evenings if you have them.”
“I’ll take it.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just too much work to train you for behind the bar, especially if you’re only looking for temp w—”
“Zig. Stop. It’s good. Just what I need. Thank you.”
“No, thankyou. I’ve been meaning to hire someone. I’ve just been too swamped to even look. When can you start?”
“Tonight.”
“Hell, yeah. Can you stick around? I’ve got to finish a few things before we open and my cook is late, but I need you to fill out new hire paperwork.”
“Sure. Can I help?”
“Yeah, actually. I’ve got these cases of beer that need to go into the cooler.”
I stand and come around the bar, taking instruction before Zig glances at his watch. I wave him off. “Go. I’ve got this.”
