Episode 10: Heads Will Roll

I took the time to change out of that dirty black hoodie before I got back. It’s hard for me to give an honest report when I’m still in character.

Detective Long was waiting at his desk, filling out paperwork (lord knows, that shit never quits). He sat up with his coffee in hand. I swear, 80% of that guy’s diet must be coffee.

“Any luck, Detective Nelson?”

“Fucking nothing. I thought I had a good thing going, but when I brought up “Stinson” I didn’t have any luck. They thought I was actually talking about a record.”

“Really? Nothing? Damnit! Take a walk with me.”

He grabbed his coffee and led me over to the elevators. Evidently, Detective Long needed a cigarette, so we were off to the interrogation rooms. It was still below zero outside, a typical December, and Long hadn’t grabbed a jacket. Technically, we’re not allowed to smoke in the HCPD offices, but there are very few rules in the interrogation rooms.

“Interrogation Room A” was open. We walked in and he kicked up a couple of cigarettes. We each had a seat while he pulled out his lighter and lit his smoke. Passing the lighter my way, I lit my cigarette and explained how it went down.

“The head guy, Alan, and one of his employees were talking about some girl the guy had met the other night. I didn’t catch her name…”

“Dezi.”

“You’ve spoken to her?”

“Not yet, but it’s on the table.”

I took a long pull from my cigarette. I’ve played this game before.

“Anyway, Alan and this other guy were talking about Dezi, but I think they became suspicious, because they ended it rather abruptly while I was nearby.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus fucking Christ Nelson! How clumsy are you?”

“Hey! Fuck you! I didn’t do one goddamn thing out of the ordinary. I even made some fucking lame joke when I walked in, so it didn’t see like I was just some fucking stranger lurking around.”

He leaned back in his chair and held my eyes for a good thirty seconds. Finishing his cigarette, he let out a dismissive sigh. He always did this when he was trying to be intimidating. Everyone in the departments knows how he puts on his show, this stupid little silent treatment act.

“Look, maybe we should give this guy a little bit of credit. He’s been doing this for a long time. I’m sure he’s growing more and more suspicious.”

“That’s your plan?!? You know, ever since that North Minneapolis thing last spring you’ve done nothing but fuck up around here. You’re honestly claiming the problem was you were outsmarted by this fucking dealer?”

“Don’t start with that shit again. We got those Northside guys didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but we would have got them 6 months earlier if we hadn’t been busy cleaning up your fucking mess. That girl would still be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Fuck. He’s right, but Jesus, how long do I have to pay for one mistake?

“Maybe. You think I don’t go to sleep thinking about that? Y’know, some of us actually have to get out from behind our desks to make this shit happen.”

He lit up another cigarette and stood up.

“I know you‘re not talking to me like that.”

“You heard me! You think it’s easy our there? You think it’s fun to destroy people’s lives for a living?”

“Those people are felons. THEY are the ones destroying peoples lives for a living. Don’t you forget that.”

He was pacing now. I’ve seen this before, too. After that Northside bust went south. Fortunately the table separated the two of us.

“All I’m saying is that these things take time. And this guy is a lot more clever then those thugs.”

“Evidently he‘s more clever than you too. I‘d say that leaves you tied with those thugs”

“Look, I’m not getting into what happened back then. Don’t you forget, without that one mistake I’d be the one sitting behind a fucking desk while you were out digging up info at a fucking record store.”

“Yeah, but you did make those mistakes. You’re always making those fucking mistakes.”

Now I was pacing. We mirrored each other as he snuffed out his cigarette.

“I’m taking you off.”

I must have paced for a solid minute.

“Give me another cigarette.”

He pulled out his pack and kicked out one for himself, tossing the pack to me. I took the lighter from the table and took a deep inhale.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve been doing leg work on this case for a while.”

“True, but after today your position’s been compromised.”

“Compromised? You think these fucking losers even took the time to notice who I was? I look just like everyone else in that fucking store! That whole fucking neighborhood for that matter!”

“Two seconds ago you said to give them more credit, now they‘re ‘fucking losers?’ Look, Nelson, I’m not going to let this turn into Northside Part II. You’re done.”

With that he snuffed out half his cigarette and walked out. This is not good.

Episode 09: Tonight I Can't Hold A Pen

Apple,

I’m leaving. I’m going back to Minneapolis.

I know what you’ve been doing. I know who you’ve been doing it with.

I can’t stand this fucking city for one more goddamn night. I hate it. I hate what it’s done to you.

When that shit catches up with you, don’t call me for help.

Steven

Episode 08: They Call This Girl "Butter Nose"

I kicked the snow off my shoes as I banged on the door. Alan strolled over and unlocked the door, coffee mug in hand.

“Wow! You look fucking terrible!”

I love opening the store with Alan.

“Hey… fuck off.”

“You and Dezi have a good time last night?”

“Jesus, Alan. You know I’m in no shape to talk until I have a bit of coffee in my system.”

I strolled behind the counter and grabbed my mug, filled it up, and took a walk down to the basement to discard my winter gear and catch a cigarette. No matter how badly I need a cigarette, it just can’t be the first thing in my body. Coffee is always a good choice.

I stood down in the basement among the records, and, ahem, other merchandise and kicked the events of last night around in my still-hungover brain. What exactly is Alan’s relationship with this girl? Is this really something I should get into with him? Fuck it, he’s been there before. He knows what this girl’s about. Still, Alan’s never been one to put his feelings on display. Maybe he’s holding back. Lord knows I can’t afford to lose this job. Especially over something like this.

I finished up my smoke and made my way back upstairs as Alan was unlocking the door for everyone else. Open for business.

“So, how’d things go after I left? That girl plays by her own rules.”

“Oh, not much. Had a few more drinks… probably should have stopped… had a few more drinks.”

“No.. Steven… No. That doesn‘t sound anything like you”

Jesus Christ. “How exactly do you know this girl again?”

“I thought I explained that to you last night.”

“In my defense, a lot of last night has become a bit of a blur. You know how it is when you get to adult drinking. Sometimes even the sober parts of the night blend in with the, um, less… sober… parts.”

Alan sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He’s not one to retell stories. In fact, a lot of his story remains a bit of a mystery to me.

“Alright, she came in a few months back. Back in the summer and wanted to be set up for the weekend. No big thing, as you know.”

“Right.”

“The first couple of times she came in were pretty typical. Straight cash, a little bit of flirting. I turned up at one of her parties once. It was a good time.”

He poured himself another cup of coffee. I’ve never seen the bill for how much coffee we go through week to week, but it can’t be cheap.

“Same old story for a month or two, but then she showed up a couple of times and didn’t have enough cash to cover. You know that I’ve never been one to extend any kind of credit line to these kids. But I knew her a little bit. Like I said, I’d been over to her place once or twice, so, worse comes to worse, I do know where she’s at.”

“That seems very out of character for you. I mean, I haven’t been here long, but I’ve never known you to let people slide. Lord knows you never let me slide.”

“Ha! Trust me, I don’t want to have to come around your place anymore than I have to. I’ve seen the way you live.”

“Hey, judge not…”

“Anyway, so the first couple of times I went over she just ducked into her bedroom, got the money, and that was the end of the story. Really no big thing. But then I started coming around and she didn’t have the money.”

“Hmm…”

“Like I said, usually when I turned up and asked for the money, she would just duck into the bedroom and grab it. End of story. This time, I turned up and someone else answered the door. Some skinny little Asian girl who was all fucking angles and some sexy bangs.”

You could always tell when Alan was becoming a bit uncomfortable because that was when he would start swearing.

“She invited me in and asked if I wanted a drink. Noticing the PBR in her hand I asked for one and she grabbed it. I asked her if Dezi was around and she said, ‘Yeah, hold on,’ and yelled for Dezi to come out.”

“So it’s not like she was ducking you?”

“No, although, I mean, how could she? I knew where she lived. She’d have to go to great lengths to duck me over $40.”

“So… you’re standing their with this foxy Asian girl, PBR in hand…”

“Dezi comes out and says, ‘Hi. How’s your night?’ You know, some small talk shit, which immediately concerned me. She seemed to be changing the rules a little bit. I wasn’t totally down with the situation anyway, but it was working. Now the rules are changing? I mean, I know firsthand what type of shit this girl’s into and frankly, I don’t need this.”

The first customer of the day walks in the door, kicking the snow off his shoes as he enters. He’s a short dude, 5’6” maybe? Dark hair, dark hat, dark hoodie. The Minneapolis winter uniform. Alan lowered his voice a bit.

“So I tell her, ‘My night’s fine, y’know? How’s yours?’ Like I said, I hadn’t really come prepared to make small talk. I had other places to be. So I said, ‘Listen, I can’t really stick around, y’know.’ And she was like, ‘Yeah, come in here.’ And walked into her room.”

“Cue the porn music. In fact, hold on, I think we just took in a record of porn music.”

“Fuck me. You may as well. As soon as I walked in she grabbed me and told me that she didn’t have any money. I noticed that she had already been getting into her weekend routine.”

“Ha! Jesus, man. I can barely even picture you in this situation.”

“Please, I’ve been in worse. Or at least more perplexing.”

“So she doesn’t have the money. Is this story going where I think it’s going.”

“Kind of. She says, ‘I don’t have the money right now. My ex-boyfriend came around and trashed the place. He knew where I kept my money and took what was left’ And I said, y’know, well, that seems terrible, but I‘m still going to need the money.”

“Shiiiit, Alan! You get your pimp hand out? Get that money?”

The customer chimed in.

“Alan? Pimp hand? You kids get started early, huh?”

“Never mind, man. Something we can help you with?”

“Nah, just having a look.”

“So, this girl’s been robbed by her ex, you’re out $40, she’s out of her mind…”

“So she says, ‘Can I get you the money next week?’ and I’m thinking, ‘Alright, I can’t do this.’ I mean, this ain’t UNICEF. ‘No, I need that money now.’”

At this point, I couldn’t help but notice that the customer was lingering awfully close to the counter, flipping a little too deliberately through old issues of Maximumrocknroll.

“So this crazy bitch grabs me by my belt and is like, ‘Can’t you please give me until next week?’”

“Oh, um, I gotcha. Listen, I’m gonna run downstairs and grab another smoke.” I said, shooting a quick glance at the guy leafing through the mags. Alan took the hint.

I stepped out from behind the counter, coffee cup in hand, and made my way back toward the stairs. I lingered on the top step and listened to Alan make conversation with this guy.

“You looking for something specific?”

“Do you have Bobby Stinson’s album?”

“Which one?”

“Um… The most recent one.”

“The one that came out on Warner?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Sorry, we don’t carry that one.”

“Could you order it for me?”

“Sorry, it’s been out of print for a while now. If one comes in I’ll set it aside for you if you’d like.”

“It’s no big deal.”

With that the customer left. Alan refilled his cup of coffee and stepped out the front door after him to catch a cigarette of his own, forgetting his jacket and gloves.

Episode 07: The Head On My Shoulders Won't Fuck Itself

I’d never heard a noise that loud in my life. It wasn’t startling or even surprising. It was fear-inducing. It was fucking scary.

The bottle exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, lost in the wind and snow. It didn’t even leave a mark on the fence. It was like it had never even existed.

“C’mon!” Demon grabbed me by my hand and pulled me back through the still propped back door. The heat of that back stairwell hit me instantly. Combined with the rush of watching him pick off that Premium bottle from 35 yards, I started sweating and shaking. He noticed right way.

“Ha huh! First time you ever seen something like that?”

“Jesus Christ! Why did you do that?”

“To make sure this damn thing works. I hadn’t even tried it out yet.”

I noticed that he was still holding onto the pistol. It was hypnotic. Still shaking, I asked, “Can I see it?”

He handed it to me. “Careful, it’s still hot. Don’t touch the barrel.”

I took it from him and held it up, out of the shadows. I‘d never fired a gun before. Never even held one, really. I carried a rifle in its case for my Grandpa when I was just a kid, but I guess I didn‘t really get the sense of just how powerful it was. I looked it over thoroughly. It was black with some gray trim around the barrel and trigger. “Magnum” was inscribed on the side.

“You picked this up out East? Why?”

“I got some dudes back home who needed this one to disappear.”

“Couldn’t they have just thrown in in the river? Or the goddamn ocean?”

“Trust me, those NYC cops know all the tricks. The only legit way to get ridda these things is to get them out of the boroughs. These Minneapolis cops aren’t looking for it. They’re too busy towing cars and writing tickets to even think about it.”

“Aren’t you worried that someone heard us just now. Fuck me! I’ve never heard anything so loud.”

“Yeah, they probably did.” He reached out and took the gun back from me. “We probably ought to go back upstairs.”

He tucked it into his pants, behind his belt. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. He was always doing little shit like that, y’know, to show that he was “real.” I should probably stop laughing though. I mean, bringing guns back from New York is pretty fucking real to me. Too real, in fact.

He took my hand again and pulled me back up the stairs. By the time we got to the second floor we could hear the bass pounding from his apartment on the third. Evidently the party was still going.

“Ay, don’t tell anyone about that, alright?”

“Who would I tell?”

“Girl, how the fuck should I know? I know you girls talk. Just keep this between you and me. It’s no one’s business.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.”

I finally stopped shaking as we stepped back through the door. I still felt excruciatingly hot, though. I got my boots, gloves, hat, and jacket off as quickly as I could, grabbed a fresh Premium, and headed straight for the bathroom. The noise was still echoing in my brain.

My reflection was comical. It was like someone had painted my skin and bright pink. As I rubbed cold water across my cheeks I heard a knock on the door.

“Ay, girl.”

It was Demon.

“What?”

“You need some more?”

I opened the door. I desperately needed some more.

Episode 06: Time's The Great Destroyer

I live in this apartment by myself.

I suppose that’s not technically true. I live with my cat. He’s truly the love of my life. He hides it behind typical feline aloofness, but I know he loves me too..

When I walk in the door, he’s always there, yelling at me for having left him alone for an extended period of time (he starts the clock ten minutes).

Even though he’ll spend the rest of the day walking around this apartment or dozing in the sun (it only peaks through the windows for about an hour and a half each day), he always manages to find a comfortable place in my bed at night. Usually between my arm and my chest, head on my shoulder, paw copping a cheap feel.

Most of the time I enjoy this isolation. Just my one true love and me. A mutually satisfying relationship. But let me tell you, when the loneliness gets to me, it hits hard.

I shouldn’t complain. I’m doing pretty well for myself, all things considered. Student loans are paid off. My art sells. I’ll probably never be forced to live with a roommate or work an office job again. I wake up everyday and set my own schedule, push my own agenda, play by my own rules.

Through a combination of hard work and good timing, I’ve been able to climb up to the middle class by doing the thing I love.

The apartment is not large. A bedroom, a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. It’s not the cheapest, but I pay for location. If you want to live in this version of Uptown, you have to have a little bit of money.

Sometimes I fell like I’m being watched.

I should rephrase that. My apartment is on the second floor and faces the street. I know I’m not being watched, at least not in the literal sense.

You see, I’m in love.

But again, this is not necessarily in the literal sense. I mean, I know I’m in love, but I’m not sure if I’m in love with him or with some idea of him.

Everything I do is influenced by him. This is why I say I feel like I’m being watched. Every major decision I’ve made has been haunted by a voice in my head asking, “What would he think?”

It’s good and bad, this voice. I can hear his disapproving voice whenever I light a cigarette or stay up too late. Each time I get a tattoo or go home with someone. I know these are things that, were he here, would never happen. While I am able to live with the twinge of guilt these things bring, that same voice has kept me from doing much more destructive things. I won’t elaborate on that. Not now.

He knows I love him. I don’t keep it a secret. Sometimes I suspect he loves me too. In fact, I know he does. But the question isn’t necessarily “too.” I love lots of people. Family, lifelong friends, my cat. The question is “back.” Does he want to be with me? I don’t know. I’ve given up hope of ever really knowing.

Letting that go was important. It gave me peace of mind.

Frankly, I don’t even know if we’d work as a couple anyway. We have a lot in common. On paper we’d be perfect for each other. But I’ve been down that road with other people. These things rarely work out the way you anticipate.

I don’t know how long I’ll be in this place. It’s been so long that it feels like home now. All the things I dislike about it have long since ceased to annoy me. Let the neighbors make noise, I’ll sleep through it. Let the faucet leak, I don’t pay the water bill. I suppose a little more sunshine for my cat would be nice, but even he seems to have made due with just that little bit each day. I think it makes him appreciate it more.

I suppose we’ve both learned to love the little things.

We have each other.

Episode 05: I've Been Here Before And I Know Where It Goes

“We make any money today, Alan?”

“Hold on.”

I went downstairs and turned out the basement lights. I’d left them on earlier by mistake.

“Well, it doesn’t look like made much. Almost nothing off albums.”

“Great.”

“No big thing. It’s only the 15th. We’ve got a couple of weeks to get up rent. We’ll be alright.”

He closed up the log book and shut off the office light.

“You wanna grab a drink?” he asked, tossing my jacket to me.

“Who are you talking to?”

We both put on our jackets and hats. The bar was just across the street, but still. You don’t fuck with the winter up here. You’re ears’ll freeze fast.

Alan opened up the door to let me through, then turned and locked it. We caught the light change and sprinted across Lyndale. Alan kicked up a couple of cigarettes as we stood waiting to cross 26th.

“You back again tomorrow, Steve?”

“Of course I am. You make the schedules, you really ought to know. Besides, I’m in here everyday, whether I’m working or not. Where else am I gonna go?”

“The bar?”

“Exactly. That’s my only other choice and honestly, I feel terrible if I start drinking before about 8:00.”

“You kids.”

The light changed as we struggled to light our smokes. We ducked across 26th and into the bar.

“I.D.s”

“James, we’re here every night. Do you really need to card us?”

"…"

“Fine, here.”

He checked both of our I.D.’s and we made our way to the bar. Rather than disrobing again we figured we’d grab a drink at the bar and head out to the smoking deck for another go at these cigarettes.

“What can I get for ya, guys?”

I ordered first. For some reason Alan would never order first. “Shot of Jameson and a Premium.”

“Whiskey and water.”

Alan threw down a ten and we walked outside. The smoking deck is pretty unpleasant in the winter, but they do have an overhead heater near the back. Everybody on the deck huddles together in back, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, leaving about 15 feet between the entrance to the patio and mass of smokers. Only Minnesota…

“How’d we do otherwise today?”

“Otherwise? We did alright. Couple of guys came in and picked up $50 worth apiece. How do you think I’m paying for these drinks?”

We quickly sucked down our cigarettes and went back inside. Closing the store at 9:00 means we’re usually locking up by 10. On weeknights this left ample time to catch a booth, as the bar was unlikely to hit capacity.

As we sat down and began the subtly satisfying process of removing our gloves, hats, and jackets, I noticed Alan looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and caught a woman waving at him. She looked to be pushing 30, same age as me. She had short, dark hair and pale skin that had taken a reddish tone thanks to that cigarette-discouraging wind.

“Do you know her?”

He waved back. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Oh, it’s like that is it?”

“She used to come into the store a lot. Looking for that Bobby Stinson album. She’d come in on Fridays trying to get set up for the weekend, but she never had enough cash. She’d bring in 30 or 40 bucks and ask if she could make up the rest on Thursday when she got paid.”

“Check me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always known us to have a strict ‘Cash Upfront” policy.”

“Well, when you own your own store, you can bend the rules however you see fit.”

“Fair play. So you’d let her bring the rest around later, eh?”

“Well, I did at first, but one week she didn’t turn up on Thursday with the rest of the money. She was living up on Nicollet and 28th, so I went by after work to chat with her. Y’know, make sure she was alright.”

“You‘re a real good Samaritan”

“Well, she was alright. She was more than alright, actually. She was still rolling off the last weekend and thought maybe she could pay me back, um, a different way.”

“This doesn’t sound like you either. You’re always on about making sure we get paid.”

“Yeah, well, take another look at her.”

I turned and had another look. I’ll admit, Alan was onto something here. She must have caught me looking at her, though, because she stood up, grabbed her drink, and made her way over the table.

“Um, you guys are on good terms right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

As she walked over I noticed she had that sexy Midwestern thickness about her. She was wearing a black cardigan that hung over a sexy, low-cut yellow shirt, and some black jeans that hugged her thighs.

“Hey, Dezi. How ya doin’?”

“Oh Alan, you know me. I’m getting by.”

“Dezi, this is my friend Steve. He works at the store with me.”

“Hey.”

“Steve? Hi.”

Her eyes were hypnotic, a deep brown that looked black against her exceedingly bright red lips. It was easy to see how she seduced Alan. When you look like that you probably don’t have to try too hard.

“It’s been a minute, Dezi. You still in the neighborhood?”

“No, I’m only here hanging out with my friend Demon.” She gestured back to her original table, populated by another cute girl and, for all intents and purposes, the back of a stocking cap.

“Where are you at then? Still in the Twin Cities?”

“Yeah, over on the Midway. My little sister started classes at Macalaster and didn’t want to live on campus, so we found a place off Snelling.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as a St. Paul kind of girl.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s more laid back than this neighborhood, but I needed that. I had to slow down a little bit, y’know?”

“Fair enough.”

As if disproving her previous point, she finished her drink.

“I’m going to grab another one. You guys gonna have another one?”

I perked up immediately. “Yeah, I’ll have one. Grab another shot of Jameson for me?”

She nodded and looked at Alan.

“Nah, I shouldn’t stick around.”

She gave an understanding nod and made her way to the bar.

“Alright, Stevie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want another?”

“Ha! No. I’m good. Tomorrow. Later, homey.”

He stood up and slung his jacket on, completely ignoring his hat and gloves as he rushed over to the bar. I saw him lean over Dezi’s shoulder and say something. She didn’t even turn to look at him as he quickly bounded out the door.

She brought back a couple shots of Jameson and another Premium. As she leaned over to set down the drinks that low-cut shirt exposed two Chinese lion tattoos, each one snaking up over a breast, as if it were going to perch on her clavicle. She sat down and held up her shot glass.

“A toast?”

“To what?”

“Minneapolis. I haven’t been over here for a while.”

“To Minneapolis.”

Clink, swallow, burning, Premium…

“So, Dezi, what do you do?”

Episode 04: You All Look Like Whiskey People To Me

“I.D.’s”

That was all you’d ever get out of James. No small talk about weather or sports or how things are going at the bar. He’s singularly focused on his job, though it’s tough to tell if that’s bred from indifference or devotion. He may be so concerned with keeping the kids out that he doesn’t want to waste time chatting or he may just be too dumb to make small talk.
Or maybe he was just high. You never could tell

Every night he’d sit at his little stool by the door, rockin’ a flannel jacket, black stocking cap, and Chuck Taylors. He was taller than you’d expect. Never clean shaven, but never slovenly either. Always polite but firm. He never gave away anything.

The only time you could ever get a read on him was by looking at his eyes. He’s one of those guys that seemed to have pure black pupils. I don’t know if it was the lights in the bar or light coming in off the street, but his eyes were almost always lit up. It was the only way you could tell his mood. I came by once and I noticed that his eyes didn’t seem lit up.

“I.D.”

So I went over and asked Birdy, “Hey, what’s up with James?”

“His old man died.”

And that was that. If you hadn’t seen him a hundred times before you wouldn’t have even noticed. Like I said, he never gave anything away.

James had a partner. A black dude named Nick. Nick gave everything away.

“How you guys doing tonight?”

“Cold out there, huh?”

“You got your I.D.’s?

“Roseville? You’re a long way from home!”

Nick looked like everyone in Minneapolis. Black jacket, black hat, blue jean, tattoos, glasses. He stood a little shorter than James with a layer of Midwestern baby fat.

People alternately loved and despised Nick. I know he got around Minneapolis a little bit. Just about every regular at the CC Club has a story about, “the one time I went out with Nick.”

Nick & James complemented each other well. They would both turn up about 6:00 and flip a coin to see which of them would watch the door first. In the winter, whoever won the toss got the door while the loser went out to keep an eye on the smoking patio. In the summer, it was reversed. They’d switch up every hour on the hour.

They kept a pitcher of Premium out on that smoking patio and they’d each put down a couple of pints and a couple of cigarettes each hour. Obviously, Nick would engage the other smokers, usually pulling two or three of them over to his table to chat them up. He rarely left the bar without a girl by his side.

Again, obviously, James was just the opposite. He’d sit at that table chaining Marlboro’s and sipping Premium, always keeping an eye on who was coming and going, but never going out of his way to speak to anyone.

These two have been working at this bar for as long as I’ve been coming here. I don’t know if they knew each other before they got this job or if it was just one of those things that fate shakes out. I do know one thing, though: You do not fuck with them.