me?â
The young man was dressed for a formal portrait, in a jacket and tie, his serious grimace adding a year or two to his boyish face.
âI hired him out of pharmacy school to work in the Cairo store. Heâs working as the night manager in a Walgreenâs branch in Vienna now because of the companyâs nepotism policy. Evelyn loves him. He takes better care of her than I do.â
âJesus Christ,â James gasped, astonished by this unexpected revelation. âHow old is he? Fourteen?â
âVery funny. Heâs twenty-six.â
âAnd youâll be forty-seven on your next birthday.â
âSo?â
James struggled to find the right words to express his contempt without inflicting permanent damage to their friendship.
âYouâll look ridiculous.â
Roy tossed back a shot of Wild Turkey and ordered another round.
âYou know, this isnât exactly the reaction I would have expected from a jaded and sophisticated man of the world like Jimmy, excuse me, James, Hoffmann.â
âThese things never work out in the end. Youâre going to get hurt,â James insisted, his argument grounded as much in envy as in concern. âIt canât last.â
âNothing lasts forever, Jimmy,â Roy said, his green eyes brimming with kindness. âThat doesnât mean we shouldnât appreciate what we have while we have it.â
The altercation between the entertainment and her hecklers had reached a fever pitch. Punches were being thrown, and a microphone stand was being brandished as a lethal weapon. Aloysius calmly reached under the bar and retrieved a pistol, blowing on a whistle to make sure he had the entire roomâs undivided attention.
âIf you boys think I wonât use this, just turn around and count all the bullet holes in that wall,â he said without raising his voice, taking aim over Jamesâs shoulder.
The two thugs, nasty little assholes with sexy jarhead buzz cuts, grumbled, mumbling vague threats as they shambled out the front door. The floor show resumed to appreciative catcalls and applause.
âYou still get raided, Aloysius?â James asked, as the bartender poured a shot of Sambuca to reward himself for his cool head and steady aim.
âNaw,â he said. âNo one really gives a shit anymore. I miss them old days, donât you?â
Â
Them old days didnât seem so different than these new days, at least during a light snowfall at one-thirty in the morning, the deserted streets of downtown Parkersburg illuminated by strings of Christmas lights. At high noon on a bright, sunny day, it was impossible to ignore that bail bondsmen and auto tag shops now leased the storefronts that had once been occupied by dress shops and bakeries and drugstores with soda fountain service. Commerce had moved out near the interstate exits where strip malls anchored by huge box stores offered acres of free parking. James flipped on the radio in the car, feeling lonely and wanting a bit of companionship. The AM band was wall-to-wall religious musicâwarbling gospel singers and treacly choirs and, worst of all, some abomination called Christian rock. The FM stations were solid classic rock, âWalk This Wayâ and Electric Light Orchestra. He slipped a disc in the player and drove home listening to Bach arranged for guitar.
Damn, he thought, cursing himself for his earlier brief lapse of judgment. What the hell had gotten into him, agreeing to make the trip to Pittsburgh International tomorrow night? The drive north would be torture. He would be a prisoner, forced to listen to candy-colored tales of Roy and Anh Vu shopping together for the perfect leather sofa, snuggling up on a Saturday night to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral on DVD, and planning their weekend escapes to the District of Columbia to see k.d. lang and Sarah Brightman in concert. The long ride home would be even worse, with James
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