Untold Damage by Robert K. Lewis

feeling so fucking good. Like he’d made a significant move to getting his normal life back. One more step in what was sure to be a long-ass journey.
    Mallen walked the blocks at a brisk pace. Just another guy hurrying on his way home, or maybe to a drug deal. As he neared his block though, he slowed, beginning to walk a patrol pattern that would keep him moving against traffic on the one-way streets in this part of town. Saw no black Escalades, and no sign of Jas or Griffin on the streets.
    Once he got to his building, he went quickly inside, jogging up the stairs instead of waiting for the derelict, practically useless elevator. Couldn’t remember if the building even had an on-site manager anymore. It’d been so long since he’d last cared about the state of anything, or anybody. Now he was beginning to wonder. The elevator. The halls. Eric. His broken-down studio. It isn’t too late, he told himself. There was time to fix his life. Start over, now, before he was swallowed up and shit out the other end.
    He came in and shut the door. Took off his coat. Tossed it over the edge of one of the folding chairs at the card table. He then quickly gathered up all of Anna’s money, which he’d forgotten the last time he’d been here. Rolled it back up and stuck it in its hiding hole. Went and fixed himself a drink. The only thing he had was some cheap whiskey he couldn’t even remember buying. Checked the freezer. No ice cubes. Well, ice cubes just take up space, right? He poured a double.
    He tuned the cheap AM/FM radio he’d bought at a dollar store over on Pine Street to the college jazz station. Sat on the couch, trying to relax. Suddenly felt The Need. Badly. Took a drink. Took a breath. He told himself it would be okay. It would be … be a wave that he could surf, until he either made it to shore or wiped the fuck out.
    Fuck it. It would be what it would be.
    He’d just started on his second drink, way lost in a daydream, when a loud knock at the door startled him out of it. That would not be Jas and Griffin , he reassured himself. Those two would’ve just broken in, rained lead, and left. And if they’d gotten the apartment number wrong, oh well. Mallen looked around for a moment. Wasn’t sure he was really in his apartment, he’d been so lost in his dream. He’d been imagining he was with Chris and Anna again. They were at Golden Gate Park, way out west near the soccer fields. There was a good wind. He and Anna were flying the kimono kite. A happy family. Could that happen again? Should he dare to hope?
    There was another knock. Insistent. He could swear it was Oberon’s knock. Got to his feet and went to the door to answer it.
    It was Oberon all right. The first thing he noticed was how tired the detective looked. Mallen beckoned him inside with a smile. “Can I get you something to eat?” he asked. “I have some old bread that can made into old, dry toast. Maybe you want some vanilla ice cream?” Now that he was clean, he realized he would need to go buy some real, actual groceries at some point. The thought didn’t thrill him.
    â€œNo coffee?” Oberon asked hopefully.
    â€œSorry. Not yet,” he said with a grin. “Come back during the third week of my being clean, and I’ll fix you a bacon and cheese omelet that would rival Han’s over on Sutter.” Went and sat on the sagging couch. “What brings you out this way? You look beat, Obie. Catch another case?”
    â€œI was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by for a cup of joe.”
    â€œOh yeah?” he replied, knowing full well that was bullshit. Oberon would come to it, in his own time.
    It was then that Oberon noticed the state of the place. “What happened, Mark? You get into an altercation with your supplier?”
    So that was it. Oberon had come by to see if he’d fallen back into his old ways.
    â€œNo,” he