CHAPTER 6

BUBBA’S BAR AND GRILL, just a few blocks away from Kat’s place, was a neighborhood joint in Queens Village, a corner tap on an obscure little corner that drew a clientele from a radius of four blocks or so. It was already late, close to closing time, and all that was left were the usual suspects who were always left at closing time. Junior was behind the bar, leaning on his elbows listening to Old Tommy Trapp rail on against something. Junior glanced up when Kyle entered the bar. His eyes glowed red for a second, and then he turned back to To m m y.

Kyle took a seat at the far end of the bar and waited. And waited. Junior was ignoring him, which was Junior’s right, considering how Kyle had screwed up. But what with meeting Skitch for drinks, and then getting all twisted up with that Jewish girl from Jersey, and then seeing his father for a second time in one night on the street, what with all of it, Junior had slipped from a priority to a nagging detail that he couldn’t quite remember. And long ago Kyle had decided that nagging details he couldn’t quite remember were best left ignored.

But now he had to make amends. Junior was playing it cool, but later he would be apoplectic, no doubt, his dark face darkening and spittle flying as he hurled invective upon Kyle’s broad shoulders. Then he’d sputter a bit and slow down, looking for Kyle to say something in his own defense. Should Kyle act all contrite, like what he’d done was the worst possible thing in the world? Or should he toss it off like it was no big deal, dude, but things got in the way, and tell Junior to stop sweating the small stuff? That’s the way he really felt, but he figured contrition was the way to go. As he sat at the bar, he put on the face of a penitent.

At one point, when Junior went into the back room for something, Old Tommy looked over and gaped his toothless smile. “You’re dumber than a dingo,” he said, “and that’s pretty damn dumb.”

“I know,” said Kyle.

“You get any at least?”

“A l it t le.”

“What the hell does that mean? You get laid, yes or no?” “No.”

“Dumber than a blue-balled dingo,” said Old Tommy, shaking his

head.

Finally Junior came out of the back room, wiped the bar a bit, and slowly made his way down to Kyle.

“I’m so sorry, dude,” said Kyle, his head hanging at an appropriately contrite angle. “No excuses, I just screwed up.”

“My daughter had a dance recital tonight,” said Junior with a scary calm. No loud words, no spittle. “I had to leave the party after it to cover for you. My daughter said, ‘Do you have to go, Daddy?’ ”

“That’s bad.”

“It was like being in the middle of a country-and-western song.”

“Welcome to my life.”

“I hate country-and-western songs.”

“Want me to close tonight?”

“No, Kyle.”

“How can I make it up?”

“You can’t.”

“Kat says you fired me.”

“I think you just fired yourself.”

“Dude.”

“This isn’t easy for me,” said Junior.

“From this side of the bar, it looks pretty damn easy.”

“Well, maybe it’s easier for me than it is for you. But this has been a long time coming.”

“Junior, we’re friends.”

“I know we are, but that has nothing to do with the bar. I need someone I can rely on here, someone who will show when he says he’ll show. To get someone like that, I need to guarantee hours, and the hours I’m going to guarantee him are yours.”

“Well, maybe until you find someone . . .”

“I have someone lined up already.”

“A lready?”

“She’s starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That’s cold. It’s like you were just waiting for me to screw up.”

“If I was, I didn’t have to wait long. You know why my father hired you, Kyle?”

“Because I can hit.”

“No. Well, not only that. It’s because he cared about you.”

“I loved your father.”

“I know you did, and he felt the same way about you. He didn’t mind that the bar always needed cleaning the mornings after you worked. He didn’t mind that you were overly generous with the bar’s liquor. He didn’t mind that the till was never right, because he knew there was usually more in it than what was supposed to be there.”

“I would never steal from this place.”

“He knew that, Kyle. He explained to me that the reason there was too much cash in the till was that you cared so little about money you would sweep half your tips in with the rest of it.”

“I’ll keep better track if that’s what you want. And I’ll spend more time cleaning.”

“He hired you because he wanted to help you. And then after your mother died, that cemented it. He decided he would do everything he could for you.”

“He was a good man.”

“Yes he was, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe letting you slide in the job, come in when you wanted, do a lousy job, maybe that wasn’t helping you at all.”

“No, it was. He was right.”

“You’re too old for this, Kyle. Sloughing off work, stopping between first and second because you think you see your long-dead dad, taking pride in your irresponsibility. It’s enough already. All these years after my father first took you in, you’re still lost.”

“When did you become so damn grounded?”

“When my daughter was born. When I bought a house and got a mortgage wrapped around my throat. When my father died and left me the bar.”

“It’s a pity, dude.”

“No, it’s life. And I’m sorry, but this is the way it is.”

“Look, Junior, I’m working through things.”

“Then do it, and do it quickly. Come back after, and we’ll talk.”

“But I need the job, I need the money. I got nothing coming in without this.”

Junior looked at him for a moment and then went to the cash register. He pressed a button, the drawer popped open, he started counting out some bills. When he was done, he closed the drawer, walked over to Kyle, slapped the stack of bills on the bar.

“What’s that?” said Kyle.

“All those tips you didn’t collect. My father kept track, and after he died, so did I.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just take it.”