Connections by Darren Musial

Author:Darren Musial
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, mystery, chicago, urban, twentysomething, airport
Publisher: Darren Musial

30

Miles went to the sports bar where he and Van Dalton had lifted wallets. He didn’t know why. Just a place to sit and think about his situation. It was better than staying at home and staring at the TV or getting frustrated by a video game he’d never beat.

The bartender poured him a Miller Lite. It was cold and Miles was thirsty. He chugged it halfway down and belched. It was Tuesday, so not too crowded. Everyone else looked like regulars in the way that regulars always look comfortable, like they fit in. Everyone knows everyone else. Miles felt like he didn’t know anyone at all. He’d spent the last few weeks pinning his future to Vicky. Now he wasn’t even sure if that was her name. He tried to convince himself that Vicky was a nickname. Maybe she was one of those odd people who went by their middle name.

Miles finished his beer and ordered another. The bartender was a beefy dude with hair like straw. He looked at Miles sideways.

“You look familiar, bro.” The barman said.

Miles wasn’t in a mood for conversation. But asked anyway, “You been to the airport lately?”

“No, why?”

“I work there. Maybe you saw me there.”

“Naw. I haven’t been on a plane since spring break in, like, college. Cabo. Shit, good times, man.”

Somehow, Miles wasn’t surprised. The athletic-looking man had the mannerisms and facial expressions of someone who was a little dopey. “Oh,” Miles said and gulped some beer.

“Where’d you go to high school, bro?”

Miles sighed. “Holy Cross.”

“No shit! I knew it, bro. That’s where I know you from. ‘Cept it’s not called Holy Cross anymore. Did you know that? They went co-ed. Wish it was fuckin’ co-ed when we were there, am I right? Last I heard they’re closing up and knocking it down.”

“Best thing they could do to that place is knock it down,” Miles mumbled.

Miles studied the man’s face. Tried to pry away seven or so years from the strip mall tan, ironic Bob Ross t-shirt, and shaggy mop of hair. Then it hit. He did know the guy. He knew the dumb motherfucker standing in front of him serving beer. Mason Dirks. Only two years ahead of Miles in high school, Mason Dirks was a football legend, and world-class dickhead. Miles remembered that when he was a freshman, Dirks, a junior, had slapped the books out of his hands on the way to class as a daily ritual. Miles, overweight even more so in high school, was subject to fart noises every time he walked past Dirks, and a particularly embarrassing episode that locked Miles out of the locker room after swim class, forcing him to walk to the office dripping and freezing in his speedo. Miles wanted to pick his beer up and throw it at the man. But he just chugged his entire beer and stared.

“Anyway,” Dirks leaned over the bar and slapped him on the shoulder, “good seeing you, bro.”

Only it wasn’t good seeing him. Maybe it was the loneliness.

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