Measureless Night (Ash Rashid Book 4) by Chris Culver

Author:Chris Culver [Culver, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Chris Culver
Published: 2015-05-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

I left the office immediately and arrived at the bar within twenty-five minutes. As David had said, it sat in the middle of a strip mall beside Highway 36. I parked in the lot out front and checked my badge to ensure I still had it on my belt. The bar’s interior matched the sporting theme quite well. The ceilings stretched high above my head, and somebody had painted the walls a deep green. Projectors played ESPN on two screens on the west wall, and maybe a dozen people sat around the bar and nearby tables talking and drinking. Walking inside, I heard the clink of glasses and sucked great lungfuls of the familiar alcoholic smell that permeated every bar I’ve ever stepped foot inside, and I felt almost like I had just stepped into an old friend’s house. It felt comfortable, far more comfortable than it should.

I put my hands in my pockets and felt the leather keychain in my right pocket. If anybody in the world saw that keychain, they’d think nothing of it. Objectively, I knew it was just a strip of leather cut out and stamped with the word Baba. My daughter had made it for me in some kind of summer program at the YMCA. Feeling it between my fingers reminded me, though, why I didn’t drink. Since going to AA meetings, I’ve met a lot of people who lost their families because of their addiction. I couldn’t let that happen to me. My kids and my wife are all I’ve ever wanted in the world. More than the meetings, more than any number of steps, they keep me sober and made my sobriety worth the fight.

I pulled out a chair from one of the pub tables near the bar and sat down. A young woman in black jeans and a white T-shirt came over almost immediately to take my order.

“Can I get a Coke, please?” I asked, looking around. The girl nodded.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m meeting a guy named David Acosta. He might be a regular. You know him by chance?”

She nodded again and smiled. “Sure, I know David. If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I watched TV until the waitress came with my soda. David Acosta—I recognized him from his license picture—came very shortly after that. He had a rounded face, spiked black hair, and sawdust on his jeans and T-shirt. At first glance, he looked like the kind of guy I’d suspect of being the class clown in high school, but something about his movements changed my perception. His eyes darted around the room, and he walked on the balls of his feet. Whenever he walked past someone, he made sure to stay well out of arm’s reach. Those habits had probably kept him alive and well in prison, but they marked him to those who knew the signs as a man who had spent time behind bars.

He walked directly to the bar and then looked around nervously before my waitress directed him to my table.

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