Evan (Five of Ten)

Can't blame em for lawyering up. Middle of the day, don't know who's your friend, who's in the union, who's working for Don, who's working for the mob, who's gonna sell you out for a few extra bucks. They weren't gonna talk now, which meant I had to keep playing the game.

There were half a dozen bars in walking distance. I had to figure out which one I was gonna frequent during happy hour. Went to see Dara and Don. To make sure she didn't get bored, I told her to go check the internets and see what she could find on Evan's wife. Then Don came over, put his hand on my shoulder and asked if Dara could take the day off. He pressed down and I could feel myself start to sink into the wooden planks under me. I told him yes. Don only pretends to ask for things. Really, he tells people what they're supposed to do.

That left me to go bar hopping before happy hour. Six beers, one at each bar, I figured the Blue Barnacle made the most sense. Cheap happy hour specials, lots of dart boards, and the bartender was the only one under fifty and female. Perfect recipe to pull in the dock hands.

I found a stool with a butt groove and sat in it. Guy that formed that indent, he was probably a regular. How else could he take the same stool every night? Twyla, the bartender, she warned me not to sit there, and I told her I was gonna take my chances. She walked away, polishing a glass with a blue spit rag.

Sure enough, at 5:15, six hands barged through the door living it up. I glanced back at them, then looked into the bottom of my glass through the dark brown bourbon. They got quiet for a second, then five of them sat in the stools near me.

Last guy, he tapped me in the lower back, asked if I'd mind moving, cause I was in his seat. I turned around. He was the shortest one of all them, five-four if he was an inch, staring up at me. He looked like someone crushed a basketball player down like a soda can. He had gnarled hands and rough skin and a thick, dark sweater you'd expect. Polite, but not too much, and the creases around his eyes meant he had to be in his forties, a lifer. Probably worked the docks since he dropped out of middle school.

I told him I was here first, turned around and kept sipping my beer.