“Would that be bad, though?” I mumble under my breath, but he hears it.
“I don’t give a shit about those fuckers. God knows that’s wrong to say, but it’s the honest truth. They’ve done a lot of shit, if my…” he averts his eyes,“researchit correct. But I can’t let them go that far. That’s not how justice is served.”
“And yet here we are, securing an alibi.” I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest.
“It’s complicated.” He shakes his head and leans against the table. “It’s been eight years, and not even one person came forward.”
“How do you know they’re to blame then?”
He levels me with a stare. “We always do. But our hands are fucking tied if there’s no evidence. Or if it’s getting swiped under the rug.” His words are heavy; he looks tired, and I understand. I understand the system isn’t perfect. I know that more than anyone.
His phone rings, and he answers it with a bark. “Yeah.” Someone talks on the other end, and Benson groans. “Fuck, thanks, Jennica.” He puts his phone away. “I’m gonna go change. It’s definitely today. Go there now because it looks like our little vigilantes went on a hunt a little earlier than planned.”
A few minutes later, he exits his bedroom dressed in civilian clothes. “Take the key. You can stay here while you’re in town. I don’t think Dancing Pony will have a room for a few days. They had a new movie come out or something, so they’ll be swamped.”
“You sure it’s okay?” I grab the keys and shake them in the air.
“Yeah,” he waves me off. “I have three extra bedrooms; take whichever you want.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you.” He pulls on his coat and shoes and walks outside. “See you there,” he yells over his shoulder.
I get dressed and lock the house up. The drive to the bar takes about thirty minutes. The place is super busy, and I take a table in the corner and make friends with a couple huge dudes who come to sit with me.
I pay for their drinks and make sure to constantly walk to the bar and back to my seat, bringing attention to our table and howdrunk we are. Then three more guys join, and the party becomes so loud even I can’t figure out who’s been here from the start. About two hours later, when the guys at my table are wasted and barely remember their own names, Kenneth, Justin, and Mark walk inside.
To say that two out of three of the newcomers are surprised to see me would be an understatement, but they quickly regain themselves and start acting along.
A quick assessment shows Mark and Justin’s knuckles bloodied, their pupils dilated, and their gazes crazed and rapid. I walk them over to our table, where our two wasted friends greet them like we’re all a big happy family. Kenneth is collected and professional.
He scans the room and says under his breath to no one in particular, “Good job.”
We all did well tonight, judging by the satisfied looks on Justin and Mark’s faces.
I give Mark a side hug. “Now would be a good time to go and powder your nose.” I nod at his hands. He follows my gaze and hides them under the table.
“Good idea. Coming, Justin?”
“Yeah,” he says and rises from his chair.
“Are you gonna hold each other’s hands?” One of our new friends’ cackles, and Justin laughs back. It’s forceful and unnatural—no Oscar for him, for sure.
“Yeah, can’t let him out of my sight.” He and Mark disappear, and Kenneth calls my name.
“I owe you one,” he says firmly as I face him.
“No, you don’t.” I roll my eyes. “I came to the bar to get drunk like I usually do. It’s just another Wednesday for me.”
“I do,” he repeats firmly.
“I’ll never call in a favor for that. Forget about it.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and sniffs a glass in front of him.
“You got anything lighter than this?”
I rise to my feet to grab us some water. “Coming right up.”
