The Chosen

remembered that much. And the redhead, the guy/girl, must’ve been one of her friends. Days later, when he’d snapped out of it, he’d found his wallet cleaned out, his watch and other valuables gone. Bitches, he thought. Goddamn whores. That’s how they worked. Get a guy all fucked up, and then rip him blind. You got no one to blame but yourself, asshole, he thought.

Craig stepped hesitantly closer when refilling Paul’s glass. “No offense, man, but you kind of smell like garbage. And…” Craig sniffed, scrunching his nose. “Whiskey cream?”

“Don’t ask,” Paul said. “I gotta find Vera. You know where she is?”

“Naw, all I heard was she took some new job out of town. Bunch of people from The Emerald Room come in here after they close, and they’re bitching up a storm.

Seems Vera took all their best people with her, and the restaurant’s going downhill.”

“Couple guys named Georgie and Dim have already made me well aware of that fact,” Paul said. “There’s got to be someone who knows where this new job is.”

“Talk to the owner, that fat guy. Wherever she went, she must’ve left a forwarding address for her W-2 and any vacation pay she’s got coming. Ask him. McCracken, I think his name is.”

McGowen, Paul thought. I gotta talk to him. Vera had mentioned him from time to time, said he was a fat slob who liked to put the make on the waitresses. He probably wouldn’t be too keen on meeting the guy who’d caused his manager to leave town, but Paul couldn’t think of any alternatives. He’d have to give it a shot.

“Haven’t seen your byline in the paper lately,” Craig remarked, shaking up an order of Windex shooters for some rowdies at the other end of the bar.

“And you won’t, not in the City Sun, anyway. Tate fired me.”

Craig just shook his head, pouring the shooters. “You want some friendly advice, Paul?”

“No, but I have a feeling I’m going to get it anyway.”

“Get your act together, and do it fast. Look at yourself. A month ago, you had a great job, a great fiancee, and a great life. You had it all.”

“I know,” Paul muttered.

“When you were with Vera, you were going places.” Craig looked at him, almost disgusted. “But you ain’t going nowhere now but down.”

Paul paid his tab and left. There were tears in his eyes. The moon’s bright scowling face now seemed to smile in hilarity. Down, down, down, Paul thought. Craig was right. The dark streets were all he understood now, and the bracing cold and brittle light. He was alone, and he deserved to be. I deserve nothing, he thought.

His tears turned to ice on his face. How could I have fucked up my life so bad?

««—»»

“When are you going to talk about it?” Donna asked, rather meekly. She dawdled about her open dresser, fishing through her lingerie.

“Talk about what?” Vera asked.

“You know. Paul.”

The name caused her to fidget on the cushioned settee. After their shift, she’d come up to Donna and Dan B.’s room, to borrow the book about haunted mansions. She thumbed through it now, not even seeing its words. Paul, she thought.