I hated waiting in line for beer.
It was like the ultimate tease. I had the case in my hands. They were begging me to drink them, and I couldn’t give them what they wanted because some lady in the front of the line had to count out exact change for her box of wine.
My bank account was getting low, so I had to settle for an el cheapo brand. Sucked. It was probably going to give me lockjaw from all the lead in it. The hangover would be brutal.
Booze was the only thing I’d found that could dull the goddamn echoes in my mind. Right now, I was struggling not to hear the perverted thoughts of the guy right in front of me as he stared at the ass of Exact-Change Lady. It didn’t take a psychic to know what he was thinking because of the way he was ogling her backside.
The problem, though, was that I could read minds.
Sounded fun, right? It wasn’t.
It sucked ass.
People thought some pretty awful things. The guy in front of me was a raunchy douche. The woman ahead of him was condescending as hell. Right now, she was wondering if the Middle-Eastern cashier was a terrorist.
As I stood in line, watching Exact-Change Lady count pennies, I felt my mental barriers crumbling. It required an incredible amount of willpower and energy for me to block out the voices of anyone within fifty yards of me.
Alcohol took the edge off. Unfortunately, it took a lot of drinking, and I had to spread the amount out. Beer worked best— liquor put me facedown on the floor.
Three more people walked into the store, and the weight pressing down on my mind multiplied. I couldn’t take it anymore. My hand tore open the end of the thirty-pack before I even realized what I was doing.
Everyone in line turned around and gaped at me when I popped the top on the can. I shrugged and took a big gulp.
Issam, the cashier, shook his head. He gave me the same lecture every time I started drinking in the store, which, sadly, happened pretty often. It was against policy, blah, blah, blah. Dude thought I was a raging alcoholic, which I supposed I was by normal standards.
The first beer was already gone by the time it was my turn to pay. The voices were still raging. I needed at least three more brews to bring them down to a dull roar. It was hard to describe what the constant pinging in my mind sounded like, but calling them continuous echoes was as close as I could come.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to drink in the store?” Issam asked.
“This is the last time, I promise.”
“You say that every time.”
I took a swig from beer number two and handed him my debit card. I had a whole thirty dollars on it. Fuck my life. “It’s not my fault that you count change at a snail’s pace. I wouldn’t have to drink in here if your math skills were above the third grade level.”
He grinned at me. “It’s these damn American schools. They’re terrible.”
“You didn’t go to school here.”
“But your low IQs are wearing off on me. You know what I am saying, G.I. Joe?”
We went through this routine at least three times a week. He was a cool guy, despite what he thought about me. One time he saw my military identification card in my wallet and had called me G.I. Joe ever since. Thought it was hilarious.
He also tried to use American slang, particularly of the urban variety, and it made him sound like a cartoon character.
“I have no idea what you’re saying. I’m smart as shit. My mom said so.” It was getting harder to concentrate on our conversation with each passing second.
“You should really slow down, G.I. Joe. That poison isn’t good for you.” He nodded at the beer in my hand as he handed my card back.
“Tell me about it.”
“I just did.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at him. He was learning how to be a wise-ass from me. We’d been doing this dance for almost six months now, and he’d picked up quite a few of my best lines.
“See you in two days. Try not to open any 7-Elevens by then.”
“Try not to get drunk and fall down the stairs again.”
“Har har.” I was mugged a few weeks ago while I was completely shithouse drunk. The guys beat me up pretty badly and stole my beer. I told Issam that I fell down the stairs.
He wouldn’t let it go.
I hung a left outside the door and walked down the sidewalk, not even trying to hide the open can. People stared at me in open contempt as I went past them.
If I didn’t quiet the voices in my head soon, I’d end up curled in the fetal position in a gutter.
When are they going to clean this city up? thought a squat woman as she shuffled past, a deep frown aimed at me. How disgusting.
It took a lot of willpower for me not to respond to people like that.
But I marched on. Sadly, I was used to the derision. Besides, almost no one ever said anything to my face. I was a hair over 6’4” and pushing close to 220. People were as afraid of my size as they were disgusted by my drinking.
Some people didn’t recognize an Adonis when they saw one.
My apartment complex was three blocks from the liquor store. When I’d moved back into the city six months ago, I made sure to find a place that gave me quick access to a swill slinger. It worked out for my mental health, if not necessarily for my liver.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I trudged on. Even the cool beer couldn’t take the edge off the heat wave camping out over the Eastern seaboard. Baltimore was always hot, but this was ridiculous.
I chugged down beer number two and tossed the empty into a garbage can. Nothing but net. Eat your heart out, Kobe.
A buzz formed behind my eyes, and the concert blaring in my head quieted to a dull hum. I could still hear the voices, but they weren’t shouting over each other quite so much. Soon, I would be at the point where I could pinpoint one or two and focus on them. That was when I was the most comfortable.
When the day was young, and my energy reserves weren’t running on empty, I could do that without the use of booze. The afternoon had already come and gone though, and I was hurting.
My Brazilian jiu-jitsu class ended about half an hour ago. Whenever I left there, I was completely exhausted and struggled to focus. The workouts were so intense, that the next day I felt like a million bucks. The conditioning had helped me turn my life around, but I always had issues getting through the night without having some alcohol to help me.
Being in shape helped me hone my mental abilities. The problem was that I paid the price after a particularly hard workout. It was a vicious cycle. I was like a drunk who drank in the morning to get rid of his hangover, but then ended up blotto by noon. The difference, I suppose, was that I actually got some benefits out of it.
A muted blast stopped me in my tracks less than a block from my place.
I knew that sound.
A gunshot.
Shit.
I stood on the sidewalk, a box of beer under one arm, an open can suspended by the other, and listened. The sound didn’t come again, but I knew what I’d heard.
A bank sat off to my left. I had a perpetually ailing account there. No one came or went from the door, even though closing time was fast approaching. Everyone did their banking there after work, and it was usually jam-packed right around then.
I took a few steps closer to the door and almost fell over. Panicked cries filled my thoughts, overwhelming me. My knees wobbled as I struggled to keep from falling.
As I staggered to the front of the bank, I noticed that I couldn’t see into the glass doors. I leaned against the brick wall and took a few deep breaths. Squeezed my eyes shut, focused.
Instead of fighting against the echoes, I relaxed and let them in.
Fear. Lots of fear.
The people inside were panicking to the twenty-fifth power.
At least a dozen thought streams floated to me, maybe more. It was hard to get a grasp on how many people were inside.
I relaxed even further, feeling my way through the mostly incoherent emotions. Someone had been shot.
And then I felt anger and despair. A man by the tellers’ booths.
An armed robber.
I hadn’t even realized people still held up banks at gunpoint. That felt so 1980s to me. I thought crooks ripped people off electronically now, using the stock market or government handouts. What kind of dumbass would try this?
Wrapping my mind around his, I grasped the tendrils of his thoughts. He was just as scared as the people he threatened. His memories flitted through my mind’s eye like a child’s flipbook.
In a handful of seconds, I knew everything about him.
Perceived his fears and motivations. Understood his problems.
Saw what drove a father of three to such desperate measures.
He’d already accidentally shot one man. Before today, he’d never even held a gun. When it went off in his hands, the sound had frightened him more than he’d expected. The stink of the spent shell hammered home that he’d just seriously wounded a man.
His name was William, and irrationality had him teetering on the brink of no return.
Before I had time to think about what I was doing, I opened the door and stepped inside.
The entrance smelled of paint. William had sprayed the opposite side of the glass black to keep anyone walking by from seeing inside.
Smart.
He’d forgotten to lock the door so no one could walk in. Someone like me.
Dumb.
A bell tolled overhead as I walked in. The dozen or so people lying on the floor all turned their heads and looked at me. They were hoping for a police officer. Instead, they got a drunken military vet.
The way their faces fell when they saw me would have been comical if it wasn’t so indicative of my appearance.
William, bank robber extraordinaire, spun around, pointing a shotgun at my chest. He stood in front of a fresh-faced, teary-eyed female teller.
I sipped my beer. “Hey, Bill.”
“Don’t move!” He stormed over to me, doing his best to act like a hardened criminal.
His thoughts betrayed his façade.
“Want a beer?” I asked. “They taste like ass, but it gets the job done.”
“What? Get down!” He stopped five feet away from me, the gun held by his hip.
“Can’t do that, William.”
His head snapped back as if I’d slapped him. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“Kris sent me.”
“Kris?” His mouth hung slack. “My wife?”
I nodded. “She knows that you lost everything. She understands that the house is being foreclosed on, and that your savings accounts are empty.” Of course, the real-life Kris had no idea any of this was happening, but I had to talk him down. “She wants you to come home.”
“But I shot a man. They’ll never let me go home again.” His voice rose an octave as he spoke. “I can’t ever face my family again. I’m a failure and a coward.”
His thoughts were even more erratic than his words. If the robbery didn’t go as planned, he intended to commit suicide-by-cop so his family could get his life insurance. I was pretty sure that an insurance company wouldn’t pay out under those circumstances.
I took another sip and looked around the bank, trying to act nonchalant. I was scared shitless. Having a gun pointed at you would clench anyone’s ass cheeks. Walking in here was beyond idiotic. “Failure is relative, William.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea. I was trying to sound philosophical.”
He thought, Where are the goddamn cops? Who is this asshole?
“The cops will be here soon, but you don’t need them to kill you to get out of this. Do you think Olivia, Elliot, and Brooklyn will be better off without their father?”
He gaped at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m your guardian angel, and I’m here to stop you from taking this any further.”
“My guardian angel chugs beer?” The end of his shotgun trembled.
I shrugged. “Why not? Jesus turned water into wine, right?”
“Just get on the ground, you crazy asshole.” He raised the gun to his shoulder and sighted my chest.
My bladder felt very full as I looked into the shadowed opening of the barrel. “I can’t do that, William. I know what you want to happen.”
A slender, brown-haired woman on the floor to my right waved at me. “Do as he says!”
“Relax, Sammy. Everything is going to be fine.” I gave her a wink.
Her eyes widened. “How do you—?”
The whoop of sirens came from down the street. If I didn’t get this guy down in the next thirty seconds, he would be killed.
I finished off my beer and crushed the can in my hand like the Hulk. “You sure you don’t want one?” Bringing the case out from under my arm, I reached inside.
“I told you—”
I threw the box at his gun.
Ducked down.
William, shocked by the sudden movement, jerked the trigger. The buckshot hit the case, sending suds, cardboard, and fragments of aluminum cascading down on me.
I sprang forward, launching at his torso.
He was so inexperienced with the weapon that he didn’t even rack the slide to eject the empty shell. I heard the gun click as I reached him. With my left arm, I shoved the barrel aside.
My right shot out like a piston, catching him square on the jaw with a straight punch.
He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, rubbery limbs flopping in all directions. The shotgun clattered down beside him. I kicked it away and stared down at him, making sure he wouldn’t get back up.
Beer dripped from my face. I licked my lips.
“Is… is he out?” Sammy asked. She slowly got up, eyeing him cautiously. As she stood, I noticed for the first time that she had incredibly large breasts. Her low-cut tank top didn’t leave much to the imagination.
It took a lot of willpower not to drool.
“Yeah, he’s taking a little nap.” I shook the pain out of my hand. In the movies, guys had epic fights and never suffered from the consequences. In real life, landing a punch hurt like hell.
My hand was probably going to swell.
Sucked, because that was my best drinking hand.
The case of beer was ruined. I stared at it longingly as everyone got to their feet and walked over to me. A few of the cans weren’t destroyed, so I grabbed them and stuffed them in my pockets.
Without that swill, it would be a long night.
Are there any others?
Who is this guy?
I think I peed myself.
As the former hostages closed in around me, their thoughts bogged me down again. Cracking another brew, I chugged half of it down. I tried not to make eye contact with the man who had a slight discoloration around his crotch.
Poor bastard.
Two people attended to the shot man, applying pressure to his shredded stomach. He was awake and alert, but pain twisted his face. I took a step toward him to help when I heard the sirens get even louder.
The cops would be here soon, and the questions would start. They wouldn’t let me drink. There was no way I could get through an entire night at the police station—not in my condition. The press would be up my ass when the authorities finished with me. I didn’t need any of that noise.
Ohmygod! All that blood!
Is he going to survive?
I hope no one can see this pee spot.
Am I going to be on TV?
I grimaced against the barrage of thoughts slamming around inside my brain. I had to get out of there before the police sealed the bank off.
“Keep pressure on his stomach. The paramedics will be here soon,” I said.
As I moved toward the door, I scooped up the last of the beer that hadn’t been destroyed. That made five total—not enough to get me through the night. I could only hope that it took enough of the edge off to let me sleep.
“Where are you going?” Sammy asked. “The police are almost here.”
“I think I left the oven on,” I called over my shoulder.
“You’re leaving? But we don’t even know your name!”
I didn’t answer her as I stopped at the door, cracking it open. None of the police cruisers were visible yet, but they were loud enough that I knew it would only be seconds before they got there.
“Wait!” Sammy ran over, her breasts bouncing as she came.
My eyes drifted over to them as if they had some kind of homing beacon.
She leaned forward and kissed my beer-soaked cheek. “Thank you.”
My face flushed. “You’re welcome.” I pushed through the doors and hurried down the sidewalk.
The first police cruiser slid through the intersection ahead of me, the siren blaring. I ducked my head down and kept going, hoping they couldn’t see my face. It probably made me look suspicious, but my head was scrambled and I just wanted to get back to my apartment.
The black and white flew past me before skidding to a stop in front of the bank. Two cops jumped out, guns out of their holsters. I kept going.
Another dozen sirens reported through the streets as I crossed the intersection. No one stopped me.
Sipped my beer.
There were a lot of cameras in that bank. How long would it be before someone came looking for me?