Nick sat in his truck, cursing the starter. The rebuilt mechanical necessity was still a piece of shit and had gone out yet again. He didn’t have the money for a new one. He didn’t have money for lunch, let alone a starter. He’d packed a bologna and cheese sandwich and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos for lunch and his cooler contained half a dozen Fantas and a couple of bottles of water. Not the good water, but water from the sink faucet used to refill the bottles, because he couldn’t afford bottled water either.
His ex-wife was sucking him dry. Between child support for his daughter and maintenance payments to his wife, who of course, didn’t work, he couldn’t make enough money in a month. He didn’t mind the child support. He did mind the maintenance. Missouri didn’t have alimony. It was also a “no-fault state,” Nick didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it seemed to mean that even though his ex-wife was 100% responsible for their divorce, he had to pay for it.
“Hey Nick, need a ride?” A guy he worked with came up to his window.
“I guess so,” Nick sighed. “It’s the starter again. I just can’t seem to scrape up the cash to get a new one. The ex is sucking the very life from me.”
“We’ve all been there,” the guy patted Nick on the back as Nick walked to his car. There was a very good chance that the guys he worked with now, did indeed, know that. They all had life experiences that included things like divorces and ex-wives from hell. It must have had something to do with construction work.
The work was grueling. After two months, Nick still wasn’t used to the hot weather, the steaming asphalt or the long hours. Night work was better, but it wasn’t always feasible. Six months ago, Nick had been living in a nice house, with an air conditioned office job that allowed him to get manicures and pay for shopping trips. Then the company had “downsized.” Nick had been let go, his wife had spent all their money and then left him because he couldn’t afford her lifestyle anymore and now he was flat broke and working on a road construction crew.
However, not all of it was bad. He hated the work, but he liked the guys he worked with. It had been tense at first, he was an engineer, not a grunt used to working with machinery and tools of a trade. But he had eventually transitioned and now he could hold his own with most of the guys. They enjoyed getting beers after work and harassing the new guys who would wash out in a week or less. Even he was getting good at figuring out who would and wouldn’t last.
“We are going to go to Kirley’s tonight, do you want to go?” George, whom they all called Corky, asked as he started the air conditioning.
“I can’t, my paycheck is going to be gone tomorrow,” Nick sighed. “Maybe next pay day, I’ll have a little left.”
“Why don’t you come anyway? I’ll buy you a beer or two, then you can be my designated driver and drink sodas free all night after that. Tonight, you can take my truck home and in the morning, you can pick me up on the way to work.”
“I don’t want to put you out like that Corky,” Nick smiled at his buddy.
“It will be good,” Corky grinned back and headed towards Kirley’s.
Kirley’s had started life as an Irish Pub. Sometime over the last decade, it had become a dive bar for men like Nick. Men who worked with their hands and drank hard and had stories about gold-digging ex-wives. It still retained all its Irish decor, but the ethnic interior didn’t mean anything anymore. The guy who ran it was black and definitely not of Irish decent. He came from a country with a lot more violence than Ireland had ever imagined and had the scars to prove it. His name was James and he had a shotgun with the name Little James hand carved into the barrel behind the bar for busting up fights. Of course, it was rare that James needed to do anything more than give you a dirty look to settle you down. James and Corky were good friends. They had grown up together in whatever country they were from. Both had come here looking for freedom and less violence. Corky had ended up working construction for the last twenty years and James had tended bar for the last seven. Nick didn’t know what James had done before tending bar at Kirley’s and he was positive he shouldn’t ask.
Corky, Nick and a few others from the construction crew sat at their usual table. James didn’t need to take orders, he poured them beers from the tap and brought them to the table in frosted glasses. Nick took one, feeling guilty that Corky was going to buy him a beer or two for the evening. He dug in his pocket, but all he felt was change. He sipped very slowly on the beer and was only about half way through when James brought the second round.
There was a system; every man took a turn buying a round. When it came time for Nick to buy a round, Corky slipped him the money under the table. Nick blushed, but offered it to James as he set the fourth round down on the beaten wood.
After the eighth round, Nick pleaded that he had to go home. They all agreed that it was getting late and they all had to be up early. Corky and Nick staggered out to the truck.
Just two blocks from Corky’s house, blue and red flashing lights turned on behind them. Nick pulled over to the side. The police officer gave him a sobriety test, which he failed and handcuffed Nick. Corky wasn’t any better to drive, but Corky called James and James came and got him.
Corky went home. Nick went to jail.
As he went through processing, Nick’s only thought was how his ex-wife would somehow use the arrest to remove his custody rights. He only got to see his kid once a month as it was. The chance of that being taken away reduced him to tears.
Nick was put in the drunk tank to sleep most of it off. In the morning, a cop woke him up. His head was pounding from the hangover and he was positive he had lost his job. The cop took him outside. A van waited for him.
“Where am I going?” He asked.
“To county until you are either bailed out or until you go to court and are released,” the cop answered. “We’re just an overnight holding facility.”
Nick got on the van. There were two other men already on board. He was escorted to a seat and chained to the floor. Nick wanted to cry again, but managed to hold back his tears. Maybe he could get ahold of his sister, she might bail him out. He’d call whenever he got where he was going.
The ride took less than thirty minutes. The guys were led off the van one at a time and released into the custody of the county sheriff’s department. They stood outside a big, gated area.
“When do I get a phone call?” Nick asked one of the uniformed officers.
“As soon as you’re processed, you can make a call,” the officer told him.
One of the men with Nick suddenly attacked the guard with the clipboard. He grabbed the pen and shoved it into the neck of the guard. Nick jumped on him. His months of smoothing out asphalt had bulked him up some. He wrapped handcuffed wrists around the prisoner, pulling him off the guard and onto the ground. The third guy just stood there looking panicked. A group of deputies poured from the building. Alarms began to go off.
Electricity seized control of Nick’s body. His bladder relaxed, releasing warm liquid on his pants that cooled quickly. A few of the deputies tugged him off the prisoner that had attacked the guard.
“I think he’s dead,” a guard said. Nick wasn’t sure who they were talking about. Maybe himself, he didn’t feel good. Death would probably be better than his current state. He was unemployed and in jail. He’d pissed himself and the electricity was still causing his nerves to twitch and jump. Only his brain seemed to be working.
Well hells bells, Nicky, now what are you going to do? His functioning brain asked him. He didn’t know. He hoped they didn’t search his house.