Shelby shut the refrigerator with more force than was necessary. A couple of magnets fell from the door and clattered to the linoleum, the papers they’d been secured floating down after them.
“Hey, watch it,” Mack said, holding his hand out for one of the beers Shelby had just retrieved. “I still owe four payments on that! Not to mention those magnets were holding up the latest masterpieces of the next generation’s answer to Van Gogh.” He pointed to a series of scribbled by Shelly, drawn in one frenzied outburst of creativity. All drawn exclusively for Uncle Mack.
“Is Van Gogh even cool anymore?” Shelby groused, giving up one of the beers. “These days you can’t tell the art from the garbage in the alley. In fact, sometimes the art is the garbage in the alley.” Looking at the curled crayon lines he add, “Shelly is obviously a genius, but those other assholes …”
“You’re just mad because you don’t understand meta,” Mack said, but the grin on his face showed he was just pulling Shelby’s chain.
“I understand it just fine. Meta is something invented by betas to explain why they talk to themselves in the third person when they jerk off.”
“You have a lot of rage today,” Mack observed. “Listen, you want to sit down before you stroke out?”
Shelby growled but followed his friend’s suggestion.
Once settled in an overstuffed chair, he popped open his beer and launched into his rant.
“I tell you, Mack, she’s got me in her sights. And what scares me is that I’m not sure I give a damn.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“Katherine, of course. Who else?”
“And what sights?”
“Her moving in with me.”
“Ah. You’re speaking metaphorically. It always throws me when you show signs of higher brain function. Well, of any brain function, really.”
“I mean, we’re doing just fine as it is,” Shelby said, ignoring Mack’s jab, which showed just how distracted he was. “We spend a lot of time together, we eat most meals together, we—”
“How’s the sex?”
“Better than an old guy like me has a right to expect.”
“Then I fail to see the problem.”
Shelby downed half the beer, then said, “Yeah, I know. That is the problem.”
“The problem is that there is no problem?”
“Exactly.”
Mack followed suit with his own beer. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me. But you should probably grab us two more beers before you try. On second thought, I’ll get them. I’m not looking to replace my refrigerator before it’s paid for, and you’re doing your best to snap off the door.”
“I feel like I should be more worried about this. I never planned to—”
Silence.
“Planned to what?” Mack asked, bending to retrieve two more cold ones from the bottom shelf of the fridge.
Shelby remained silent.
“Marry again?” Mack prompted.
Shelby finished his beer and took the offered next one.
“For god’s sake, Shel, who said anything about marriage? Has Kay even mentioned it?”
“You know she hasn’t. If she had, I probably would have panicked immediately and called you.”
“Exactly.”
“But that’s where this is headed, right? What woman moves in with a guy without marriage somewhere in her mind?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy,” Mack said. “But I will say this: if you’re more worried about not being worried than about the actual event, then that tells me it might be something worth considering. Have you even discussed it? The move-in, I mean.”
“Not really. There’s just been some increasingly pointed hints from her forcing me to come up with increasingly creative methods of avoiding the subject.”
“You really ought to talk to her about it.”
Shelby hove from the chair and steamed toward the fridge like a tugboat hauling the Queen Mary. “I need another beer.”
He was well on his way to fulfilling that need when he looked at his hand and remembered that Mack had just handed him one, and that he’d already started drinking it. He carried what remained back to his chair and flopped down.
“I don’t know why I bother asking you about anything,” he said. “You always give me advice that sounds good but that you’d never listen to yourself.”
“That’s common with all the best teachers,” Mack said imperiously. “Do as I say not as I do. It’s a solid life principle.”
“Listening to you talk about life principles is about as much fun as sliding down a fifty-foot razor into a bucket of vinegar.”
“That’s ... oddly specific.”
Mack got up and headed for the kitchen. The beers were flowing easily, which was often the case when either man was up against something that felt a little bigger than the average alligator hanging teeth-first from his ass. Mack supposed that the alcohol didn’t actually solve any problems, although it did fuel some creative skull-sessions. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out what remained of the six-pack.
“Looks like we’ll be finishing these. You staying long? Might have to run down to the corner store to restock.”
“They’re probably not open,” Shelby said. “It’s even early for us.”
Mack shrugged. “It’s Saturday during college football season. I’ll turn on a pre-game show and we’ll pretend we’re tailgating. Morning beers are legit when tailgating. Will that ease your guilt, troubled one?”
He set the remainder of the beers on the small table that separated the men’s chairs. Mack took another for himself, opened it, and took a sip, all the while keeping his gaze steadily on Shelby.
“You’re being creepy,” Shelby said. “Stop it.”
“It’s my patented ‘you’re not telling me everything’ look. I used it on suspects all the time when I was on the force in Detroit.”
“Did it work?”
“Not really. Mostly the captain just wanted to know why I was drinking beers during all my interrogations. But you’re not, though.”
“I’m not what? Drinking during the interrogation? Some detective you are,” Shelby said, draining his second beer and reaching for the last man standing.
“Telling me everything.”
Shelby sighed. He should have known his old friend would see right through him. In fact, deep down he had known it, and his subconscious had probably secretly wanted to be asked this very question. He sighed again, the sound rending from deep within.
“I’m think about going back to work.”
Mack stared at him. “Like, work work?”
“No, like ‘money gets paid to me’ work.”
“Bank account a little down on its luck, is it?”
“Let’s just say that if money didn’t even exist, I wouldn’t be any more broke than I am now.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch.”
“The bills from Helen’s cancer piling up?”
“Mostly, yeah. Then I’ve got the funeral home bills. It’s really a crime how much it costs to die in this country.”
“Why do you think I keep sticking around,” Mack said darkly. “I can’t afford to kick the bucket.”
“Hey, you can’t die until you pay off that bypass surgery. I think I read that in the hospital discharge papers.”
“You know neither of us ever read those. Besides the only thing more expensive than dying at our age is …”
“Staying alive,” they said in unison, beer bottles clinked together.
They both chuckled and fell into a silence as they drank.
At last, Mack said, “I can help out. You know, keep the wolf from the door.”
Shelby shook his head. “That’s not why I’m over here, Mack. I hope you know that.”
“Know that you’d never ask for water even if you were on fire? Yeah, I do. That’s why I’m offering. Because you’re too stupid to ask for it yourself.”
“That’s really nice of you, Mack, but I don’t want your money. No ... I need to find a way to pay it off myself. And going back to work, at least in some capacity, is the obvious solution to that.”
“In some capacity?” Mack echoed. “I’m guessing that doesn’t mean you’re applying to be a greeter at Wal-Mart? Which you’d never get if they ran a background check.”
“Not yet, no. You remember that production company that called a few months back and asked if I’d work security while they shot a film up in the area?”
Mack thought for a moment. “Yeah ... what was their name?”
“First Cut Films, I think. Anyway, the director called me back this morning. They’re ready to start filming and still need some help locking everything down. He said the work and the money would be easy.”
“How much?”
“He didn’t say exactly, but I gathered it was a decent amount. He just said the ‘moneycheck’ would be ‘fat.’”
“Fat? By whose definition?”
“Does it matter when you’re broke?”
“I suppose not,” Mack said, “but it might make a difference in whether or not it’s worth ending your retirement over.” He turned his head sharply to squint at Shelby. “Wait a minute ... this has something to do with Kay, doesn’t it?”
Shelby looked guilty, as if he’d been caught jerking off to Hillary Clinton memes. “How do you mean?”
“That’s the main reason you’re worried about her moving it. You think she’d object to you getting back in the saddle.”
“I don’t think that’s an unreasonable concern,” Shelby said defensively.
“Hey, I didn’t say it was. But I’m right, aren’t I?”
Shelby shifted in the chair, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He ran a finger around his collar—was it getting hot in here?
“I’ve been a bachelor a long time again, Mack. I do not want someone around who’s going to try to control what I do or when I do it.”
“Look, I hear you,” Mack said. “But buddy, the only way you’re going to figure all that out is by talking to the woman.”
Shelby scowled and slid further down in the chair. He wasn’t sure what he hated worse: the idea of having a potentially sensitive conversation with the woman he’d come to care deeply for, or the fact that Mack was actually right for once. Damn it! When Mack started talking sense the best thing to do was deflect.
“So, do you want a fucking job or not?”