The cell phone jarred Blaze from his nap when his wife called.
“Why do you sound like you just woke up?”
“Because I was sleeping.”
“At work?”
“No, I came home early.”
She launched into questions asking about his health.
He assured her he was okay, but a little tired.
Once she felt comfortable that he was fine, she told him she and her friend were going out to dinner. “Do you want to join us?”
“No, Honey, thank you. I’ll fix something here to eat. Enjoy your meal and be careful.”
After the call, he took a shower and shuffled back into the family room and turned on the television. In short order, he found The Blindside, which encompassed three things he liked: football, a happy ending, and Sandra Bullock.
At the time in the movie when the Bullock character was going to a bad part of town to meet Big Mike’s mama, Blaze’s phone rang again.
Seeing the name displayed, he frowned.
“Tony, what’s up?”
“Hey, Blaze. I’m down here at the DMS having a few cold ones. I knew you got off early and thought you might want to join me. We could swap Dolby Sinclair war stories.”
Through the phone, he heard the clinking of glasses and raucous laughter from the Dead Man Saloon. He detected slurring in his lieutenant’s speech.
“Are you there by yourself?”
“Nah, there’s other people here.”
“Who’s with you? Any of the day watch guys still around?”
His boss scoffed into his ear. “Shit, those pussies all left after a couple of rounds. You understand how it is. Even though they like me, they see me as management and someone who can’t be trusted.” He burped. “Those guys bounced. Probably to that dive the Foothill coppers use to get wasted. This place is dead, dead, dead.”
“Well, you know you can’t drive, right?”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Right as rain. Alive and kicking, which is more than I can say for poor Dolby.”
He must really be hammered. He’d never speak that way about a dead brother if he were sober.
“Listen, I’m at home and it’s going to take me about forty minutes to get to the Dead Man.” He went to his closet and grabbed a pair of shoes. “Stay there. Promise you’ll wait for me. I’ll be pissed if I drive over there and you’re in the wind.”
“Shit. I won’t go anywhere. All I have at my house is Timmy. He’s an outstanding cat, but he didn’t know Dolby. I wanna talk about my buddy.”
“Okay. We’ll do that.”
“Good. That’s why I like you. Blaze McKenzie is a stand-up guy.”
“Tell the bartender I want to speak to him.”
Tony’s voice boomed in his ear. “Hey, bar keep! My buddy wants to talk to you.”
There was a rustling on the line.
“Who’s this?”
“John, it’s Blaze McKenzie. Cut Tony off right now. I’m en route to get him.”
“He’s already been cut off. I got to work about two hours ago, and I served him a couple of times not realizing he was wasted. He’s not going anywhere. I can’t afford getting the ABC suspending my license.”
In the background, Blaze heard the lieutenant yelling.
The bartender continued. “A little earlier, he got up to hit the bathroom and fell flat on his ass. You’d better hurry. He’s challenging people to fight.”
“Make him an Arnold Palmer and tell him you put vodka in it. Say it’s the Saloon’s weekly special.”
“You’d better get here fast. If he gets any rowdier, I’ll have to call the station.”
“Roger that. Leaving now.”