On Unfaithful Wings by Bruce Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

bumping the edge with his belly as he wobbled to his feet, spilling more of Phil’s drink. “Ric Fell’s dead. He may have been a bastard, but I still won’t let you steal his name.”
    My already-sagging smile melted away.
    Bastard?
    How many times did I cover for him when he went to the massage parlor instead of going home? My hand curled into a fist but I resisted the urge to pop him in the mouth.
    “Phil, you know me. Tell him you know me.”
    “I don’t,” he said. The bulge in his throat rose and fell as he swallowed hard. “How do you know my name?”
    “He was listening in, that’s all, “ Marty said, stern look on his face. “What are you playing at, mister?”
    “Nothing. I just...” My head spun. I didn’t know what to say. “You know me, Marty. I’m Icarus.”
    “That’s enough. It’s time to pack up your sideshow and get the hell out of here.” As he stepped toward me, his heel caught the chair leg, sending it clattering to the floor.
    “Is everything all right, boys?” Sully called, hands hidden below the bar where he kept a baseball bat for such occasions.
    “Everything’s fine, Sully,” Marty replied without glancing away, his tone implying things weren’t actually fine. “This fella was just leaving.”
    “Marty, we’ve known each other for years.” I held my hands out toward him, desperate, searching my mind for a way to prove myself. “Remember Super Bowl a few years ago? You won that set of inflatable goal posts and gave them to me for Trevor.”
    They’d never made it to Trevor--I’d passed out on my way home and woken in the drunk tank with no inflatable goal posts.
    The muscles behind Marty’s sagging jowls clenched and released, his face turned a light shade of red.
    “I don’t know how you know that,” he said, voice raised a couple decibels in volume, “but you better get the fuck out of here. Now.”
    I opened my mouth but closed it without speaking, choosing to back away instead. Marty didn’t follow, but he didn’t right his chair and sit down, either.
    I glanced at the others: Todd’s face twisted into an angry look, backing up his friend without getting up from his beer; Phil looked sad. For a moment, I thought a glimmer of recognition showed in his eyes, but, if it did, he didn’t say anything or act on it. Before turning away, I noticed what looked like a dim halo around his head, like in an out-of-focus photograph. I stopped, intrigued, but a hand gripping my bicep spun me away.
    “Time to go,” Sully said half-dragging me across the room. I stumbled after him, looking over my shoulder at Phil as we went.
    “But I--”
    “But nothing. No one upsets my regulars.” We arrived at the door and he pulled it open for me, not out of politeness. “Go quietly and your drinks are on me.”
    I looked into the big Irishman’s eyes, wanting to try once more to convince him he knew me, should recognize me, but the cant of his shaggy eyebrows suggested it an unwise strategy. He ushered me across the threshold into the chilly night and, before I strode away in search of a place to sleep, I caught one more glimpse of my old drinking buddies before the door closed. Marty had righted his chair and sat, arms crossed, staring daggers at me; Todd held beer mug to lips, but Phil’s eyes remained on me. My stomach twisted into a knot, but only partially because they didn’t know me. It was the way Phil looked: his leathery cheeks and rheumy eyes, the wan glow.
    Phil would be dead in less than a month, I was certain of it.
     

Chapter Four
     
    I spent that night and the next day wandering the streets visiting places I knew, searching for someone to recognize me: the barber I’d gone to for years, the girl at the coffee shop where I nursed daily hangovers in preparation for creating another. None of them knew me. With each person who didn’t, my spirits dipped closer to the soles of my shoes. I wanted to go to Rae’s and find her and Trevor, show them I was