|
"Witness Protection"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Rating: R Warnings: Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots),
some OOC (probably), violence, drugs, sex, a naughty Duo (i.e. he
has a potty mouth and is a bit, er, slutty)…if you are wedded
to the “pure, chaste” version of Duo, he might be a bit
dark and crude for your taste…ditto for the other characters
in here…hey, Quat’s a lawyer…how much lower could he
get? Pairings: 1X2 eventually, 3X4 also eventually, (past 2X3, 6X2) A/N: I’ll apologize in advance that Zechs is, well, deceased right from the start. I like him a lot, and there’ll be mention of him…but mostly in the form of discussing/investigating his murder. Sorry. Summary: When Zechs Merquise is found murdered,
detectives Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang are tasked with the unenviable
chore of keeping the only witness to the crime alive long enough to
testify against the leader of the Oz syndicate, Treize Khushrenada. "Witness Protection" Chapter Sixty: Funeral for a Friend Wufei and Catherine were prompt; I had to give ‘em that much. They picked me up right at twelve, dressed in the best suit I owned, and drove to the funeral home. I was amazed at the turnout. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been. I knew how magnetic Duo’s personality was. Yet it surprised me to see more people than the tiny funeral home could hold—all turning out to remember Duo. He deserved every one of them. It took us close to fifteen minutes to work our way up the line and into the reception room in the funeral home. Trowa was there, of course, on Quatre’s arm, looking pale and more withdrawn than usual. He was hard to read at the best of times, but I could imagine the blonde lawyer having a devil of a time keeping his spirits up—much like Chang was having with me. I noticed Captain Po in line too, no doubt there in her official capacity as the head of our precinct; I guessed the Chief was probably too busy trying to track down his wayward daughter to attend. Then, to my surprise, I caught a glimpse of Noventa working his way through the throng towards Winner. It was a bit unusual—a District Attorney attending a witness’ funeral—but then, this was a rather unique situation; he’d been the one at Duo’s side when he was attacked. I wondered if he was just there to make sure Duo had no relatives to sue the department for gross negligence. Who, me? Bitter? The rest of the crowd might have been co-workers at either of the bars Duo had worked in. The entire chorus line from the Sanc Palace was there—except the little brunette bitch who’d helped Khushrenada—and they were all dressed to the nines. They might have passed for a bunch of soccer moms, they looked so—respectable. I brushed futilely at my eyes, remembering how Duo had loved the way Zechs made him feel respectable. It meant an awful lot for a street kid like Duo to want that; it meant that no matter how crude and harsh his life had been, he always wanted to be a better person. “You okay, Yuy?” asked my partner in an undertone. He was close beside me, as he’d been since we left the car, and Catherine was close beside him. I shook my head. “Stupid fuckin’ question, Chang,” I muttered. “I failed, and Duo’s dead because of it.” “You didn’t fail. He testified—Khushrenada will be convicted. He got justice for Merquise, and he got over losing him.” He gripped my arm hard. “Don’t you dare underestimate what you meant to Duo. I can assure you, if it meant losing what you two shared, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.” “Yeah—him and his ‘moments,’” I said gruffly. Chang was more or less right. Duo hadn’t been as concerned about dying as he was that Khushrenada should have to pay for his crime. Back at the circus property he’d told me as much—told me that if Wufei and I hadn’t intercepted him, he’d have hidden out and waited for a chance to kill Khushrenada himself. He’d have thrown his life away just for revenge. Instead, he’d played by the rules and look where it got him—just as dead. I couldn’t make myself feel that there was a fair tradeoff—that it was any better that he’d died the way he did. He’d fuckin’ testified—Khushrenada was done—there was no point to his dying after the fact. I looked up to find Trowa standing in front of me, his green eyes tearful—but amazingly not accusing. “I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely. He shook his head. “Don’t be.” “I was supposed to keep him alive.” “You did the best you could.” “I was an asshole, Barton,” I admitted flatly. “I judged him before I even met him, treated him like shit—. Hell, half the time I treated him like a child—as if he didn’t have a brain in his head.” “Sometimes he didn’t,” Trowa said with a hint of a smile. “He was stubborn, defiant—and had an attitude the size of Mount Everest. But you got past it, didn’t you? After a rocky start, you found the tender soul inside that tough exterior. That matters.” He caught hold of my arm, nodding to my partner and Catherine. “I’m gonna borrow Yuy for a bit, okay? I need to show him some things.” He dragged me through the crowd, nodding and murmuring greetings to a few people we passed, and then brought me to a standstill at a table in the front of the room. A small urn sat in the middle, surrounded by mementos of Duo’s life. It was almost hard to see them, for all the flowers people had been laying on the table. But centrally located was a picture of Duo with kids I assumed were from the orphanage clustered around and hanging onto him. It looked like he was playing keep-away, holding a ball out of reach with laughing children scrambling to steal it. Beside that was a photo of Duo while he was busy sketching. I guessed maybe Trowa had taken it, because the background looked like the inside of a circus tent. There were others—Duo on his motorcycle, helmet in hand, wearing his faded leather Reapers jacket—Duo with Trowa on a high wire, trying to inch across it—. “We lowered it for that,” Trowa said quietly, following my gaze. “I should hope so,” I muttered dryly. “Can’t imagine learning the skill fifty feet up.” “Nope.” He gave a wistful smile. “Duo was good, though…natural balance. He said it was from sneaking across rooftops and fire escapes for break-ins.” I managed a weak chuckle. “Only Duo.” Then my gaze traveled down the table, and my jaw dropped. I stared dumbstruck at a picture of Duo in black garb that would have resembled a priest’s outfit, save for the foot-long fringe along both sleeves and the skin-tight pants with lacing up the sides, showing plenty of skin. He had both arms thrown wide, as if he were on a cross, and his head was tilted back, exposing a pale throat and that characteristic white collar. The braid trailed over one shoulder, snaking its way down past his waistband and onto a leather-clad thigh. “Your own, personal Jesus,” Trowa said in a soft, almost reverent voice. “Hm?” “That outfit.” He smiled briefly—painfully. “He danced to the song ‘Personal Jesus’ by Depeche Mode. It was—incredible.” I couldn’t help a soft, rueful snort. “Yeah—it’d make me want to find God.” His laugh was short, choked off by a constricted throat. “Shoulda seen Father Maxwell’s face when he gotta load of that picture.” I managed a brief, genuine laugh, imagining how much Duo would have enjoyed scandalizing the poor priest. “He took irreverent to a whole new level,” Trowa sighed. “And I loved him for that. Who else could’ve gotten away with doing a striptease in priest’s clothes, and not come off looking like a soulless bastard?” I could almost imagine Duo saying “I make this look good,” and running a hand down his skin-tight outfit. He did. Make it look good, that is. He made it look amazing—erotic—and yet somehow not completely disrespectful. I thought maybe God would’ve understood. If you create such a sensual creature, you’ve got to expect him to flaunt it—right? Of course, since I didn’t believe in God, that whole train of thought was just—pointless. “Trowa?” “Hm?” “I’m glad he found you.” He smiled sadly. “I’m glad you found him.”
We moved off to one side, allowing the people to continue filing through the room, paying their last respects and literally covering that table to overflowing with flowers, cards, and little trinkets that must have had some special meaning between them and Duo. I felt a pang as I realized Duo would never know just how many people’s lives he’d touched. Who’d have thought the death of one former stripper would draw such a crowd? I swear, nearly every employee from both The Jungle and Sanc Palace showed up—including Ms. Noin. She caught my eye from the reception line and nodded a greeting, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “God—everyone loved him,” I sighed under my breath. “No,” Barton said firmly. “Everyone loved his spirit and his sass—the life and energy he brought into their lives. You and I were in a small, select group—the ones who saw past the pretty exterior to the warm, sensitive soul inside. These people cared—but they never really knew him.” I noticed that the array of pictures drew mixed reactions—chuckles from some, and renewed tears from others. When a group of children came in, escorted by a nun and a sober-faced priest, I didn’t need to ask who they were. Trowa touched my arm. “Come meet Father Maxwell,” he urged. “No—I—I don’t know what to say—,” I protested. “You don’t have to say anything,” he assured me, ushering me firmly over to them. “Trowa!” The priest reached to shake his hand, gesturing the nun and the kids to go ahead through the line without him. “I’m glad to see you. I hope you’ll stop by the orphanage afterwards. We’re having a small gathering—.” “Um—I dunno, Father—.” “Please. The children are as fond of you as they were of Duo. I think it would mean a lot to them.” “I—um—can I bring a—friend?” He nodded in Quatre’s direction, and the priest’s eyes widened in realization. I don’t know what I expected—condemnation or disappointment, I guess. But the priest gave a small, tolerant smile. “Mister Winner helped fund our little reception. Of course he’s welcome.” He raised an eyebrow speculatively. “Serious?” Trowa nodded, blushing a little. Father Maxwell glanced from him to me. “I thought perhaps you two—?” “Oh, no!” Trowa corrected him hastily. “This is Detective Yuy. He and his partner were the ones who protected Duo—.” “Not well enough,” I added gruffly. The priest studied my face for a long moment, and then nodded as if he’d seen something he was looking for. “I’m sure you did the best you could.” “He did!” Trowa said quickly, as if daring me to disagree. “No one could have predicted how that psycho bitch waited for her chance at Duo. No one. Got that, Yuy?” I sighed and nodded. “Not even the man who loved him,” I admitted. This time Father Maxwell’s eyes showed genuine surprise, and he looked more closely at me. Trowa gave a wry chuckle, as I blushed under the priest’s scrutiny. “Yeah, padre—Duo fell for a cop. Go figure.” “I think I was the one who did the falling,” I conceded. What is it about a priest that makes you want to bare your soul when you’ve hardly known him five minutes? But apparently I wasn’t the only one who told Father Maxwell things I’d just as soon have bottled up. He smiled knowingly, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Come take a walk with me.” “Uh—I—.” I looked appealingly at Trowa, who merely shrugged. And seeing no way out of a heart to heart with the cleric, I let him steer me out to a quiet sunroom at the back of the funeral parlor. “Look, Father, I know what you’re going to say, and—.” “Really?” he interrupted. “Do you expect me to condemn you for being homosexual? Or for getting involved with Duo?” “Either? Both? I—don’t know.” “Well then—just let me talk.” He gave a smile and a shrug. “I’m delivering the eulogy, so we could consider this a warm-up.” I raised an eyebrow. “Would it surprise you to hear that Duo had mentioned you to me? At least, I think it was you—or someone very similar—.” Well—yes it would surprise me. I frowned in confusion. “When could he have—?” “Oh, it was some years ago. I ran into him on the street one day, out of the blue. At first I hardly recognized him, he’d become so much harder and leaner than when he was a boy at the orphanage.” He crossed his arms behind his back and looked out the window at the bright, sunny garden. “There were needle tracks on his arms, and he looked half-starved; and wary—like a dog that’s had to fight for every scrap.” I swallowed at the image he created, and it brought fresh tears to my eyes. I didn’t want to think of Duo having ever been so badly treated by life. “It took a lot of coaxing, but I got Duo to come back to the orphanage for supper. I think the lure of a hot meal and a safe place to sleep for one night was too strong a temptation. So he came with me. I fed him and let him use my shower and my room for the night. And the next morning, he was gone—along with half the silver from the service in the rectory.” I winced at that, again tormented by the picture he painted of my lover being desperate enough for a fix that he’d steal from a church. “He came back that night,” Father Maxwell continued. “He brought back every piece of that silver, and tried to shove it into my hands and run. But I asked him to stay. And amazingly, he did. He asked why I’d bother with street trash like him, and I told him that he was only street trash if that was what he wanted to be.” Okay—he had me there. Tears were spilling over in spite of my best efforts, and the priest quietly passed me a folded tissue. “He broke down after that—told me about the gang he’d been with, and what happened to them. And then he told me that the drugs helped him forget—forget what he’d lost and forget what he was. I once again reminded him that it was entirely up to him to decide what he was—that no one else’s perception can make you something you’re not.” “The funny thing was—he laughed about that, and told me about a cop who’d called him a hooker—and how every time he’d considered becoming one, he’d remembered that officer’s ‘gorgeous blue eyes,’ and the contempt in them, and he’d resisted the temptation. He told me maybe I was right; that maybe no one can make you something you’re not. So I asked him what he wanted to be.” The priest had to pause to clear his own throat, and I was glad I wasn’t the only one choked up over his heart wrenching story. “He said he didn’t know. And I told him he was welcome to stay and help out at the orphanage until he figured it out.” “Thank you,” I croaked out hoarsely. “For giving him that chance.” “Oh, I gave him very little, really,” came the modest response. “A bed…three meals a day…those are small things. And in all honesty, he didn’t take me up on the offer right away. He came and went for awhile.” He shrugged slightly. “The Church really wasn’t the place for him. He had too many grudges and too much of a spirit of rebellion. But it was at least a safe haven that provided enough stability that he eventually found his own direction.” Father Maxwell turned to face me, his expression pensive. “Duo was still a work in progress, detective—as we all are. I think, had he survived, you would have been very good for him. I can see in your eyes that you cared deeply for him.” “That hasn’t stopped just because he’s—dead,” I said gruffly. “Of course not,” he agreed. “That’s why we’re having this conversation. I think that your opinion of Duo probably mattered a great deal to him. Perhaps you reminded him of the blue-eyed cop he mentioned—.” “I was the blue-eyed cop,” I said quickly. “He told me—. We were talking about things he’d done, and things he hadn’t—and he told me that the first time we met, years ago, when I called him a—hooker—it bothered him so much that he never stooped to becoming one.” I blinked back the threat of more tears. “I’m grateful to have given him even that much. And I’m even more grateful I had the chance to find out he was so much more than I gave him credit for, that first time.” Father Maxwell gave one of those annoyingly smug smiles that clerics often do, and then added the rote answer. “God works in mysterious ways.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m glad you have that much peace of mind, Father, that you can lay it all in someone else’s hands. But I don’t. I will always blame myself for not being quick enough or circumspect enough to prevent Duo’s death. And I will always hate myself for costing him the chance to finish becoming whatever it was he’d decided to be.” “Oh, detective—,” breathed the priest sadly, reaching towards me. But I pulled back, and before he could launch into more soothing rhetoric, I headed back into the main room of the funeral home, wondering why these places never had an open bar. I mean, shit, when you’re grieving over someone’s death, a stiff drink would come in very handy. I thought it unlikely that the little “gathering” at the orphanage would include anything other than fruit punch. So I pretty much decided then and there that I’d find my way to a local bar as soon as I could extract myself from my partner’s and Trowa’s clutches.
Imagine my surprise when it was Winner who collared me as I re-entered the reception room. “Where have you been?” he asked brightly, catching my arm and steering me towards a side room, where chairs were set up for the memorial service. “Catherine saved seats in the front row. Trowa and Wufei are already there.” “I was talking to a priest,” I said grouchily. “Oh, good—Father Maxwell’s conducting the service. I take it he’ll be along shortly?” “He’s probably right behind me.” But Quatre didn’t wait around for the good padre; he ushered me firmly through the rows of chairs and into a seat between Barton and Chang. Great. There’d be no skipping out until the end of the heart wrenching ordeal. I could only hope it would be mercifully short. The Fifth Street Pub was calling. Father Maxwell made his way to the podium before I’d even started to squirm on the hard plastic funeral home chair, and I studiously avoided eye contact when he was situated right in front of us. But he kept his gaze on the far reaches of the room, for the time being, and cleared his throat and began… “Duo was the quintessential ‘child of the streets,’ with no knowledge of his origins, no parents and no home. Yet everywhere he went, he surrounded himself with family. No one who met him remained unaffected. When he came to the orphanage, he was a bright, vivacious boy. Oh, he had his rough edges—but there was a buoyant spirit in him that was impossible to overlook. It’s inconceivable to me that he was never adopted. I can only surmise that with each new foster family, he tested his boundaries, as he was wont to do—and that not one of those families had the strength and endurance to live up to his needs.” “He had many needs.” Here the priest smiled rather indulgently. “He needed affection—a lot of it. And yet, at the same time, he pushed it away, as if to force those who’d give it to him to prove that they were sincere. I think that as often as he’d been hurt, he was suspicious of kindness. And yet he was a kind person. He helped out at the orphanage both when he lived there, and years later when I was able to coax him back. I cannot describe how much he was missed in between. Sister Helen and I both worried when he disappeared back to the streets he’d come from. Although we knew he was first and foremost a survivor, we worried that he’d either lose the gentle spirit he carried inside himself, or end up dead from trying to help where it wasn’t wanted. Instead, he endured, and persevered, and in spite of highs and lows in his life, found his way back to us as a young man, still in need of guidance, but finally ready to accept it.” “Not that guiding that young man was ever an easy task.” His gaze sought Trowa, who smiled rather tremulously. “Just ask Trowa Barton, one of Duo’s dearest friends. Duo was stubborn and defiant—but not unreasonable. I think it was his willingness to learn new things that enabled him to outgrow his crude surroundings and improve his lifestyle. It was also his friendship with Trowa that made it possible. I know for a fact that Duo credited Trowa with turning his life around. Of course, we all know it was Duo who did that. But, with Trowa’s help, he turned away from his self-destructive habits, got a job, and found his niche in life. He volunteered at the orphanage on weekends, and donated both his time and his money to help better the lives of the children there. He also had talents he ‘hid under a bushel,’ so to speak. Few people probably knew that he loved to sketch—but I have whole scrapbooks filled with pictures he drew of the children at the orphanage, as well as others in his life. He also learned how to cook. I have it on good authority that Duo Maxwell had a definite flair for gourmet cooking. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to sample what I heard were truly memorable meals. And even while he was being hidden away these past weeks, his very life at risk, I heard from Trowa Barton that Duo learned how to swim.” I almost broke down right then, darting a perfectly vicious glare at Barton, who winced and shrugged a bit helplessly, mouthing “I didn’t know he’d mention that.” “If we learn only one thing from Duo’s life, it should be that we never waste a moment of ours. He lived his to the fullest, making every minute count. He was irreverent, brash, outspoken—and warm, charming and clever. He was hard to ignore, and impossible not to like. He did things he wasn’t proud of, and then learned from those failures. And he did things he was very proud of, without being boastful or arrogant.” The old priest got a bit choked up here, and cleared his throat gruffly. “I will miss Duo very much, as I’m sure you all will as well. And I hope we can respect his memory by being as true to ourselves as he was—by making the most of every moment we’re granted on this Earth.” He proceeded to launch into some prescribed church text after that—reading some psalms that pertained to death and the afterlife. But I wasn’t really listening by then. I was recalling Duo’s kiss, and his sparkling eyes as he said “Who’s to say the value in a moment is how long it lasts?” I know I valued every one I’d had with him—the good and the bad. And I’d happily have given my soul to get “lost in a moment” with him one more time.
When Father Maxwell finally finished, making some reference to “ashes to ashes” and the fact that Duo had always said he wanted to be cremated “like the rest of the Reapers,” I was more than ready to jump from my seat and head for the nearest bar. But of course Wufei collared me and kept me in the milling crowd a bit longer, saying that Catherine needed a moment with Trowa before they could drive me home. “Actually, Chang, I’d just as soon walk,” I told him frankly. “I could use the fresh air and exercise.” “Oh really?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And I suppose the half-dozen bars between here and your apartment have nothing to do with your sudden need for ‘air’?” Busted! “Look, if I want to honor Duo’s memory by downing a couple of dark beers, isn’t that my prerogative?” “Yes, of course it is. But you might consider inviting a friend along.” I sighed, running a hand across my face. “I’m really not in the mood for company, Wufei. And besides, you’ve got Catherine to think about. She’s been through a lot lately, and between being Trowa’s moral support and yours, she deserves a break. Why don’t you take her out somewhere you two can be alone? Enjoy each other’s company.” I lost his reply, as I’d suddenly spotted a familiar and unexpected face in the crowd. I didn’t know how Howard had found out about Duo’s death so quickly, but there he was near the back of the room, slowly heading towards the door. Perhaps I was a glutton for punishment, but I worked my way across the crowded room, figuring he might still want a piece of me for my failure to protect his friend. “Howard—?” He turned towards me, tipping his sunglasses down and looking over the rims. “Heero, wasn’t it?” “Uh—yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to light into me. “I guess the kid was in even deeper than I thought,” he sighed. “I wish he’d told me about Khushrenada. I don’t have a lotta contacts in the city any more—but I could’ve found him somewhere to hide out.” “I wish you had,” I admitted. Chang had finally caught up to me, and touched my arm. “Yuy—!” “Yuy?” Howard echoed, his eyes lighting with realization. “Detective Yuy?” I nodded. “I should’ve known,” he muttered, starting to fish through his pockets. “Got it here somewhere—.” “Got what?” I asked, resisting Chang’s tug on my sleeve. “A message—for you.” Howard pulled something out of his pocket. “From the kid.” “Duo?” I asked, suddenly feeling a bit shaky. “Accourse, Duo,” he chided, holding out a folded scrap of—. “Toilet paper?” Smirking, he shoved it towards me. “I keep a pencil in the john for crosswords. The kid must’ve spotted it an’ decided to leave a note. It said if anything happened to him, to get this to Detective Yuy, First Precinct.” My hand was trembling as I reached for it. On the one hand, anything from Duo was something I’d treasure. But on the other, knowing he’d so casually accepted the likelihood of not surviving made it a bittersweet gift. I unfolded the squares of paper and read the neatly-printed block letters. FIRST, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, YUY. GET THAT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL. SECOND, YOU SHOULD’VE FOUND A KEY IN ZECHS’ STUFF. TRY THE DEPOSITORY ON AVENUE ROYALE, SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX NUMBER 626. HE TOLD ME IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO HIM, THE CONTENTS WOULD PROTECT ME FROM BOTH THE COPS AND THE SYNDICATE, AND ENSURE I NEVER WENT WITHOUT ANYTHING. I’D HAVE TOLD YOU ABOUT IT—BUT I WASN’T SURE THE CONTENTS WOULD BE ENTIRELY “LEGAL.” THIRD, IF I NEVER GOT THE BALLS (OR THE CHANCE) TO TELL YOU, I LOVE YOU. I swallowed hard, and closed my hand around the scrap of paper, looking up at Howard. “Did you read this?” “Wasn’t addressed to me,” he sniffed disdainfully. “All I read was the piece on top that told me where to bring it.” “I’m—sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t mean to imply—. Just—.” “Don’t sweat it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I just hope, whatever the kid died for was worth it.” “Fuck no,” I blurted, allowing the bitterness to color my voice. The keen eyes favored me with another long look. “You were in love with him.” I nodded, drawing a shaky breath. “Still am,” I admitted. “He was a good kid, no matter what kind of shit he got mixed up in.” I looked up, catching his gaze. “He was good,” I agreed. “He was bright, and funny, and—amazing.” Howard smiled a bit tearily. “Like the priest said.” “Like that.” The old man nodded, looking pensive. “I think maybe he was in love with you, too…the way he looked at you the day you stopped at the trailer park.” I gestured with the folded scrap of paper. “Yeah, he said so.” The old man raised an eyebrow. “Just so y’know—that wasn’t something he’d say to just anyone. Kind of a superstition he had after Solo died…” “I know.” He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. “One more thing. I don’t blame you for what happened. I read the papers, an’ from what the reporters said, you and your partner got the kid through Hell and back. There’s no way you could’ve anticipated that crazy bitch smuggling a knife into the courthouse.” I swallowed, keeping my eyes on the note in my hands. “Thanks, but—.” “No ‘buts,’ detective,” he said sharply. “With half the world out to get him, there was no way one man, or even two, could be everywhere at once.” “I know,” I whispered, blinking back tears. I was so fucking tired of being on the verge of tears. I’d never cried in my adult life—not that I could recall—and lately it seemed like I’d never be able to stop. Howard nodded a farewell, and drifted off into the crowd, while I tucked the note into my pocket, figuring I’d deal with it later. For right now, I just wanted to get away from the people and the noise and the unrelenting pain of missing Duo. So I sidestepped Chang’s insistence on giving me a ride by asking if there was a restroom, and then borrowed a page from Duo’s book and slipped out the window. I even found myself chuckling as I strode quickly down the sidewalk, reflecting that my partner clearly hadn’t learned from his past mistake. I knew I’d pay for it the next time I saw him,
but in the meantime, there was a barstool with my name on it, and
a dark, imported beer with Duo’s.
tbc... |
