Page 9 of The Attercop

I think he’s afraid.

“I just don’t want to fuck this up,” Declan confessed. “What if I slip and for some stupid reason act on my dreams?”

“Then you probably aren’t as committed to Charlie as you think you are—”

Interesting.

“—but the fact that you are feeling guilt…that’s a sign things are shifting for you. We’ve talked about guilt a lot in our previous sessions. About your mother’s death, about your feelings of failure with your father. The key thing is, you have to start talking about these things with the people involved and get to the truth so you can move past your guilt. So, in this case, talk to Charlie. And maybe stay away from that Angel kid.”

The Attercop shut off the stereo and sauntered over to the bar where he poured another few ounces of vodka into his tumbler.

Angel,he thought.I’ve seen him at Bar-None. How many times have I hit on that kid and he just looked the other way?And now he’s caught Hunt’s eye. I have to help Declan see that he can dream about someone else. I have to help him understand that Charlie isn’t right for him.I have to help Declan see that he’s only meant to be with me.

* * * *

Bar-None was busy for a Thursday night.

Good, The Attercop thought.Easier to blend in.

It was an hour before closing time. Mickey, as usual, was at the bar. He was busy chatting up a guy who was dressed in full leathers.

Mickey glanced over toward The Attercop and asked, “So, what’ll it be tonight, my friend?”

“Double vodka on ice. And top rail, not the house stuff.”

“Top shelf it is,” Mickey said, turning and grabbing a bottle of the best vodka he had. As he was pouring it and ringing it in, The Attercop looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He wore a loose-fitting charcoal blazer and a nondescript dark shirt he’d picked up at a thrift shop earlier in the week. They went well with the pair of loose-fitting cargo pants. To top it off, he wore a black fisherman’s cap which was pulled down over his forehead. He’d added a Van Dyke beard which would help to conceal his features. The clothes and facial hair made him look ten kilos heavier. As a final touch, to disguise his normally soft-grey eyes, he’d chosen a pair of brown contact lenses for the occasion. Evenhedidn’t recognise himself.

“That’ll be seventeen bucks,” Mickey said, sliding the drink across the bar toward him.

The Attercop handed him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks. Say, I haven’t seen you in here before. New in the city?”

“Yeah. Just passing through.”

“Well, enjoy yourself,” Mickey said.

“I definitely will.”

A slim, handsome, young Filipino man came through the front door with a cardboard box in his arms, and squeezed behind The Attercop. “’Scuse me, sir.”

He winked at The Attercop then turned to Mickey. “I think we have enough lemons and limes for tonight, so I’ll just put these down in the cellar.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

The Attercop’s eyes followed the young man as he went through a door to the back.

He took a sip of his drink and checked his watch.

See you soon…Angel.

Chapter Six

“Come on, Fred,” Mickey yelled through the men’s room door. “It’s closing time.”

The only response he heard was a loud snoring sound.

“Not again.”