Free Dark Debts by Karen Hall

entered her mind when she’d decided to go see him. God, can’t you ever think anything through?
    â€œI wondered if I could . . .” What? She hadn’t really thought about what she’d say. She tried again. “I know you don’t know me and this is a bad time, but I have to talk to someone.”
    He just kept staring at her. She suddenly felt very foolish.
    â€œI’m sorry, this was a stupid idea.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her elbow.
    â€œNo. Don’t go. I’m just . . . I’m not very good at spontaneity.” He held up the drink by way of explanation. “I’m also not thinking all that clearly, thank God.” He finally smiled. “Wanna join me?”
    She managed a nod. He opened the door wider and motioned her inside. He led her down a narrow hall into a room that, judging by the advanced degree of clutter, was where he spent most of his time. The music was coming from an elaborate stereo system against the back wall. It was loud, angry heavy metal; raspy voices screaming unintelligible lyrics. Nick went straight to the makeshift bar and started tossing ice cubes into a glass. “What can I pour you, given I don’t have anything dainty?”
    â€œDo you have any tequila?”
    â€œNow, what do you think?” He had already picked up a bottle of Cuervo Gold. “You’re not expecting me to mix it with anything that would require concentration, I hope.”
    â€œStraight is fine.” The music was already wearing on her nerves. Nick poured the glass half-full and handed it to her. He lifted his glass in a semi-toast.
    â€œWell . . . Life sucks.” With that he downed half a glass of scotch. Randa sipped the tequila. The slow burn felt great; she followed it with a healthy slug.
    â€œI’ve always wanted to meet you.” It would have sounded dumb even if she hadn’t had to shout.
    â€œYeah. I wanted to meet you, too. Just not bad enough to go to one of Cam’s parties. He probably told you I can’t be in a room with more than three people. With special dispensation for strip joints.” He polished off the rest of the scotch with ease. “Guess I’ll have to add funeral parlors to the list.”
    She couldn’t decide whether she liked him or not, but straining to hear made it hard to think. She pointed to the stereo.
    â€œCould you maybe turn the music down a little?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo we won’t have to shout.”
    â€œIt’s good for you.” She’d had this exact conversation with Cam, more times than she could count. She wasn’t in the mood for it.
    â€œI’m really not up to fighting with anything.”
    He shrugged and went over to the stereo. “This is very controlling behavior,” he said as he lowered the volume. Randa burst into tears. Nick immediately turned the stereo off, came over, and put his arms around her.
    â€œI’m sorry. I was kidding. I’m really sorry.”
    â€œCam used to say that.” It came out in a choked whisper.
    â€œI know,” Nick said, rocking her gently. “That’s where I got it.” Now that she was close enough to tell, his eyes were none too dry, either.
    T hey sat in a booth in a tiny Spanish restaurant on Alameda and shared a pitcher of something that was supposed to be sangria. Randa felt pretty sure it was actually cheap burgundy someone had poured into a pitcher along with a can of fruit cocktail, but if it would anesthetize her, she didn’t care.
    â€œI thought . . . maybe you could shed some light on it.”
    â€œYou’re going to be disappointed.”
    â€œWell, I hadn’t seen him in a year; you surely know more than I do. Had he been more depressed than usual? Had he called you up and said, ‘Guess what, Nick, I just robbed a liquor store’?”
    â€œI haven’t . . .