Free Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series) by Harry Shannon Page B

her knuckles were white.
    "I toasted the New Year. Hell, I'd been clean for four years, right? What difference could it make if I had a few drinks? And then I got behind the wheel and drove home.
    "I had two friends in the back seat, both of whom trusted me with their lives that night. Their names were Mark and Barbara. I dropped Mark off safely, God only knows how, but I did. I was driving with one eye closed; you know how you do that? Because the white line is suddenly two white lines and you can't stop weaving unless you close one eye?"
    A few small grunts of recognition, then the room grew quiet with anticipation. The speaker began to cry. "Well, when you drink that much, and close one eye, you don't have any depth perception. I ran right through the guardrail and down into Benedict Canyon. Barbara wasn't wearing a seat belt, and she was thrown out." The young man's voice broke with grief.
    "You can see what happened to me. I was paralyzed from the waist down. I threw away a young woman's life and my own legs that night. After I paid my debt to society I started paying my debt to Barbara. Now I talk everywhere I can, in and out of the program, about what happened. I want to tell every newcomer, stay here. Don't go out there and try it again." He raised his head and stared at Mary, before moving on to the next newcomer.
    "Listen, it will only get worse," the speaker said. "And I thank you for letting me be of service. Good night."
    Mary sat quietly with Peanut while the others applauded. We rose to join hands and recite the Lord's Prayer. As the meeting broke up the two women hugged in silence. I walked away to thank the speaker and then stopped to talk to a television actor I'd known for some time. When I returned, I tried to sound upbeat, lighten the mood.
    "Is anyone up for some food on the way home? We could hit that pizza joint up the block."
    "Sure," Peanut said. We left the little church. "I think they have a salad and soup bar. We all ought to eat something."
    "Hell of a meeting," I offered.
    Peanut nodded. "By the way, I love your outfit."
    I'd worn ripped jeans and an old XL Ram's jersey. "What, this old thing? I've had it for years."
    "I believe you, since it says L.A. Rams."
    We crossed the short parking lot in silence. I opened the car door and Peanut slipped into the back. Mary looked at me, a haunted expression on her face. "That guy really got to me."
    "Good," Peanut said from the back seat. "I just hold on to something my sponsor always says. 'I know I have another drunk in me, I'm just not sure I have another recovery.'"
    "Amen to that," I said.
    Mary turned and looked at me and her eyes were red. "Thank you for everything you've done and for keeping your word. I didn't really think you would."
    "You didn't?"
    "No."
    "Mary, I think it's time I called Jerry. He's been looking for you for months."
    She closed her eyes. "Can we wait a little longer?"
    Peanut caught my eye. I nodded. "Okay."
    "Thank you, for that and for being here."
    "You're welcome." Mary took my proffered hand and slid into the front seat. I closed the door and walked around the rear of the car, my eyes searching the parking lot. I still had the nagging sensation I was being watched. Flashback, maybe? Little people in the bushes?
    The Pizza Pan was a small, family-owned restaurant. It squatted at the far end of a strip mall, with a Laundromat, a convenience store with egregious mark-ups on groceries, and a couple of empty store fronts with FOR RENT signs. The long building backed out into a foul-smelling alley. On the other side sat an apartment building packed with immigrants.
    In the restaurant, Peanut filled a plate from the salad bar, sat down for a moment and then left to use the ladies' room.
    "She's really nice," Mary said. "Are you two an item?"
    "No, I've known her since she was a newcomer. I helped her find a sponsor. We're buddies."
    Mary squirmed in her seat. With her plain face stripped of make-up, and dressed in one of my old