Free Untold Damage by Robert K. Lewis Page B

People seemed a lot more angry and put out. He laughed as he caught himself thinking, and people don’t shoot because … ? But he knew why now. The air did smell better, even with the exhaust fumes and moldering garbage rotting in the gutter. Okay, he could do this. Again, not one day at a time, but one moment at a time.
    He made his way to the Cornerstone. A drink would help. Fighting fire with fire, sure, but baby steps, man, baby steps. One day without a needle was a day won, and that was a fact.
    He’d never really noticed before how beat-up the bar looked. Hadn’t really come on his radar. He entered and let his eyes adjust to the dimness. The regulars who haunted the place were like dark statues as they sat on their stools. Heads were downcast or staring over at the TV in the upper corner of the room. He went and sat at the far end of the bar, nodding at Bill. The bartender came over, a welcoming smile on his face. Stopped suddenly. Looked him over for a moment. A soft whistle escaped his lips.
    â€œJesus fucking Christ. Heard you were arrested, Mal. Now I know it’s true.”
    â€œYeah? How you know that?”
    â€œYou’re clean,” he replied and laughed in his dry, smoker’s cackle. “You did the jail clean, right? Smart man.”
    â€œDidn’t know it had a name.”
    â€œAin’t no original thoughts under the sun, boy-o. I thought them all ages ago.” Bill seemed genuinely happy that he was clean. That meant something to him. Another thing he wanted to remember. “Now, what would you like to drink?” Bill said, like some wizard that has all secrets at his command.
    â€œScotch on the rocks. Double.”
    Bill went and fixed the drink, Speedy Gonzales quick. Put it in front of him with a flourish. Finished it off with the rare bowl of Chex Mix. “First one’s on the house, Mallen.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Mallen told him, meaning it a hundred percent. The drink felt good. Relaxed him. Would it be a slippery slope? All he had to do was imagine Anna, and the answer was a very strong no. One fucking moment at a time, asshole.
    He was half-through his drink when Bill came back over. “So,” the bartender asked quietly, “how does it feel?”
    â€œFeel?”
    â€œYeah. Being off the stuff.”
    â€œWell,” he said after a moment, “it’s like having a hard-on, but also knowing that you have VD. You want to, but you can’t. Well, shouldn’t would be more accurate, yeah?” He smiled at Bill’s raucous outburst of laughter.
    â€œMal,” Bill said after he calmed down, “you better not god-damned go back on the horse because you are way more fucking funny this way!” Then he remembered something. Mallen could almost see the man’s mind snap an imaginary finger at the memory. Bill went over to the cash register, some ancient beast the previous owner had left behind when the bar had been sold to Bill over fifteen years ago. The man fished through a wad of notes and old receipts, came back with folded piece of notebook paper. Handed it to him. It had his name scrawled on the outside. He didn’t recognize the writing. Took a sip of his drink then opened the paper.
    Written in block letters, in pencil, the note said: Vato—My friends inside told me you were now outside. I am praying for you, that your veins run red and clean now, not dirty anymore. If you need help to stay clean, or anything, just call me: 415-555-1929. We were put on this Earth to help one another, as my madre always says. Best, Gato.
    Mallen reread the note again. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he could swear it was a mixture of amazement and gratitude. So, good people did still exist in this fucking place. That was great.
    â€œYou got change for the phone, B?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, of course, Mal.” Mallen dropped a dollar onto the bar and Bill gave him the quarters. He