Wood's Wall Read Free

dreams. 
    He replaced the phone, went to the refrigerator and put his hand toward a cold beer. Changing his mind, he quickly moved it to a bottle of water. Alcohol was no cure for the disease he now carried.

 
     
     
     
     
     

    3
    Pete wanted nothing more than his bed, but the party at the house was in high gear for Dan, Jeff, and the girls. Music was loud and hips were grinding while he looked on, planning his exit strategy. The only single one of the group, he didn’t often feel like a fifth wheel. Except when they were partying. 
    He rubbed the callus on the base of his ring finger. Regret about his situation didn’t visit often, but when it did, the melancholy was unbearable. Divorced for three years, he was lonelier than he would admit to himself. He watched the couples interact with each other and saw through the effects of the drugs and alcohol. He saw the connections. Realizing there was no rest to be had here, he decided on a change of scenery.
    Unnoticed, he slid from the room and out the front door. He looked at the car, but chose the bicycle instead. Although nowhere near the level of intoxication of his friends, he’d had a few, and didn’t want to risk it. A DUI would totally screw his custody situation. 
    He pedaled out of the driveway, wobbly at first, but quickly gaining confidence. Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought. He rode through the neighborhood and turned left at Sombrero Golf Course, heading towards the Dockside bar. He glanced at the boats moored at the seawall, most dark and empty, wondering if he might have to crash on one. The bar was half full when he entered; a solo guitar player strumming Jimmy Buffet covers was the only one who looked at him - showing him where the tip jar was with a nod. He sat down at the bar, as far away from the crowd as he could get and ordered a beer. The barmaid set the cold bottle in front of him. He lifted it, took a sip and sat back as he reflected on the day’s events and wondered how he could stop his out of control friends from getting them all killed. He could sneak back and dump the drugs in the canal while they were all partying, but he feared Dan’s reaction - especially if he were still high when he found out.
    The bar was filling up, nine o’clock Saturday night and things were getting into gear. He felt alone, sitting by himself, nursing a beer. A rotund tourist and his equally rotund wife vacated the seats next to him. Hoping they would be filled by someone he could talk to, he slowly sipped his beer. 
    The teeth were the first thing he saw. Way too large for the face that presented them, whiter than any middle-aged man’s teeth should be. Even the tall frame and long hair couldn’t disguise the size of the grill in his mouth. Fifty-seven Chevy came to mind as the man pulled out the stool and sat down.
    The barmaid pecked the man’s cheek over the bar and placed a cold beer in front of him without asking. Not only a guy, but a local, Pete thought. Great. He took a big sip of his beer, thinking about escaping from here too. Then he took another gulp and coughed, beer spewing from his mouth.
    “Easy there, partner.” The big guy signaled the barmaid for a glass of water. “You ok, there? No need to be rushing things.”
    Pete collected himself, blood rushing to his face in embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”
    “No problem. Name’s Alan, but most call me Tru, short for Trufante.”
    “Pete.” He extended his hand.
    “No worries, man. Let’s get you another beer and settle ya down. He picked up the bottle, “More backwash in that than beer.” Trufante called down the bar, and a fresh, cold beer arrived a moment later. 
    They sat quietly for a few minutes, each enjoying his space. Pete was grateful for the silence, not really wanting to get in a discussion with a local. Locals and tourists didn’t often mix well. He watched as Trufante smiled again as the door opened and an attractive brunette dressed in