I was working the late shift again, hoping that if I put in enough overtime and got a few results, I’d finally get bigger wings. Easy. I mean, what could happen at 3 in the morning?
The fat guy, that’s what happened. One moment there was silence, the next moment there was slurred singing about Hemingway and bottles of wine on the wall, and the next moment some fat drunk had fallen through the doorway.
“Shthistherighthouse?” he slurred.
“It all depends which house you’re looking for,” I replied. “This is a church, and in your state I’d say it is indeed the right house.”
“Miss Who?” I shook my head and tsked. “No, this is a house of worship. Now, if you’d like, I’ll help you to a seat in the front of the sanctuary, one with a nice view of the cross, and we can talk a while.”
He shook his head. “Doyouaveaphone?”
“Why, yes. If you’re calling to find a ride home, I’ll take you. Don’t drink and drive, and all that.”
He took the phone and dialed quickly. I had the feeling he’d done this many times before, poor man.
Someone picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Lishen, Baby, Ibeenthinkingboutyou aaaaaall nightlong, andIthinkwecouldmakeitwork. Waddayashay?”
I cleared my throat. “I do believe she’s hung up.”
“Yeaaaaah, thatsoundsjushlikeher.” He stared at the phone in disgust, and I took the opportunity to step in. “If you need a ride home, sir, I’ll start up my wings and we can be off directly.”
“Whynot.” He blinked at me. “Yougotwings. Andclothes.”
I pulled the cord on my wing rig. “I find they’re a good idea.”
He blinked again, and studied my oufit. “Ilikeit, IIIIlikeit. Where’djaget thosepants!”