BooksBarbecue
Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
  1. :01
  2. :02
  3. :03
  4. :04
  5. :05
  6. :06
  7. :07
  8. :08
  9. :09
  10. :10
  11. :11
  12. :12
  13. :13
  14. :14
  15. :15
  16. :16
  17. :17
  18. :01
  19. :02
  20. :03
  21. :04
  22. :05
  23. :06
  24. :07
  25. :08
  26. :09
  27. :10
  28. :11
  29. :12
  30. :13
  31. :01
  32. :02
  33. :03
  34. :04
  35. :05
  36. :06
  37. :07
  38. :08
  39. :09
  40. :10
  41. :11
  42. :12
  43. :13
  44. :14
  45. :15
  46. :16
  47. :00
  48. :01
  49. :02
  50. :03
  51. :04
  52. :05
  53. :06
  54. :07
  55. :08
  56. :09
  57. :10
  58. :11
  59. :12
  60. :13
  61. :14
  62. :15
  63. :16
  64. :17
  65. :18
  66. :19
  67. 3:46 a.m.

My father is as frumpy as ever. Big glasses sliding down his nose. Receding gray hair running as fast as possible away from a big shiny forehead. A white mock turtleneck, possibly the last in existence, holding up a sagging Adam’s apple.

“Hey, Sonny boy,” he mutters.

“Hey, Pops. How’s your back?”

“Sore as shit. In fact, I think I’m gonna have to sit out of our game tonight.”

My dad’s back had been acting up for the past couple weeks, and we’d been forced to play our weekly poker game online. He cleaned me out the previous Wednesday and I was looking forward to some payback.

“Just pop a couple Advil, old man.”

“That’s just it. The over-the-counter stuff doesn’t help and if I take the pills the doctor prescribed, I’m out in five minutes.”

I can tell from my father’s grimace that he is truly in pain. I can’t help but feel partly responsible. My dad’s back was fine until a few years ago when he tried to carry me from his car to my third-story condo. Long story short, he slipped two disks and my neighbor called the cops thinking my dad was lugging around a dead body.

“Go pop those pills, then we’ll chat for another minute or two.”

He nods and disappears from the screen.

A large brown head takes my father’s place. The head belongs to my dad’s one-hundred-and-sixty-pound English mastiff.

“Hey Murdo—”

Lassie is on my lap before I finish the second syllable. It’s been three weeks since the two have seen each other and big stupid Murdock doesn’t understand that Lassie isn’t actually on the table in my dad’s house. Murdock smashes the computer with his giant paw and the feed disappears. My dad calls my phone a moment later and tells me that Murdock shattered his laptop and that he’s going to bed.

It is 3:09 a.m.

I’d allocated the rest of my day to playing cards and contemplate what I want to do with my remaining fifty-one minutes. Wednesdays are the only day I don’t exercise and I ponder going for a quick run. I lift the curtain and stare out on the glistening asphalt. It’d been a wet October thus far in Alexandria and the asphalt shimmers under the streetlight. I gaze at the house across the street. It’s been over six months since I heard Jessie Kallomatix’s scream, the impetus that set in motion one man being framed for murder and another taking a bullet between the eyes.

The latter, Jessie’s father, like most people who get shot in the face, died. The former, well, he returned to his day job, aka the leader of the free world.