Tobias Miller was having a bad week.
No, scratch that. Not just a bad week. A truly shitty one. Devastating. Disastrous. Life altering, even.
His wife, fucking her aerobics instructor. In their own house no less. In their marital bed. Could there be anything more cliché?
The discovery had been followed by the fights, the accusations, the years of pent up anger and disdain spewing forth like so much toxic poison.
Then came the embarrassment at discovering just how long this betrayal had been going on behind his back. The humiliation of being told it was over, that she no longer loved him, hadn't loved him in years.
Next, the indignation of being put out of his own house, a house he'd busted his ass to make payments on for the past fifteen years. And finally, the shame of living out of a suitcase in a cheap hotel while the lawyers began the process that would eventually leave him homeless and bankrupt.
And so Tobias sat at the bar of Sharkey's Tavern. His bloodshot eyes contemplated the decades worth of water ring stains left behind in the cracked and faded wood by countless beer mugs. Reaching for his own mug, he drained it, attempting to drown his sorrows while he contemplated his revenge.
The gun nestled uncomfortably in the left breast pocket of his sports coat. He'd considered tucking it in the waistband of his pants, but didn't wish to make a bad week worse by blowing off his own nutsack.
It wasn't really a question of what he wanted to do, so much as when. And whether he'd actually have the guts to go through with it.
Three bullets. One each for her and her lover, the final one for himself. And then his misery would be over. The thought brought a smile to his face for the first time since he'd taken his seat at the bar. That, and a mental image of the treacherous pair, blown away and bleeding out on formerly pristine white bedsheets.
Doing them separately would be too complicated, too dangerous. So much could go wrong in between, including losing his nerve. It's not like he knew what he was doing, or had any actual experience handling a gun.
Better to wait; wait for her to brazenly invite her lover back into their home, a home Tobias was intimately familiar with, knew his way around. Knew which corners to hide in, which floorboards squeaked. Hell, he still had keys to the place, and knew that bitch was too lazy and overconfident to bother changing the locks.
Tonight. It could be as soon as tonight, if he were lucky. A simple drive by and, if loverboy's car was there, well...
"Excuse me. Hi, is this seat available?"
Tobias didn't have to look up far to find the face belonging to the melodious voice. It was just as beautiful; oval, light skinned, with just a smattering of freckles, and framed perfectly by her flowing blonde hair. Her smile was warm and friendly, if slightly crooked.
Her blue-gray eyes fixed on him inquisitively, and he realized she was waiting for an answer. An answer to a question he'd already forgotten.
"Um, I'm sorry... what?"
Her eyes twinkled with mirth in the dim lighting. "I asked if this empty stool here beside you was available. You know, so I could sit down?"
Tobias could feel his already alcohol reddened face flush. "Oh, right. Sorry. Yeah, it's open, no one else has been using it."
"Great," she chirped merrily. "Mind if I join you?"
It was only then that Tobias noticed the abundance of open seating at the bar, giving him cause to wonder why this lovely young woman would intentionally ask to sit right beside him.
He highly doubted she was hitting on him. That hadn't happened in a long, long time. Most women avoided him once they spotted the wedding ring; a ring he still wore, a ring he'd planned to remove only when he could toss it on his wife's fresh corpse.
The other possibility was that she was a prostitute, looking for a client. Yet, she didn't look like one, and in fact was dressed rather modestly; a simple white backless halter top along with a pair of faded blue jeans.
Lastly, given her petite, almost waifish size, he certainly didn't think she might try to mug him or something.
"Fuck it,"
he thought.
"May as well spend my last few hours in the company of a beautiful woman."
Aloud, he responded, "Sure, help yourself."
"Thanks." Despite her diminutive size, the blonde boosted herself up onto the barstool with a graceful ease.
One of the bartenders, a young man who didn't look old enough to shave, let alone work there, noticed the new arrival and made his way over. "What'll it be, Miss?"
The blonde stroked her chin for a moment, contemplating. "Do you know how to make a 'Modern Zombie?'"
When the perplexed young man shook his head, she sighed. "Nevermind. I'll just take a glass of your best Pinot Gris, please. No ice." Turning to Tobias, she flashed her perfect teeth. "And whatever my new friend here is having."
The bartender reached for the empty beer mug. "A fresh Blue Moon and a Pinot for the lady, coming right up."
Tobias thanked her. "Much appreciated. But ain't I the one supposed to buy you a drink?"
"I suppose," the blonde acknowledged, "if we're being old fashioned, sure. But these are modern times, and I'm a modern woman, ya know?"
Tobias chuckled despite himself. "I dunno. Strange times we live in. We seem to be going backwards not forwards. May not be too safe to be a 'Modern Woman' much longer."
The blonde shrugged, a grim determination in her eyes. "Perhaps. But I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."
"Something tells me not to doubt you on that."
The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of their drinks. The blonde's mood lightened considerably as she hoisted her glass. "Let's toast. What shall we drink to, Tobias? Ah, I know! To new friends."
Tobias lifted his glass half heartedly. "To new friends, I guess." As their glasses clinked, his face suddenly twisted in confusion. "Wait, how did you know my name? I didn't tell you."
To his surprise, the blonde giggled. "Oops. Well, I suppose I could say I heard the bartender use it earlier, but I'm a terrible liar, and no one here really knows you anyway because you're not a regular."
Tobias eyed her suspiciously. "Who the fuck are you, and what kinda game is this?"
Instead of answering, the blonde took a sip of her drink. Her tiny nose wrinkled in disappointment. "Dammit! They brought me a Grigio, not a Gris! Why can these rookies never tell the difference?" She put her glass down with a frustrated bang. "Whatever."
Turning back to Tobias, she regarded him frankly. "Sorry. Where were we? Oh, right. Okay, fair questions. Hello, Tobias, my name is Emily. And for tonight at least, I suppose you can consider me your... Guardian Angel."
"Guardian Angel?" Tobias scoffed. "You don't seriously expect me to believe that."
Emily shrugged. "Believe it or not, it's true. Well, technically my official title is 'Angel Of Justice,' but I'm stepping in to help Trevor, your true Guardian, because he's frustrated you haven't been listening to him."
"Okay, I'll play along," Tobias snickered. "So my REAL Guardian is named... Trevor? Well, where is he? Why isn't he here instead of you?"
"Because," Emily smirked, "Trevor is currently off in Barbados distracting your Temptation Demon, Percival, with call girls and cocaine."
Tobias laughed loudly. "I gotta admit, you're pretty funny. You should write a book or something with that imagination of yours."
After taking a long swallow of beer, he stood. "Look, Emily, or whoever you are, thanks for the drink. And the laugh. But I got stuff to do; places to go, people to see."
"She's not home yet," Emily called after him.
Tobias froze in his tracks. "I don't know what you mean."
"Your wife," Emily continued without missing a beat. "You know, the one you're planning to shoot with that cheap revolver in your breast pocket? She's not home. Still out with Mr. Aerobicise. Won't be home for at least a few hours. So you may as well stay a bit. Hear what I have to say."
Tobias turned back to her, his face as stoic as he could manage given his shock. Emily patted the stool he had just vacated, inviting him to rejoin her. "C'mon. What harm can there be in hearing me out? I'll even buy you another drink."
His first instinct was to run. In all probability she was a cop. Or perhaps, more likely, a private investigator, hired by his wife to keep tabs on him, get some dirt she could use in the divorce proceedings. Maybe Emily had been spying on him when he purchased the gun at the pawnshop downtown and had deduced his plans. Tobias wondered if she was now going to blackmail him, or try to have him arrested outright.
And yet Emily simply sat there, her smile as warm and inviting as the first moment he saw her, her eyes friendly and not at all accusatory. There was something about her that exuded trustworthiness and compassion. Despite his lingering reservations, Tobias returned to his seat.
"How do you know all this?"
"I told you," said Emily, rolling her eyes, "I'm an Angel. And I'm here to try and stop you from making a terrible mistake."
Tobias studied her face carefully. She was either an incredible liar, or so delusional that she actually believed her own nonsense.
There was, of course, a third option: that she was telling the truth. An option he had trouble entertaining, and yet, he'd been entertaining his fair share of outlandish ideas recently.
