The Pros of Cons

19 | Mission (Completely + Utterly) Impossible

It was 11:00 at night — and I was generously sipping on my third martini at a place called Her Boss's. It was a slightly gaudy — totally dodgy – bar in the west end of Chicago. A place I would never stumble into... but unfortunately it was the closest spot to the address Cruise had given to me. The address that was supposed to be where Cons resided. I really hoped his neighbourhood didn't give off the same... flair. 

I admit I had a burst of sporadic confidence in my apartment over one hour ago, fuelled by pure anger and desperation, which led me here, executing phase one of my not-so-planned-out plan: get "drunk" and call Cons for help. 

Except my plan wasn't to actually get drunk. Yet... here I was. 

"Can I get you another started, ma'am?" The middle-aged male bartender eyed me as he shined one of his wine glasses.

I awkwardly smiled at him and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." 

I silently cursed myself for giving into another. My nerves would be the death of me. I was already failing before I had begun. I couldn't allow myself to get too drunk, no. After all, I had one shot at this. I had to do it correctly. I couldn't afford to mess anything up — not any more than I have already. 

On the other hand... I needed all the liquid courage I could get if I was going to actually go through with it. 

"'Ere you go, ma'am. Waitin' on somebody, perhaps?" 

The bartender (who, according to his name tag, was 'Earl') placed another dirty martini on a fresh coaster in front of me.... and a shot? I eyed the small glass like it was poison.

"Er, no... I, uh, am leaving soon. Where did this come from?" I pointed at the shot that held what I assumed was tequila. 

"That gentleman back there." Earl pointed over my shoulder and I not-so-subtly whipped my head around to see. 

Sure enough, there was a man sitting in a corner booth with a few others. His attention was all on me. 

It was too late for me to pretend not to notice, so I gave the man the tiniest of smiles... and downed the shot. The liquid burned my throat but I didn't flinch as I held eye contact with him. The stranger seemed to be in 40s — and let's just say he wasn't particularly my type — but I also wasn't sticking around long enough to find out more. 

A sudden thought swept across my mind just then. If I make this situation uncomfortable enough for me, I might actually get up off my ass and be desperate enough to call Cons. 

I had only taken two sips from my fresh martini before I felt the entire space next to me fill up. I turned my head to face the man from across the bar. I gave him a quick look up and down. Yup... I would be calling Cons much sooner than later. But I had to let it go on a bit further. I needed to believe the story I was going to tell — whatever story that might be.

"Thanks for the shot," I smiled. Play it shy and sweet, I thought.

The man grumbled and gave me a flirty grin. He looked like the exact stereotype of a truck driver. I gathered he was in his later forties now that I had a better look at him, with a full unkempt beard, and a fashion sense of one who only dressed for one thing: driving on the highway.

"What's a cutie like ye'rself doin' here all alone? Just passing through?"

"Yes. In fact, I am. You?"

He chuckled. I could smell the spilled whiskey on his beard. "I come around these parts whenever I'm in town. Been my stomping grounds for years now."

"Ah, and where are you normally?"