Immune (NaNoWriMo2014)(Wattys 2014)

1) Watch Your Step

Devon casually strolled around the bend on Survivor road and ninety sixth street, whistling quietly to himself. He was feeling pretty cocky on the warm summer afternoon, having just come from work at the harbor. He self consciously adjusted his former boss' - now his - ascot, his pockets weighing him down more that it usually did on Fridays.

He gently touched the wallet in a his pocket, complete with his boss' identification, credit and debit card, and a boatload (no pun intended) of cash. In his jacket pocket he had three hundred dollar bills, his actual salary. The rich bastard had fired him, and as revenge Devon robbed him clean. He'd ask his brother later to get the man to keep quiet. Captain O'Doyle would likely report him as soon as he realized his shit was gone, and not only because he had motive.

Just because he was black, that guy had pinned every little mishap on him, and it was the actual reason he got fired. He didn't know how he was hired in the first place. Not because of his 'lack of enthusiasm' and 'laziness', both of which were completely fabricated lies, but because he was black. The only crime Devon was even guilty of was taking the racist man's wallet, and he had it coming.

I'm coming home, Ma. We can pay for your hospital bills now. I know you don't want it like this, but you ain't gonna take Trey's drug money, and I ain't making enough to come close. Fucking Obama Care sucks. He doesn't care, no one does.

Devon turned into an Irish restaurant, or maybe it was Scottish. He couldn't tell the difference, and it sort of bothered him. He never liked leaving puzzles unsolved. There was a song playing throughout the building, and a clunky television set with what Devon presumed to be a music video. On the bottom of the screen, it read 'Playing now: Roundtable Rivals - Lindsey Stirling. Next up: A Celtic Carol - Lindsey Sterling'. Devon was pretty sure that he'd heard somewhere before that Celtic was Irish. Maybe school, but he had dropped out about a month or two ago to help Ma with her sickness.
There were two counters, one for the restaurant and another for a bar. The restaurant line was pretty crowded, so he made his way past the closely knit tables and side lining booths to the bar line.

"Yo, er, excuse me, sir. Where is the bathroom?" He asked the bartender, remembering the constant nagging voice in his head that told him to mind his manners. It sounded an awful lot like his most recent teacher, Ms. Barnes.

"You gotta buy something first," The bartender replied, nonchalantly cleaning off a cloudy glass cup.

"Aight. I'll take... a brandy. Got any shots?"

"Got an ID?" The bartender said, holding his hand out expectantly.

"Yeah, I do." Devon silently thanked his brother again for the fake ID. He was only seventeen, but looked old enough to be twenty one. He kept eye contact with the bartender, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his wallet. He memorized where his ID was by now; Devon drew it from its slot and handed it to the skeptical man. He took it, looked it over, and snorted.

"Not to be offensive, but you don't look like a white, balding Irish man named Conner O'Doyle. Nor do you look forty three. This is an Irish pub, friend, and Mr. O'Doyle comes here every Saturday night. Do you think this is funny?"

Crap.

"Oh, nah," Devon tried brushing it away as if it was nothing. "Actually, he's my boss. We have the same wallet, so I think we maybe might have switched it on accident. My bad, I'll go catch him." He started to turn, and the bartender grabbed his shoulder.

"So you and him have got the same ascot too, do you?"

Devon paled, sweat dripping down his forehead as he nervously giggled. "Oh, this? Aha, uh..."

The bartender pulled it aggressively off of Devon, who stumbled forward. His wallet, his actual wallet, fell out of his pocket. The bartender looked down at the leather object, and Devon quickly snatched it up. There was thankfully nobody in the surrounding area, except for a young man, with short black hair and unsettling green eyes. He was watching the pair calmly, almost with amusement. Devon got the feeling he did whenever Trey brought one of his 'friends' home.