Brother from another mother

Post-its. [Part-9]

It had been a long week. Or was it two? Mike wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was going to get really drunk tonight. Like, wake-up-in-a-back-alley-wearing-someone-else's-clothes, drunk. It wasn't as if the pressure of his job was finally getting to him, or that he was celebrating. He just needed to get away from work for a bit. After the 'Broken Cannister Debacle of 2011' he needed to get away from the shooting looks of sympathy that occasionally got thrown his way by receptionists or some of the associates. Even Jessica. And from Louis' smug face. He'd now forgotten his worries about Mike's personal body guard.

After about 2 days Louis had gone to Mike's desk and asked extremely politely if Mike wouldn't mind filling out some forms that Louis hadn't had the chance to complete. After a wary glance around he had left. And after a week he decided that Harvey had put his protectiveness back on the shelf, and so he was back to his old self. But Mike was finding it harder to cope with both Louis' and Harvey's orders, and while he managed to do all the work, he had missed an opportunity to see his grandmother.

He had called her, explained the situation, and she had been very understanding.

"I'm proud of you, Michael."

A lump had risen in Mike's throat as she said that, and he hastily said goodbye. He had told her he'd visit another day.

When he got there this morning, he had been told she'd suffered a stroke at around the same time he was supposed to have been there. If he'd been there, he could've done something. Called for a nurse faster than his grammy had pulled the emergency cord. As far as he knew, she was recovering. It had been a very minor stroke, but he knew that for a woman in her condition, it caused a lot of damage.

So now he was sat in a bar somewhere, clutching his 6th bottle hazily and checking his phone in case there were any new calls or messages from the care home.

Mac had worked in this bar for about 20 years. He was used to all sorts; guys who just found out their wife was having an affair, guys who were caught having an affair, people with money troubles, people who just wanted to forget everything for a night...

He wondered what the kid in front of him was thinking. He glanced at his customer. At first he had asked for ID; as surprised as he was to find out that not only was the guy over 21 but worked at a law firm (He had accidently given Mac his work card), Mac had just kept pouring the drinks, forgetting to ask if he had any car keys. Looking back and seeing... Mike, was it? Mike swaying gently, he thought he'd best get the keys now.

"Hey, pal?" Mike looked up to see Mac in front of him, wiping a cup down. "I think you should give me your keys."

"What?" Mike asked. "You're not gettin' into my apartment... no offence, man - but I don't even know you..."

"Car keys, genius," the Mac clarified, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I've just got a bike," Mike told him. "'S a good one - Harvey bought me him; I call him 'Dex', and tha's short for 'Dexter', cause he seems like a really smart bike..."

Mac wasn't in the habit of asking 'How much have you had?' in an exasperated voice, but he was now struggling to recall how much he'd served the kid. He'd had quite a few bottles of beer, and then he'd bought about ten shots. The kid was an average drinker, he noticed; not a lightweight but not exactly up there with the serious drinkers he had sat further down the bar, talking morosely over their whisky.

The kid just wouldn't shut up. Of course he'd had the odd customers who wanted to tell their friendly neighbourhood barman everything wrong with their lives, but Mike wasn't even doing that. He was just talking. Something with numbers. He was listing numbers.