Chapter One: The Briefcase at the Back of the Bar

Part One: Before the Storm 

"Why can't you say?"

"It's too personal. I don't want to throw their dirty laundry out into the street."

"Some people need their dirty laundry thrown out into the middle of the street."

"But that's not for me to decide."

"If your friend had armpit stains that looked like rusted metal under their arm, you don't think they need to know?"

"Yeah, but, they know that they're there. They don't need me to tell them that."

"I know they know. That's the point."

"Sure, but-"

"You're just avoiding conflict."

"How do you know? I haven't even said what it is."

"There's Dr. Seuss books more difficult to read than you.

"Wha- why?"

"What aren't you telling this person?"

"I don't know. I don't like getting into people's stuff."

"So, you're avoiding conflict."

"Why is this the same thing to you?"

"Telling your friend, assuming this is a friend, something they need to know isn't what you're thinking it is. You sound like it's setting off a nuclear bomb. If they get worked up about it then that's not someone you want to be around anyway."

"Ok, but, what if them getting mad is the nuclear bomb?"

"Is this someone we know? I feel like this is someone we know."

"Why would I tell you that at this point?"

"Fine. Male or female?"

"Why?"

"Because your getting touchy and I feel like we've really been talking about a girl this whole time. Male or female?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Good, it's girl. How long have you been seeing each other?"

Chris paused for a while at the question. His forehead even had a little vain that was pulsating from his nerves. He, like his uncle, was Caucasian with a thick head of blonde hair. He had on a jean jacket and a light pair of Levi's despite the frigid temperature outside. He also had on black and white Converse that were almost ripping at the seams. His jacket had a green neon button that was pinned to it. Unfortunately, no one could really tell what it said.

Tired of waiting, his uncle Robert ordered another bourbon, muttering under his breath, "For God's sake."

Robert had a rustled salt and pepper beard and an impressive hipster-esque haircut himself. He wore a leather jacket that was clearly from his punk days and worker boots that were actually fit for the winter.

Meanwhile, the bartender was very, very slowly fixing his drink together (he was in his seventies). He finally placed Robert's drink in front of him and asked, "Have I met him before?"

"No, he's my nephew. He's in town this week so I thought I'd buy him a beer."

"Oh, good. Had me a little concerned this was another-"

Robert shook his head for him to not finish his sentence.

The bartender continued, "Should I pour him another beer? It might make that vein go away."