Mad About You

wonderful.
    It was only ten o'clock when he nosed the Camaro into a cramped parking spot outside the saloon. The walls fairly jumped with the volume of the live music inside. Sunday night and the place was packed. After only a few seconds' hesitation, he slipped out of his car and headed toward the front door. He hadn't yet gotten to slake the previous night's craving for whiskey, and he didn't feel like going upstairs to an empty apartment.
    "Hiya, Bailey," Big John said at the door. As usual, Bailey pulled out his wallet to pay the cover, and as usual, the burly bouncer waved it aside.
    A smile crossed his lips when he entered his familiar haunt. He felt comfortable here, among people he knew, people who enjoyed life minute by minute. Making his way toward the bar, he nodded and exchanged greetings with several people he knew. A southern rock band played on the stage where the wet T-shirt contest had taken place Friday night. They sounded pretty good, he acknowledged, then a split second later found himself hoping the noise wouldn't travel up to his bedroom. Oh, well, it was just a minor bother for the convenience of living so close.
    He claimed his regular seat at the bar, then signaled the bartender. A whiskey sour appeared before him in a flash. He held the drink up to his lips with a slight frown, observing in a moment of self-discipline that it wasn't necessarily a good sign that the aproned man was so well acquainted with his drink order.
    Studying the ice cubes, he surmised that few respectable fathers were in a bar on Sunday night, drinking whiskey. He lowered his drink and glanced around the room. Mostly single people, with a few straying marrieds thrown in. He wrinkled his nose. Everyone seemed so damn young. Bailey winced. And come to think of it, the lead singer was butchering that Lynyrd Skynyrd classic.
    A comely brunette sidled up next to him. "Bailey," she shouted, touching his arm. "Long time no see. Mind if I sit?" She didn't wait for an answer, falling onto the stool beside him.
    "Hey, Mia."
    Long and lush-bodied, Mia had been his bed partner several months earlier, before he'd been distracted by Lisa.
    "What're you up to these days?" she yelled over the music.
    Chad's face flashed through his mind, and Bailey had the sudden urge to tell someone about his newfound son. "Funny you ask. I just found out I'm a father."
    Her thin eyebrows shot up. "Really? Lisa's pregnant?"
    He scowled. "No. I had a son when I was married years ago, but he was kidnapped. They found him Friday, and now he's living with my ex-wife."
    Mia's eyes bulged. "No fooling? That's some story."
    "It's true."
    She smiled. "Kids—you learn to love 'em."
    He squinted at her. "You have kids?"
    "Three. Two girls and a boy."
    Bailey looked back to his drink and bent the stirrer. "I never knew you had kids."
    "Yep," she said, nodding. "My mom keeps them for me."
    His first thought was what was she doing here, but his next thought was what was he doing here? He looked around him, shifting uncomfortably. The thought of his son walking in and seeing him spurred him to his feet. "I just remembered something," he yelled, scooting away from the bar. "See you around."
    "Sure," she said, taking out a cigarette.
    He tossed money for the untouched drink on the counter and exited the door he'd just entered a few minutes earlier.
    "That was quick," Big John said. "Been to church today, Bailey?" He guffawed at his own joke, clapping Bailey on the back.
    Bailey walked quickly toward the stairs that led to his apartment, his ears ringing from his short exposure to the blaring music. He felt disoriented and panicky, like a kid who'd done something wrong and was scrambling to cover it up before anyone realized what a mess he'd made.
    The clock read nearly ten-thirty when he tossed his keys on the cheap nightstand by his water bed. He clicked on the lamp, then remembered the bulb had burnt out weeks earlier, and felt for the flashlight he kept nearby. By the dim illumination he opened a drawer full of rumpled papers and rummaged around until he came up with the business card he sought, then pulled out his phone.
    He dialed the number on the card, and a man answered on the third ring. "Jackson? Bailey Kallihan here... fine, fine. Listen, I've had a change of heart on the Caddy and the Caribbean—when can you come by? Tomorrow morning is good, say around eight? Fine, see you then."
    He looked for a place to set down his phone, but the nightstand was