three hours and we both know you’ll do a better job of copping and robbering on a full stomach.”
“You are the most irritating person I’ve ever had the misfortune of coming across.”
***
We ended up at a place called Mo’s Tavern. It was the only place that was open all night on this windy, and now snowy, Thursday.
“So does this mean I’m still under arrest?” Alex asked, as he sat across from me in a booth, drinking from a mug of beer that was big enough to require two stomachs to contain.
“Yes.” Although I wasn’t so sure how under arrest he really was. Truthfully, I didn’t have enough to keep him and he probably knew that. But, I also didn’t want to let down my guard so I figured I’d still go with it.
He nodded. “And what about all that crap about what I say can and will be used against me?”
“Still applies.”
“Well, then,” he said while raising his glass and tapping my half-raised glass of wine, “cheers.”
The bar was just outside of downtown Hope, nestled closer to some residences than to the town itself. The tavern and the residences had been butting heads for some time over loud music and the sounds of drunken merriment. Even though I was new here, I’d already fielded several complaints about the place. But each time I’d investigated, I found the bar quiet enough. Tonight, it was nearly empty. Just me, Alex, the tough old lady who ran the place, and the town drunk, a kindly older man who lived around the corner, close enough so he didn’t have to drive... and close enough to avoid getting busted for public intoxication.
“He’s a good man,” said Alex, apparently following my train of thought. “Lost his wife of thirty years, and now doesn’t want to be alone.” He took another sip of his monstrous beer as he studied the old man with kind eyes. “He misses her every day, more so when he drinks, but he’s okay with that.”
“And you know all this because you’re reading his mind?”
“No, he’s my accountant,” Alex responded with a boyish smile. Then he focused on the old man again and sighed. “As to reading his mind, that’s not exactly an easy task.”
“Why isn’t it easy?” I demanded. “You seem to have a fine enough time reading mine.”
“That’s because you’re sober,” he answered with a little smile as he held my gaze. “And, I have to admit, I love being inside your head.”
Maybe it was the way he said it, but I suddenly got butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I immediately thought about other places of mine that he could be inside until I forcibly stopped the thoughts in order to avoid the absolute mortification that would come from him reading them.
“Back to your accountant.” I paused and took a huge swallow of wine. “Why do you have trouble reading his mind?”
“Because his thoughts are reeling and turning and twisting and spinning nearly out of control,” he answered. “That’s how it is to read the mind of someone under the influence, be it alcohol, drugs, whatever.”
“Sounds like total chaos.”
He faced me as he nodded, but his eyes were still on the drunk old man across the way. “Trust me, Chief, you don’t want to go anywhere near his mind.”
“But you can’t help yourself?”
“No, I can’t.”
I studied him, still holding my glass of cheap chardonnay as I wondered if this was a good idea. I’d already informed Stan as I’d left the station that I was officially off-duty. That was also why I’d ditched the police-issue jacket for one of my own, although I still wore my uniform underneath it. “So what’s your range?”
“Range?”
“How close do you generally have to be to ‘hear’ someone’s thoughts?”
“Oh,” he said with a very handsome, yet boyish smile. “Usually, I need to see them. Or at least be in the same room with them, or the same building.”
“So you wouldn’t be able to hear the thoughts of people in a passing car?”
He shrugged. “Depends on how focused I am. Usually, I don’t choose to be that focused. Usually, people’s thoughts are enough to drive anyone mad.”
“So how do you control yourself or keep yourself from focusing?”
He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Who says I do?”
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes, I guess. But normally, I prefer to be alone, with nothing but my own thoughts.”
“Why is that?”
“Think about it. It’s not exactly easy to know what people are thinking all the time. Sometimes, I want to