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up a sequel.” He rounded on Randy, feeling a twinge of misdirected anger. “I seem to recall that you were the one pushing me to let her go. Make up your mind, dude.”
    “Don’t get all shitty with me. I don’t give a rat’s ass one way or the other. I’m just saying that the longer you put her off the worse it’s going to be.” Randy tossed his cigarette to the pavement as well, gray eyes flashing. He had the personality of a redhead, quick to anger, although he didn’t show it very often. “And as I recall, Iwas the one who had to haul your drunken ass out of jail the last time you two hooked up. My wallet can’t afford any more tender reunions like that.”
    “Quit your bitching,” Jack said, his good humor returning. “I paid you back and I’ve bailed you out twice since then.”
    “Oh, yeah. Right.” They both laughed then fell silent, lost in separate musings. Deep inside, Jack knew that Randy was right. Evasion would solve nothing; only exacerbate his already miserable situation.
    “What do you think she wants?” Randy was the first to break the silence.
    “Who the hell knows…a place to crash? More money?” The very notion that anyone wanted Jack’s money brought a hearty laugh from them both, given Jack’s current state of destitution. That seemed the most likely explanation, although it could be any number of things. The girl wasn’t exactly in her right mind most of the time.  

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    On Wednesday morning, Jack rolled out of bed as daylight was breaking, pissed off and hung-over. Randy had some chick in the bedroom and a herd of buffalo as well from the sound of it. The banging of the headboard against the wall echoed the pounding inside his brain. They’d been at it all night while he – the infamous Jack Jameson — had spent the night alone on the uncomfortable sofa bed, too drunk to sleep and too tired to do anything about it. Maybe he needed to think about getting a place of his own. Muttering curses, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and hit the pavement for a run.  
    After the first mile, Jack’s agitation began to dissipate. By the second mile, he had sweated out the last vestiges of his hangover. At the end of the third mile, endorphins kicked in and he began to enjoy himself. An endless blue sky stretched overhead, unbroken by clouds. The air rushed over his skin like a tepid bath. As the miles fell away, so did the confusion surrounding his life.  
    With his good humor restored, he went straight into the stock room at Felony. After a few hours of hard work, he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of one forearm and catch his breath. The air conditioning unit, long past its prime, had quit sometime in the night. The upstairs apartment and the bar were stifling hot. To top things off, the heat had resurrected his hangover and his head thumped with every beat of his heart.  
    His eyes wandered over the smoke stained walls and battered floors. At night the place reeked of atmosphere and mystery but daylight showed every structural flaw, revealing nothing more than a dilapidated old building with a multitude of sins that he could never absolve. Felony was in dire financial straits. The place had been a sinking ship when he took over the management from his uncle David and the cash flow had dried up to a trickle. Creditors hounded him day and night, even going so far as to confront him in the parking lot and at the gym.  
    Somehow he had to revitalize the club and entice people to come. Too many bar fights had tarnished the reputation of the place and kept away the less adventurous patrons. He had several strategies in mind to widen the customer base and generate business, most of which involved a substantial layout of non-existent cash.
    With his break finished, he continued stacking the heavy cases of beer into the tiny stockroom, arranging them with the fastest selling brands to the front and the oldest product on top. A stock boy should be