“Some of them become doctors, yes.”
Dee pours herself a shot of Black Velvet and raises it to him, lifting her pinky up to the ceiling. “Come on, shoot one with me. You’re killing me over there with your sad mug.”
He wonders if this is Dee’s idea of flirting with him. He raises his glass and downs the contents because drinking is easier than talking to her.
“You don’t spend a lot of time in bars, do you?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, here’s how it works.” She smiles, as if she’s recited her next line a thousand times and still thinks it’s clever. “I just stand here while you drink and tell me what’s on your mind. You don’t have to be shy either. I’ve heard it all before. Besides, the Sox are in the shitter, so you’d probably be doing me a favor.”
Kyung studies the gouges in the bar, thick ones where people probably scratched off their lotto tickets with fingernails and coins. He’s certain that Dee has never heard a story like his. Even if he wanted to tell her, he wouldn’t know where to start, how far to go back, when it would ever end. He slides off his stool, surprised by the distance between the floor and his feet.
“Thanks,” he says, taking his change from the bar. “I have to go now.”
“Fifty cents?” Dee looks at the quarters still stacked on his coaster. “I buy you a drink and that’s all the tip you’re leaving? Fifty cents?”
“Oh, sorry.”
From his original twenty, he now has a five-and ten-dollar bill—neither of which he wants to part with. He pats down his pockets, hoping he has more change.
“Forget it,” she says, waving her dishrag at him like a fly. “You have a good night.”
The street is empty when he opens the door to a rush of cool air. The only sound he can hear is the vague thump of music leaking from one of the bars nearby. He takes his keys out of his pocket, dropping them on the sidewalk, and then dropping them again not five seconds later. As he starts his car, the whiskey hits him all at once, two doubles drilling straight into his stomach. He can’t remember what, if anything, he ate that day to absorb the blow. Kyung leans back on his headrest, trying not to think about his heart, the way it keeps pounding louder and faster than it should. It sounds like something out of a horror movie, ready to burst through his ribs. His chin bobs toward his chest, and his lids begin to blink, weighed down with lead. He can barely see, so he closes his eyes and tells himself to relax, don’t panic, and don’t throw up. When he opens them again—a minute, an hour later?—someone is shining a light into his car. Kyung swats at the armrest, locking the doors while the man outside raps on his window.
“License and registration.”
Kyung’s head is spinning; he thinks the man might be wearing a uniform, but the light is too bright. He rolls down his window an inch. “Officer?”
“License and registration, please.”
“Why? I wasn’t driving. I was just sitting here.”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
Without the flashlight shining in his face, Kyung can clearly make out a uniform and badge, a gun in a holster. He slides his documents through the cracked window, being careful not to drop them.
The policeman examines the license, squinting at it as if it’s a fake. “You know this is expired, right? It expired in December.”
“No, that can’t be right.” As soon as Kyung says it, he remembers the notices that came in the mail. The first was printed on plain white paper, the second on urgent pink. He had a choice between paying the water bill that month or paying for his renewal. It wasn’t hard to decide which one to ignore.
“I still don’t understand what I did wrong. I wasn’t driving. My car was in park.”
“Step out of your vehicle, sir.”
“For what?”
“If you haven’t been drinking, then you won’t mind taking a field test.”
Kyung sits up straight, trying his best to look sober, although he knows his breath stinks of alcohol. His whole car does. This can’t be happening, he thinks. This can’t happen.
“Officer McFadden,” he says. “Will you call Officer McFadden? I’m married to his daughter.”
The policeman shines the light on Kyung’s face again. “You’re Connie’s son-in-law? The one whose parents were involved in that thing up in the Heights?”
That thing. So this is what they’re calling it now.
“Yes, that’s me.”