These Are The Good Times [Bee]

[alan j. spacer]

Set the scene. It was Friday night, that holy day of the week when everyone let loose and got ready to do jack shit. The lights in the bar were lower than usual, a few bulbs weren't pulling their weight. The usual crowd flooded the place from wall to wall, still, it wasn't as bad as some other joints in the city. It smelled pretty bad, and the noise levels weren't too kind either. Like spending thanksgiving at your aunt's house, and her eight cats don't know when to shut it. Senseless noise that mingled with any relevant sound and blocked it out.

Alan wasn't there on a case. Noise didn't matter much, he was just a hungry guy with a penchant for Lucky's french fries. He would've called them a specialty dish, except he was only there because it was close to his apartment. Okay, maybe he came for a round of darts or two. Alan was perched at the bar, thankful for a few empty stools between him and the next patron, a belligerant New Yorker, on vacation by the sounds of it. Alan was dressed up in a linen suit, gold-rim aviators stuck on top of his head, mussing up his hair like no tomorrow. A tray of golden fries and a glass mug of beer sitting in between his hands on the bar.

The bar atmosphere always made him a little on edge. Words were exchanged, people got in fights, and they weren't always friendly folk once they heard you were a cop. That wasn't Alan's problem anymore, but he had past experience to work on, and it kept him observant of the other patrons around him. It seemed like a pretty harmless night overall. Alan took a sip of his beer, quietly checking out the scene around him. Everyone was just having a good time. A faint smile appeared on his face.

[avery carina dawson]

outfit!

Though Avery was not twenty-one and everyone who knew her knew this, she could get into any bar on the island. Most people had known her for most of her life and plenty of them knew her grandfather as well, so no one begrudged Avery her fun. And if she ever ran into an adamant liquor server, she always had her fake ID, which was custom made with her actual photo on it.

The ID was useless at Lucky's, whose bartenders all knew her by name. They were fairly loose with IDing there anyway, especially for pretty girls, so Avery took her place at the bar without even taking out her wallet. She sat directly in the middle of a loud New Yorker and some older man, putting a barstool between herself and each of them. She ordered a Jack and Coke and then leaned back, looking around. The New Yorker next to her was probably spitting on whoever he was talking to, but the other guy was silent.

Bored by the prospect of her barmates, she turned her attention to the rest of the crowd. It was pretty standard--college girls taking shots, guys trying to pick them up, creepier older guys trying to pick up anything in a skirt. Seeing nothing, she turned back around. Her drink was done and she took a sip, looking around. After all the trouble of getting dressed up ish, she was going to end up bored and leaving. She looked at the guy next to her that she hoped wasn't also a tourist and then, on impulse, scooted over to the stool next to him.

"So are you waiting for someone?" she asked, taking another long sip.

[alan j. spacer]

Alan turned his head to look crookedly over at the girl who'd materialized beside him. He'd seen her enter the bar prior to turning back to his drink and meal, but she looked a lot younger up close. She was pretty, and pretty confident too. The way she walked and chatted him up, no hesitation, almost erased his doubts about her age. Alan looked her over for just a moment, long enough to get a read without seeming like a creep. Seemed genuine enough, and he wasn't against having someone to talk to. He took a sip from his drink to bridge the silence.

"I could be," he replied, offhandedly, "you could ask again in ten years or so." he joked. "Twenty plus kids your age in this place and you sit next to the old guy looks like he came out of a Miami crime drama?"

It was a weird scenario, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Alan smiled politely to indicate that he wasn't really implying she should leave. On an impulse of his own he slid the tray of french fries between them, a silent offer to share. After doing so he took the bottle of ketchup nearby and planted a giant glob on the corner of the tray. Satisfied, he took a fry, ketchup'd up and popped it in his mouth. By the time he swallowed he decided to give her a real answer.

"Nah, I just live close by and didn't feel like cookin'. It's not the plot to a best selling novella, but it's a decent Friday night. What's your story?" he refrained from making another joke about her age, although he still wasn't sure she was legitimately twenty-one. Ah well, he'd already decided not to worry about it, that was something she could take up with the police whenever she got caught. It didn't look like she was hurting for funds anyways, she probably didn't even care if she got busted. What a way to live. Alan smiled to himself, looking away and pretending to cough so the girl didn't catch it.

[avery carina dawson]

She wondered if his jibe was an indication that he was a cop. She didn't think she'd seen him around--and she'd been in the police station enough times in the past few years to know every face there--but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He might have just been a lawyer or an obsessive. She shrugged.

"They're not really my scene." She picked up a fry with a nod of thanks and then swiveled around in her stool to survey the crowd. "The girls are all desperate and probably haven't paid for a drink all night and those guys are assholes and just want sex because they definitely wouldn't get it unless their partner was totally shitfaced and I would never, ever be that drunk." She shook her head and grabbed another fry before swiveling back around.

He was pretty snazzy looking in his linen suit. He might have actually been an off-duty lawyer. Avery would have asked, but she didn't like lawyers and she didn't want to know if he was one because she liked him so far.

"You lead an exciting life." She took a sip of her drink. "I got bored and it's too late to go on the boat alone." She looked at him. He was much older than her, but not so old that it would be unheard of for them to flirt, so she thought it was her duty to get the awkwardness of denying that thought before it could surface--since she'd started the conversation. "I'm not hitting on you, by the way," she said, pointing at him and raising one eyebrow to make herself look more serious. "Just so you know, I'm not like a weird chick with daddy issues."

[alan j. spacer]

It made sense. After all, Alan wasn't much for the rowdy bunch when he was younger either. He gave an understanding nod as he drank and peeked back over at the group of students. They were generating the most noise and the most stares by far, the kind of group you wished could've shown up at any other bar than the one your sorry feet landed you in. Alan turned back around, ignoring them in favor of his own company. At least she acted mature, if a little snobbish. He didn't bother to point out that she hadn't denied the other students as her peers, and almost all of them were underage. Not that that proved she was.

When she mentioned 'the boat' Alan raised a brow. It seemed like an arbitrary bit of information. With a nonchalant plug like that, he guessed she was even richer than he'd assumed before. Alan dressed nice, but he wasn't raking in any dimes to throw around while he lamented about acceptable boating hours. At least she hadn't said 'the yacht'. It wasn't really his business to ask after a person's finances, but curiosity got the better of him. People with money usually didn't stick under the radar. Unless of course they were into organized crime, but something told him that wasn't the case. Call it instinct.

"That's a relief," he said, smiling wider after she confirmed that she wasn't some jailbait floozy. "there's no way I could keep up with you." he chuckled before looking at her again and flourishing a hand as he spoke. "So what's with the boat thing? You some kind of angler or your dad's just a big sailor? No offense, but it's usually the guys who come around talking about their boats. Like those 'studs' over there." he kicked his head towards the college students for emphasis.

[avery carina dawson]

Avery was uncomfortable with the hypothetical discussion of what would happen if things were to turn romantic, so she took a large sip of her Jack and Coke and decided it best to change the subject. Luckily, he did that for her and to a subject on which she could speak for a relatively long time.

"Do I look like a fisherman?" She gestured at herself, at the leather jacket, stilettos, and general non-fishiness of her appearance and scent. "I mean, I think we do have a fishing boat, but my boat's a speedboat. Way cooler." She picked up a couple fries and started munching on them. Judging by his accent, he definitely wasn't from the island. She didn't know exactly where his accent was from, but it was pretty strong, so maybe he hadn't been in town for long.

"So you said you lived here?" she asked, stirring the ice in her drink with her straw. "Because you kinda sound like a tourist."

[alan j. spacer]

Her statements didn't quite answer the question. Or tell him anything he didn't already know. Alan looked her up and down again once more, but her outfit didn't say anything to him that would necessarily disqualify her. Sure, it was about the sharpest thing he'd ever seen anyone bold enough to go fishing in, but people who went fishing weren't prone to dressing their Sunday best. Still, he let it slide. That was about as blunt as he was willing to be when prying into a person's affairs, unless he was on the clock of course.

Alan listened quietly, and remained politely silent as she took a brief pause to eat a bit. When she asked about his accent he laughed outright, the kind of abrupt outburst that startled small children. When it subsided he stared down at the counter, still grinning a bit as he decided what to say about that. It had been a long time since he'd been back home, but the accent had always sort of stuck. It wasn't the first time the locals had mistaken him for a tourist. In a way it helped him out when he needed to stay undercover.

"I've been here just about sixteen years now. Moved from Boston when I was a university student myself. Accent never went away though. Wouldn't believe how many people ask me to say 'I pahked the cah in Hahvahd Yahd'" At this point he played up his accent even more, for the desired effect. "People go crazy for accents, some kinda weird fetish, right?" Alan wasn't really asking. He took to finishing off his drink quietly, still amused by the memory.

[avery carina dawson]

Avery wrinkled her nose. "Boston accents are kind of lame." The problem with social interaction with Avery was that she didn't really have a filter and she often spoke her opinion unashamedly and with no regard for how it would be received by other people--like the people it might have been insulting. Instead of apologizing, she grinned, figuring it was better to just roll with it like she always did. "But I'm sure you knew that."

She took another sip of her drink, decided that one order of fries split between the two of them was not enough to eat, and turned to the bartender. After a few seconds contemplation, she ordered nachos and then turned back to the man. Since she was already eating his fries and intended to share her nachos with him, she thought it might be a good idea to introduce herself, so she stuck out her hand.

"I'm Avery. Hope you like nachos."

[alan j. spacer]

Alan was taken aback. It's not every day someone spits on your heritage and then reels it in as an inside joke. Especially not someone half your age. Suddenly he regretted finishing his drink, as he was left without anything to do while he worked up a response. Getting all indignant wasn't worth it, and besides, he wasn't wired that way. Just another thing to file in the 'awkward' category of his life, and boy was that a large cabinet. Alan ignored the comment, although once again offering his courteous smile. The silence dragged on until the girl broke it again.

"Avery? Nice name. I'm Alan, and don't mind if I do." The detective half of his brain took the name and ran it against a mental list. It was half-familiar, but he wasn't able to place it. Failing at that he neatly stored it in a corner of his memory with other information of a 'just-in-case' variety.

The bartender came back a moment later. Fast work. He set down a red tray topped with a sizable mountain of tortilla and beans. A lavaflow of cheese and diced tomatoes floating merrily downstream. Alan was a little shocked, he'd expected something of the stale chips and cold cheese variety. Apparently Lucky's deserved more credit than he deserved. Alan was first to say thanks, reaching in to take a chip. This provoked an odd stare from the bartender before he took Alan's mug to refill it and sidled back towards the other end of the bar.

Alan scooped up a generous bit of cheese on a single chip, ensuring it had stopped oozing before he popped it in his mouth. Chewing with the appraising look of an antiques dealer. It was hot, forcing him to juggle it a bit inside his mouth. Finally he forced a swallow, choking a bit and washing down the remnants of cheese with his beer. "Good stuff," he commented, reaching for a napkin dispenser and dabbing at his mouth. "I should come here more often. Better company than any fast-food joint too. You a regular?" The question sounded stupid as soon as he said it, but it was already out.

[avery carina dawson]

She should probably work on not insulting people she's just met, but now was not the time to dwell. It wasn't likely that she would dwell at all later, either, since she was prone to forgetting any and all rudeness on her part as soon as it happened--or not caring. For the moment, she didn't care much if she offended the guy, especially since she doubted she'd ever see him again. There were very few reasons a 19 year old needed to hang out with an old man.

"Cheers, Alan," she said, shaking his hand before turning to the nachos. Lucky's never disappointed with its food and most of their portions were plenty to share. Waiting just long enough for Alan to get his own chip, Avery grabbed two and used them as shovel-chopsticks, scooping nacho toppings onto both and then using the second as a bib when she ate the first. It may not have been the prettiest, but nachos weren't exactly a dainty food.

"They're the best," she said, voice muffled by the nacho she was about to stuff into her face. She waited until she'd chewed enough of it that she could talk and put her hand over her mouth so as not to be gross to answer his next question. "Sometimes I'm a regular. I kinda like the Tiki Bar, though." She picked up another nacho. "I mean, it's lame, but that's where all the tourists go. So it's always pretty entertaining."

She looked back at him. "So what do you do?" She scrunched her lips as best she could around her nacho and looked him up and down, eyes narrowed. "Are you a lawyer?"

[alan j. spacer]

Avery praised the place pretty highly for a dingy bar. Alan took another look around as if to confirm they were still in the same place. The food was good alright, but he'd definitely had better. Sure enough they were still hanging around Lucky's, albeit a slightly emptier one. The New Yorker down the bar had disappeared and a few of the students had cleared out, reducing the noise levels drastically and making it feel a little more chilled out. Alan turned back to the nachos and his own drink in time to catch Avery's question about his career, as well as the suspicious glance she was hitting him with.

"I've preached innocent until proven guilty a few times," he admitted, "but I try to keep away from the court rooms where possible. I'd get stage fright, tongue twisted or somethin'." Alan considered whether to answer her actual question. As a detective he'd always been skeptical of throwing that information around. It wasn't exactly classified intelligence, he was in the phone book for Christ's sake, but all the same. Fairly convinced that an ill-mannered, possibly underage, likely rich young lady wasn't going to use his career against him, he caved.

"I'm a Private 'Eye'. The Sherlock Holmes of Orange Island, minus the stylin' hat as you can tell. I've got a magnifying glass though." Comparing himself to Holmes was probably a huge overstatement, but what did he care? As if they were going to meet again. Alan certainly wasn't worried that she'd be on his tail all the time critiquing his case skills. Not that he was bad at his job, of course... but Holmes was barely even human. Wasn't human in fact. Just a couple thousand words on a few pieces of paper. Take that Holmes, you don't even exist.

Alan abruptly became aware that he was insulting a fictional character inside his own mind. "Boring stuff mostly," he continued, "hunting down unloyal husbands and lookin' for a loaded schmuck's lost cat. They teach 'fashion stereotypes 101' in school nowadays? Why'd you figure lawyer?"

[avery carina dawson]

It was lucky that Avery had finished her nachos because her jaw actually dropped at his response. While she'd been around police officers for most of her teenage years, she'd never met a real private eye before. She'd always thought that crime solvers were cool, but the the whole police crime solving thing had been shattered when she'd gotten arrested and seen firsthand just what sort of things happened in the police department.

"Whoa, really? You're a detective?" She reached for a fry so that she could eat and talk, leaning closer to him as she did. It would have been cooler if he was wearing a trench coat and fedora, but she supposed to suit was snazzy enough. "Do you do stakeouts? Have you ever had to run from crazy jealous lovers?" She lowered her voice. "Have you ever been hired by anyone famous?" In Avery's mind, since private detectives were few and far between, each and every one of them obviously had awesome celebrity stories.

Feeling like she was coming off as too eager--and Avery was never eager about anything, if she could help it--she leaned back and took a nacho. At his question, she snorted. "You can't ask that question after saying you're a detective--unless you're a shitty detective and can't read the way people dress."

[alan j. spacer]

"Touché," he muttered at her jab. He wasn't about to admit to being a 'shitty detective'. Dressing like a lawyer was a much easier fate, although personally he felt more like a movie star, or at least a real-estate agent. Lawyers wore ties, and they buttoned up their blazers. Satisfied that Avery had still misjudged him, Alan turned his attention back to her, a little shell-shocked by her outburst. It wasn't every day he got a college student's outlook on his career, but he guessed that at her age he would've reacted about the same. All glitz and glam, the field of Private Investigations.

For a long moment he put a finger to his chin and contemplated his cases. There were a couple budding stars in the Orange Island area, not really 'famous' people though. Now chased off by crazy lovers! That had som-- but those weren't work related. Alan remained silent for a while longer and went through a handful of chips as he came up with a way to match her enthusiasm without outright lying. Eventually he settled on sarcasm as an acceptable answer.

"Sure thing, doll," he added for effect, "I was the guy who helped David Hasselhoff find his second wife's stolen wedding ring. Was a case like you wouldn't believe, conspiracy wound tighter than vacuum sealed glad wrap. Turns out Mark Wahlberg was the mastermind, who coulda guessed."

Alan turned back to his drink. Chuckling, almost as if at a fond memory. When his thirst was sated he turned back and added, "As for stakeouts, I've been on too many to count. Big camera and all. Worked with the police from time to time too." Not that he enjoyed it. The cops usually didn't call on him unless the job was going to be a huge pain, and they needed a guy who didn't ask much of them in return - Alan offered a sizable discount to the boys in blue. That, or it was a homicide.

[avery carina dawson]

Avery rolled her eyes at his response. She guessed, in hindsight, that her question had been kind of silly. As much as she wanted to believe that detectives were as cool as they were on television, it would make sense that they weren't. Most things were cooler on TV. She just barely refrained from sticking her tongue out at him and only because now she was determined to look cool. She had clearly already made a good impression, now was not the time to ruin it.

"Really? That was the celebrity you chose to impress me with? Hasselhoff?" She shook her head at him. "You really need to learn how to keep up with us young people, old man." The fact that Avery thought he was cool made her more prone to insulting him now--she wasn't very good with affection.

Stakeouts, though--that was cool. Avery had hung out in the police station and been arrested more times than she could count, but she'd never actually gotten to do anything cooler than help sort case files. Stakeouts sounded like the best--no real personal danger, a chance to put her expertish spying skills to work, and the opportunity to be as blatantly curious about other people's lives as she wanted.

"You work with the police?" She frowned. "I've never seen you around before." She folded her arms. Maybe he did the really cool stuff--like staking out murderers. She didn't want to ask outright anymore, though, since that only returned answers involving David Hasselhoff.

[alan j. spacer]

"Sheesh, sorry. Johnny Depp told me to say that it was Hasselhoff so no one was asking me for his autograph. Besides, that story had Mark Wahlberg too! Marky Mark. You can't beat that." Alan wasn't really a fan of getting picked at, but his sense of humor was nothing if not lenient. Being called an old man was just fine, since he did it himself, and there was nothing surprising about a kid being disappointed that P.I.'s didn't rub elbows with all the great stars. Still, that wasn't to say he didn't meet plenty of interesting people on the job. Plenty of nuts and just a few people with names you could pick out of a magazine.

Avery wasn't making much of an impression on him for mature anymore, but she was entertaining. The way she bluntly insulted but remained clearly interested in the conversation was a laugh. In the silence that followed he thought he could see her puzzling out what to ask next. Or maybe he was just full of it. Maybe he was pretending she was more into the idea than she really was for a gag. Either way, it was an easy topic to discuss once he breached the front door. So he was alright with continuing it.

"No offense, Avery, but I've never seen you around there much either. Then again, I don't always check the cells and you don't look much like a cop to me." he stared intently, not really sure what he was trying to convey. Sort of a mix between, 'I know what you're up to' and a sarcastic 'I'm making a serious accusation.' Whatever his stares implied, he soon settled in with a laugh and continued with his explanation, his accent spiking as his voice rose a little. "I'm only there for special occasions, or when I'm visiting an old friend. I work mainly out of my own office, but they'll slide me a case from time to time. Call me in if they need an extra eye on something. That sort of relationship."