Page 122 of Let It Breathe
“Why?”
“Same reason I stopped drinking, I guess. I wanted to show I’d grown up. That I’d changed.”
“You don’t think not drinking was enough?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure it’ll ever be enough.”
“Tell me a dirty joke.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Tell me a dirty joke.”
Clay raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this one of the twelve steps I missed?”
“Come on. Do it.”
Clay thought about it for a minute. “Fine. Two guys are sitting in a bar and one turns to the other and says, ‘If I slept with your wife, would that make us family?’ The other guy looks at him for a minute and says, ‘No, but it would make us even.’”
Patrick grinned. “Nice. I like it. Tell me another.”
Clay glanced over at the bartender, who was drying the same beer glass he’d been drying for the last five minutes. He was smiling just a little.
“All right. Two nuns are riding their bicycles down an alley in Rome. One turns to the other. ‘I’ve never come this way before,’ she says. The other one nods, smiles. ‘It’s the cobblestones.’”
Patrick hooted and smacked his hand on the bar. Clay grinned in spite of himself.
“There you go,” Patrick said. “You’re smiling. That can’t be a bad thing, right?”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’d also be smiling if this glass were full of Jack and Coke.”
“Yeah, but you’d be puking in an hour. When was the last time you puked from a dirty joke?”
Clay grinned. “Well, I know an old guy in a biker gang who tells jokes filthy enough to make me queasy. He may have learned them in prison.”
“Save ’em for later.” Patrick slapped his hand on the bar again. “You’re going to be okay, right? No matter what happens with this girl or the construction or the investigation—you’ve got this.”
Clay nodded, then stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Patrick. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Pay it forward sometime. You’ll have the chance eventually.”
Clay nodded. “I’ll do that. How’d you know I was here, anyway?”
“Dumb luck. I was meeting friends for dinner across the street and I saw your truck. Thought I’d see if you needed anything.”
“So it wasn’t the tracking device you implanted in my arm?”
Patrick chuckled. “Not this time.” He stood and clapped Clay on the shoulder. “I’d better get going. Be well, okay?”
“Thanks, man. Have a good night.”
Clay watched as Patrick ambled off. Letting out a long, low breath, he looked down at his empty plate.
“You want more fries?”
He looked up to see the bartender holding a plate piled high with greasy goodness.
“This a new thing?” Clay asked. “Free French fry refills?”
