“Jesus, what in the fuck happened to you?” Brian's Irish Brogue reached his ears over the din of the Cracked Glass's other patrons. Brian was an alright guy as long as you stayed on Ryan's good side, man was as loyal as a dog and held somewhat of a resemblance to a pug now that age had tugged some jowls down onto him and a droop to his eyes.

“Fiends.” Redding grumbled, the word making him want to overturn a table and beat to death whoever was at it. But he'd worked long and hard through the years to get his goddamn temper in check. He took a seat at the bar and ordered his usual.

“I heard about that gunfight at the Desperado.” Ryan said, setting down a glass and pouring two fingers of whiskey, “That one's gonna go down in New Reno history, lemme tell you. And one of Mancini's boys dropped by, said the man was still waiting for you to come by when you can.”

“I'll do that. Say, your couch still available?” Redding asked.

“Not until the Fiends stop chasing you, my friend. I like you, I do, but I got to watch out for my own business. I can't have gunfights happening here.” He shrugged, but Redding got it, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Redding waved him off, taking up the whiskey and downing it like he usually did, two quick gulps and only slightly grimacing, “I'll catch you folk later. You too, Brian, your old, saggy, Irish ass still owes me for that night with Kristi.”

He pushed the swinging doors out of the way and left them flapping at each other, Brian's laughter at least giving some measure of good feelings to the night as he went back home. He opened up his apartment door and felt the hard barrel of a gun against his head. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. No sense in complaining, and he'd run out of fuck yous at the Desperado, “Do it, you fucking pussy. I'll see you in hell.”

“Damn, Red, that's some hard shit there.” Ramirez said, lifting the iron from his temple, “Where'd you learn that? North Vegas? Fernley?”

Redding took a deep breath, his heart had to calm down the hell down now and so did he. If Ramirez wasn't his best friend, he'd have gotten the same treatment Sid did. “Sid's in the dirt.”

“What, how?” Ramirez asked.

“They came at me at the Desperado. Some other folks were there, I know Sid's dead for sure, probably got bits of his face stuck to the bottom of my boot still.” He chuckled, the thought of Sid being dead by his hand was something sweet, “I got out. I need you to keep an eye on our place, like you do. I'm calling in someone I knew when I get the chance for a meeting at the Cracked Glass.”

“Okay. Well, I'm going next door, bought some peyote off this guy and I wanna see what it's about.” He left with his shotgun still in hand and Redding made it a point to keep the Tec-9 near his side at all times. He went to work tying off his arm, smacking the crook of it and making fists. The vein started to pump and he got the med-x ready. Hit his vein with it, little in, sucked some blood back up and pushed the plunger through. When the thick band of rubber came away, Redding had to stop himself from slumping to the ground.

The gunfight was miles away now, Little and Big didn't exist, no Fiends were after him. His grubby apartment wasn't bad. Everything just felt nice. Very nice. His eyes were heavy and every time they closed he'd be somewhere different. Sometimes, he was with Simon, chatting up the local girls. Other times, he was with Jaime getting drinks at that roadside bar they'd come across. His favorites were when he'd see Teresa again and his daughter. It was weird in the dope dreams that Izzy would always be a baby, she'd never grow up or anything like that. A few hours later, he'd nod off for the last time and he'd finally get some semblance of sleep.

* * *

“Feeling better, you princess?” Brian greeted Redding again.

“I'd be feeling even better if I could see your wife again.” Redding flashed a grin at the old Irishman as he took his seat at the bar. “Usual. Anyone come to you with jobs?”

“Yeah, Mancini's boys, like I said. Other than that, pretty damn silent.” Ryan said, pouring Redding's drink with practiced hands.

“Mm.” And with his own practiced hands, Redding picked the glass up and downed it, “I need you to make a call to someone for me. Make sure they know it's from Redding.”

“Who?” Ryan asked, his hand on the phone.

“Old acquaintance; Joel.” Redding said, pushing his glass forward for another drink.

“So, you're going back to it, then. Running around the streets and all, being a cleaner.” Brian said, matter-of-factly. “Fiends pissed you off that bad, eh?”

“Yes.” Redding nodded, downing the  whiskey Ryan poured for him, “Yes, they did.”