On my patrols I had seen him playing his guitar around downtown; in the plazas and parks with his case open for tips. Though tonight was the first time I saw him when I was off duty. I sat at the bar, sipping my hard cider and listening to him play. The bar often had undiscovered musicians perform on the weekends and I enjoyed the fact that this was the first time I could listen to a full song. His voice was soothing, and lulled his listeners into a relaxed state. He sang about lost innocents and as he filled the bar with his soft vocals and calming notes, his lyrics seemed sincere.
"Pretty good, right?" Joe the bartender leaned across the bar, wiping down the counter with his bar rag.
"Yeah. I think he's probably the best one I've heard in here so far," I took another sip from my amber bottle.
"I'm actually thinking of having him here regularly. I've gotten more positive feedback on this kid, than all my other performers combined."
"Won't that upset the other musicians? They usually are here on rotation, right?"
"Yeah, but none of them are half as good. Plus, the kid is good looking. If the patrons don't love listening, they love looking," Joe admitted.
"I see," I said with a smile, remembering how much of a business man Joe was. Though, I also agreed with his assumption that the singer was in fact cute. He didn't seem much older than twenty, though he had to be at least twenty-one for Joe to let him perform in the bar. His skin was a sun burnt tan, making his light grey eyes more startling. His brown hair was combed back under a grey beanie, giving him a true laid back musician look. From his tattered t-shirt and over shirt to his hole-filled blue jeans, he just screamed empty wallet. Over all, the kid looked like a helpless puppy and it pulled at my heart strings. But that could just be the cop in me.
"Not to mention, he could probably really use the money," Joe added. He, too, noticed the singer's rough appearance.
"Yeah, the kid does look like he could use a fresh set of clothes," I held my bottle up to my lip. Joe smiled.
"Kid? You're still a year or so shy of thirty. Not much older," Joe began to arrange bottles behind the bar.
"For one, I showed you my ID for alcohol. Not so you could remind me how old I am. And two, there's a big difference from your early twenties to your late twenties. At that age, you still think the world is yours to conquer," I shook my head in dismay, and took another swig of my drink.
"And at this age?" Joe asked.
"At this age..." I held up my bottle like I was looking for the answer in the brown glass. "At this age, you realize the world has a lot more bad than good to go around."
"Talk about depressing," Joe grabbed some bottles and they clanked against each other.
"Just saying how it is." The music then stopped.
"Hey guys, I'm just taking a short break. So don't go away," the musician sat down his guitar and grabbed the tips from his case.
"Hey, Justice," Joe greeted the kid as he came to sit at the bar.
"Hi, Joe. Could I get a Pepsi?" he took the stool one seat down from me.
"Sure," Joe began to fill a glass off the tap. "By the way, Justice, this is my friend Westley Harnath."
"Nice to meet you," Justice held out his hand and I shook it.
"Like wise." I returned to my drink.
"I think I've seen you around," Justice commented.
"You're often on my patrol route." The young man gave a thoughtful look.
"Westley, here, is a cop," Joe said while placing the Pepsi in front of the singer.
"Oh," Justice gave a look that I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was unease or surprise, perhaps both.
"And a damn good one," Joe added. I shot him a look, and gave an uncomfortable cough.
"So, Justice. Are you a local?" I tried to change the subject.
"Uh, no. I moved here a few months back," the singer eyed his soda.
"Where from?" I asked.
"I've lived lots of places, never for very long. Anyways, I think I better get back," he took a quick drink from his glass and returned to the stage.
"That wasn't much of an answer," I said, taking a drink.
"You scared the kid off," Joe took the Pepsi glass away.
"He's hiding something," I finished off my hard cider.
"Probably, but don't go running off my best performer."
"Fine. Fine," I tossed a few bucks on the bar and headed towards the exit. As I passed by the stage, I leaned in to drop a twenty in the case. I glanced up at the kid, and he smiled down at me as he continued to sing about a home long behind him. A knot formed in my stomach, but that could have been the alcohol.
"Hey again," I greeted the musician. He sat cross legged on the sidewalk, his case open for tips. It had been at least a week since I had seen him perform in the bar.
"Hi. On patrol?" Justice smiled up at me. His guitar sat in his lap, and his fingers were in a resting position.
"Yeah, but I was thinking of taking a lunch soon." I glanced at his guitar case, which was practically empty except for a few small bills. "Would you, umm, like to join me?" The kid looked up at me with an uncomfortable look.
"I- I'm not sure..."
"Is it the uniform?" I joked, pulling on my shirt collar.
"No, no, no. Just-"
"Then come on, there's a sandwich shop at the end of the block." I started toward the restaurant, and Justice quickly put away his guitar and followed me with his case in tow.
On reaching the sandwich shop, we got in line with ten or so people in front of us.
"I appreciate this Officer Harnath, but-"
"Call me Westley."
"Westley, but I don't exactly have money on me for lunch," he held his guitar case tightly in his hands.
