Hungry Ghosts

Mack considered the empty pint glass on the bar before him.

As he watched, tiny suds dripped down the sides and began to reform yet again into a thin, yellow puddle. His last drink should have finished these dregs, but yet they stubbornly persisted. Why couldn't he bring himself to just order a new drink? It was time, he should just let it go.

"Staring at it isn't going to make it fill up by itself!"

The voice belonged to an attractive woman. On second glance, a very attractive woman for this type of bar and this time of night. She squeezed in front of the empty stool beside him with such aplomb that Mack suddenly felt like the intruder. Finnegan's was half-empty as always, so she clearly was looking for company.

"I was just waiting for a good reason to order a new one," Mack fired back, after scrambling for a witty response, "...and it looks like she just arrived!"

She graced him with an appreciative nod, but regarded him coyly. Just as Mack was about to speak again, she pointedly turned her head away to try and get the bartender's attention. Mack swallowed his words and took the proffered opportunity to discreetly size her up.

She was a piece, well put together and holding a fancy purse that probably cost as much as Mack's paycheck. There was a bit too much makeup on her pale face, at least for Mack's tastes given that she seemed naturally pretty, but this close he could pick out the telltale early wrinkles that she was likely trying to hide. He had no complaints about her deep, red lipstick, however, which made her lips look impossibly full as she pursed them in mild annoyance.

She leaned forward, her low-cut top exposing a deep and dangerous valley of cleavage that Mack's eyes tumbled into helplessly. His ensnared gaze was only rescued when her hand moved to her ear, casually flicking a wayward strand of long, auburn hair back into place. A sizable diamond stud earring twinkled on her exposed lobe.

"What does it take to get a drink around here!" she muttered, glancing at her phone. Mack duly noted the absence of a wedding ring as her knuckles began to rap the bar in impatience.

He guessed she was in her mid-thirties, so definitely well within his flirting range. Tonight was supposed to be a serious and solitary drinking night as Mack had a lot on his mind, but he thought he might be able to give himself a raincheck. After all, an attractive drinking partner would do a much better job of helping him clear his head, both of them that is.

"And another one for me, as well," Mack chimed in after waiting for the bartender to take her order of a glass of Chardonnay. "And put 'em both on my tab."

"Well, thank you! You didn't have to, of course. I'm Allison," she said, turning to give him her complete attention at last. Mack felt his body grow warm, like a good buzz, as her dazzling smile proved to be more intoxicating than anything he'd been served in the bar tonight.

The green eyes that studied him were bright and sharp. Mack got the distinct feeling he was being measured up like a prize rooster at a county fair. He wasn't too worried as he had plenty of strut left to impress the hens, and he met her gaze evenly.

"I'm Chris, but everyone calls me Mack," he answered with a friendly nod. "Have a seat."

"Mack," Allison said the word skeptically, as if she doubted it could be true. She gave a small shrug and settled in next to him at the bar. "I assume Mack's short for something? MacDonald? MacGregor? Mac-"

"MacGuire," he interrupted. "I'd let you keep going, but we'd be here all night. Chris MacGuire. You look like you've got a touch of Emerald Isle blood yourself?"

"A touch?" Allison chuckled. "I'd say good guess, but red hair and green eyes don't grow on trees anywhere else. Allison Monaghan is my full name. And no, I don't go by Mons!"

Vulgar humor and female genitalia references right off the bat? He liked her even more.

"So what brings a lovely lady like you to a dive like this? Cultural pride?" Mack asked, trying to find an easy start to their conversation.

A sculpted eyebrow rose and she looked at him quizzically.

"Umm, I needed a drink. Wait... this place is a dive?" She glanced around the half-empty room critically. Finnegan's was a typical Irish pub and perhaps it was a bit harsh to call it a dive bar, but even a regular like Mack knew it was on its way. He always like the large bar at least, it was a nice piece of wood with a smooth curve. She grimaced. "I don't usually go to dives, Irish or not, but if you say it is... I'm sure you have much more expertise in such things." Her eyes settled back on him, flicking down to take in his old suit and worn shoes. "Anyway, I'm only particular about certain things and bars aren't usually one of them. Is that a good enough reason?"

"Fair enough. I only call it a dive out of affection, but there is no better pub for a friendly drink," Mack replied. Clearly she was a bit prickly, and the conversation felt in danger of stalling before getting out of first gear. He wondered if her evidently high standards applied to his outfit. He decided to steer the conversation towards greener pasture. "Are you in town visiting?"

"Hold on... Damn these heels!"

Allison flashed Mac an apologetic smile and gripped the bar lightly for support. Bending at her waist, she reached a manicured hand down towards her feet. Cleavage spilled out before him in a mesmerizing landslide of jiggling, pale flesh. A red cascade of hair threatened to obstruct his view, but Allison tilted her head to keep her eyes clear and the locks settled conveniently to one side. If he had missed her boobs earlier, she was making damn sure he noticed them now! Her legs scissored as she lifted the troublesome shoe up, and her already short skirt rode up her thighs dangerously. She began to casually fiddle with the strap on one of her stiletto heels.

Prickly or not, she was a cruel tease and had to know exactly what she was doing to Mack. There were suddenly too many enticing hazards in every direction for his wandering eyes and no safe harbor in which to berth them! Mack reluctantly tied his attention to the relative safety of her elegant foot.

"You ladies torture yourselves with those heels." Mack spoke more to justify his increasingly awkward focus on her foot, rather than any real attempt at productive conversation. "But us men do appreciate your sacrifice. You are truly doing God's work."

"Hah, wearing heels is God's work? Sure, then I must be a fuckin' Saint." Allison snorted lightly, but kept her eyes fixated on the problematic strap on her heels. "Nails through my feet might actually be more comfortable."

Mack pondered her words with a thoughtful smile. He was a typical Irish Catholic, as in not that religious at all, especially these days. Despite that, Allison's arrival on this particular night, did seem to have a miraculous timing to it that rekindled a spark of his dormant faith. He'd have to thank and hopefully apologize to the big guy upstairs tomorrow, assuming he was feeling properly guilty from all the sins he hoped to commit tonight.

His newly reverent gaze tried to ascend from her shoe, but quickly got sidetracked into worshipping a very unholy trinity of high heels, smooth legs, and a short skirt. Thoughts of her divine providence were replaced with the vision of taking a more carnal communion within that sinful triangle, and at a decidedly different type of altar than his Priest might approve.

An unsubtle cough jolted his attention back to her face. She had straightened up and was now sipping her wine. There was a droll smile on her mouth, but she didn't seem particularly upset at his impromptu act of devotion. Mack gave her a guilty grin.

"Thanks, it's good to know you...," Allison paused, pretending to search for a word while giving him a teasing wink, "...appreciate... my heels so much. And yes. I just got in yesterday. I'm from Minneapolis, in town for a conference."

Allison's eyebrows furrowed for a second, but she quickly shook off whatever thought had intruded. Like a nervous tic, she checked her phone briefly. Something was bothering her, but Mack knew better than to probe right now. Like himself, she was also here to get whatever it was off her mind.

"Welcome! Traveling is always rough."

"Ehh, I practically live in hotels these days. I'm single," she answered, giving Mack a pointed glance, "So that makes everything easier." She took a sip of her wine before continuing, switching to an annoyed drawl. "Flying... that's the only part I don't enjoy."

Mack kept her talking, it was easier than expected as she liked to talk, and he discovered that Allison worked in marketing and visited New York frequently for business. Judging people was part of his job, and he thought he had her pegged after a couple of minutes. She was married to her career, an up and coming exec at a big corporation, and finally making a lot of money. She was successful, and proud of it.

Mack wondered if she was happy with all her success, or if instead she was realizing that most of her friends had started families while she wasn't even dating anyone seriously yet? Was she questioning if her career had been worth it, or already resolving to double-down and work even harder to make it worth it?

He had reached a similar choice years ago, minus the money and the corporate job, but had already been hitched when he'd decided that work came first. Thankfully, the divorce had happened before they'd had kids. His job had been fulfilling and bachelorhood fun, he supposed, but the thought of the family he could have had haunted him more than ever these days.

They flirted playfully, with Allison working him as much as he tried to work her. Attractive, confident, and a skilled tease, she was an expert at making men believe she liked them. Mack knew her type of woman very well from his decades spent in the New York bar scene. They fed their self-esteem on attention and got off on making a man fall head over heels into lust. The actual sexual conquest was almost secondary; they'd have as much fun teasing an unworthy guy all night and then leaving him heartbroken, as they would from taking a winner home for his victory prize. She'd be a tough catch, but worth the fight.

Even if she was just teasing him, Mack enjoyed her masterful performance and let her play him like a fiddle. She knew how to pluck all his strings, praising his looks, giving him brief touches on his arm, grabbing his knee as she laughed at one of his better jokes, and offering abundant eye contact at all the right times. Like a true artist, she also mixed in lulls, periods of cold aloofness or time on her phone, that make him fear that she'd lost interest. The absence of her attention only made him crave it more.

Her charms were working, despite his efforts to keep his cool. Mack couldn't deny that he wanted her, and badly. He was even beginning to convince himself that she was his to claim and that her act wasn't all a tease.

"Yeah, Minneapolis is starting to feel a bit small. I mean, it's heaven if you live in the burbs with two kids and a mini-van, but if you are single, at my age, well... it's a fuckin' ghost town!" Allison lamented as she finished another glass of wine. "I have this fantasy about moving to New York, actually. This city is so alive and full of energy, normally that is."

"I can see you as a New Yorker. You have the right personality. I'm biased, but there is no better city in the world, if you can afford to live here, that is," Mack replied, regretting his caveat as soon as he said it. Her diamond earrings and designer clothes made it obvious that cost was likely not an issue, while his cheap suit and scuffed shoes probably made her wonder how he managed.

Her eyes did seem to linger on his old suit and Mack felt the need to change the subject before she could reply. A thought stirred in his head about Minneapolis, something that was all over the news yesterday. Not a topic he would bring up while flirting normally, but it would divert her from his apparent lack of money. "Wait— Minneapolis? There was that flight yesterday... the one that landed short and crashed at JFK?"

Allison paled. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, but struggled to answer at first. To buy time, she waved her glass at the bartender to ask for a refill. Her confidence had vanished in a flash and she looked like a different person, much younger and for the first time uncertain.

"I was supposed to be on that flight. I changed to the later one for no good reason," she replied slowly. An involuntary shudder made her pause and take a long sip from her newly delivered glass of wine. "Twenty people died, right? Horrifying. I'm still shook up about the fact that it could have been me. That's why I'm here right now, I couldn't sleep, again. What if I hadn't switched flights? Oh, God."

Her eyes darted to her phone.

"Nothing like a brush with death to put life in perspective," said Mack, eying his beer thoughtfully. She was supposed to help distract him from his own mental baggage, but it was sounding like they had packed the same suitcase for this trip. She wasn't done talking and he waited patiently for her to get all of her emotions out. It was refreshing to see a more vulnerable side of her, versus the prowling cougar act she had been feeding him all night.

"This whole day has been surreal. I barely slept last night and I couldn't even stomach going to my conference. I just felt... empty. I took a long walk around the city, but it didn't help my mood. So many people rushing around oblivious to the world, or crazy people shouting nonsense. I wanted some positive energy, a sense of connection, but I would up feeling more alone than ever," Allison continued. She shook her head to clear it and flashed a smile of apology at Mack. "I'm sorry for babbling. It must sound like gibberish. You're just the first person I've had a real conversation with all day! It feels good, so much better than I hoped. Tell me though, shouldn't I feel happy that I was lucky, not guilty that I wasn't on the plane?"

"I'd rather be lucky than good any day. Let it go," Mack countered, trying to rescue the mood as he sensed her slipping into a funk. He raised his beer for a toast. "Here's to being lucky! Fuck the past, here's to the future!"

"YES!" Allison said with a big smile. "Fuck yesterday!" She seemed to savor the words as she joined him in the toast. Her phone was shoved into her clutch decisively. "Let's not bring it up again. I'm not going talk to my friends back home about it either."

She licked her lips after taking a sip of her wine and made a slight frown of distaste.

"That's what you get for ordering wine in an Irish pub," Mack said getting a laugh out of her. "Honestly, I think they've been watering down their drinks recently or something."

Since she was smiling again, Mack decided it was time to change the subject to something both fun and far more helpful to his plan of carnal worship at her altar tonight. With a little grin, he shared that he was a detective for the NYPD, homicide division.

"Get the FUCK out of here! Like Law and Order?"

It was always amazing how much a woman's interest could perk up when they learned he was a cop. Not everyone, but a surprising number found it irresistible. Of course, they inevitably confused his real job with the more glamorous one portrayed on TV shows, but he'd learned to not correct them too much.

Allison seemed to be in the camp of women who found cops sexy. The obligatory showing of his badge and gun followed, producing girlish giggles inappropriate for a woman of her age. Besides the props, Mack had plenty of good stories to recount and he kept the conversation light and cheery, aided by a couple more rounds of drinks.

It was working, Allison was happy, smiling, and clearly enjoying the conversation once more. Her suave veneer had been chipped away after her confession, and Mack thought he was getting a more honest peek into her personality. She was a full of herself of course, highly competitive obviously, but also incredibly sweet at times. He didn't even mind her pride anymore as she truly was an impressive woman. What Mack liked most of all was that her sense of humor was as vulgar as his own and her wit sharp enough to keep him on his toes.

They were different in so many ways, but something was making them click tonight.

Cops, even detectives, were blue collar types to a woman like her and Mack wondered if she would have even given him the time of day on a normal night. Her parents might be working class Irish as she claimed, but he suspected she thought she'd risen above that world. Her brush with death yesterday must have changed her attitude, and perhaps tonight she craved safety, familiarity, and someone she could trust? Maybe a return to her solid Irish roots? He was a big, strong Irish man that was sworn to protect and serve, and he could scratch her itch for comfort perfectly, along with many other sexier spots.

"So why were you looking so glum when I first saw you?" Allison asked after a lull. She was comfortably drunk and flirting unabashedly. She rested a hand on his arm as their bodies leaned dangerously close together. Mack didn't want to count his chickens too soon, but he felt like he'd passed her screening. "I don't usually initiate talking to strange men at the bar, even tall and handsome ones, but you looked like such a sad puppy dog in this dark corner that I had to say something."

It was Mack's turn to look rattled despite the nice buzz he'd developed. He glanced at his nearly empty beer to avoid her suddenly curious eyes. The dregs taunted him again. Let it go.

"You might say I've had a near death experience as well in the last week," he replied after a long, thoughtful silence. Everything came rushing back and the magical, happy, and drunk state he had reached seemed to fade. He'd kept a lot bottled up and told no one he realized. Who could he even tell? Not a fellow detective, unless he wanted to get sent to a psych eval.

"Oh, well we don't have to talk about it, like you said earlier... let's think about what could happen tonight, right? But, I am a good listener, if you want one. Though most men think I'm better with my mouth than my ears," she answered, giving him a playful jab with her elbow.

The last quip was the most blatant in a string of hints about her oral skills and sexual ability. She wanted him out of this sudden funk and back into the mindset of taking her to bed, preferably soon. That did sound nice. Unloading on her would only destroy the perfect mood he'd worked so hard to cultivate tonight. He should just let these lingering thoughts go.

Yet, he was still so tempted to talk to her about this strange past couple of days. It was like a strange compulsion was filling him to confess everything to her in the hopes of receiving some form of absolution. He never would have expected that he would actually have to weigh whether her offer of her hear was more tempting than her mouth!

"No, it's ok. It might be good to unload a bit. I'll just share the beginning," Mack said finally. A big sigh followed. "I killed someone last Friday."

"Oh my God! You poor thing," exclaimed Allison, impulsively reaching out to cup his cheek for a second. There was genuine empathy in her eyes and Mack gave her a grateful smile as he took her hand and clasped it between his. It felt so good to be looked at like that, even if she was virtually a stranger. Compassion was a close enough substitute for love for his needs tonight.

"I'm a homicide detective, which is normally the safest job you can have... everyone I deal with is already dead of course," Mack continued. "But last week I agreed to help on a stake-out for one of my cases. It was a gang-on-gang murder, criminals killing each other, but we were still doing our job and trying to collar the perp."