Friday, 9:53 PM

Alfred cautiously squeezed his black Hummer into a sketchy alley.

He hopped out of the gas-guzzler and clicked the lock obsessively.

The blonde scanned the bricked alley and spotted an bright neon green sign that read, "The Drunken Mick".

He marched through the door and came face to face with a bunch of the stereotypical burly men playing pool.

Alfred gulped heavily and walked briskly to the bar.

The bartender glanced up at Alfred and grunted in a heavy Scottish accent, "What cha' want, kid?"

"Um," Alfred started hesitantly, "I'm looking for a British dude named Arthur. He's really short, blonde, green-eyes? Probably drunk off his ass?"

The Scotsman scratched his head with gruff knuckles, "Aye. I've seen the man you be lookin' for. He was very loud and disrupted my customers. The prat."

There was a long silence and Alfred cleared his throat.

"So, where is Arthur?"

"Oh, I kicked 'em out," The man chuckled.

"Did you see where he went then?" Alfred asked frantically.

"I believe… he went left."

Alfred heaved, "Thanks."

He left the tavern and started for his car when he heard slurred show tunes.

"—Different types who wear a day coat, pants with stripes, and cutaway
coat. Perfect fits. Puttin' on the Ritz~!"

"Artie?"

Alfred walked forward cagily.

He found the lost Brit leaned against the wall with a bottle of rum in his hand, which he had probably swiped from the bar.

Arthur looked up at Alfred with misty emerald eyes and scowled, "Bloody Hell… not you! God, I hate you."

He rolled over onto his side and moaned.

Alfred smiled relief and attempted to pull Arthur up to his feet.

The heavily browed man jerked his arm away from the other's grasp, "Don't you fuckin' touch me, you tosser!"

Alfred sighed and tried again.

"Go away!"

The Brit crawled further away from his co-worker drunkenly.

"Arthur, stop moving!"

Alfred harshly tugged the squirmy man up from the ground and held him tight around the waist.

"Let go! Get your bloody hands off of me, you stupid obnoxious sheep-shagger!"

The taller blonde glared at the Brit and roughly shoved him against the cold wall.

"What are you doing-?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Alfred ordered heatedly, "you've caused enough trouble for me today and I'm sick of it. So quit your complaining and get in the car... NOW!"

Artie avoided eye contact and nodded slowly.

Alfred released the drunk's wrists and quickly shuffled Arthur to his car.

The car ride was painfully silent until Alfred's cell phone went off.

"Hello?" Alfred answered tiredly.

"Hallo," A deep German greeted back, "Did you find Arthur yet?"

"Yeah? Artie's here with me right now, but he's pretty drunk." "

That's good to hear… please inform him that he fired from this point forward."

"Sure- wait, what? Artie's fired? Why?"

"He was late to work and is obviously intoxicated, according to you. So due to the recently passed policies, he must be terminated immediately."

"But-"

"Gute Nacht, Alfred. I will see you Monday."

Click.

Frowning, Alfred shoved his phone back into his jean pocket and looked over at the passed out man in his passenger seat.

"I'm sorry, Artie."