Chapter 4

A Fortuitous Confluence of Circumstances

This headache was not going away. Zim tried aspirin, and the pain was so annoying that he took three instead of two, but it had no effect. If this thing didn't go away soon, he thought he would have to call in sick to work. He didn't have many points left to play with—he only had 0.5 left—and the thought of firing him was probably already on his boss's mind. But needs must.

Then, without even thinking about it, Zim rested his chin on his chest and passed out. It was not planned, since he'd decided there was no way he was going to get back to sleep, but it was a merciful act, or so he believed.

When he woke up the sky was dark, and his headache was gone. At first he was cautious in case the headache was merely trying to trick him. It did not take him long to determine that it really had left him, and he ventured a quick stretch and a yawn.

But the world was not supposed to be dark. It should have been the afternoon. He looked at the clock and was horrified to learn that it was five o'clock.

He was supposed to be at work by three.

Zim dashed to his bedroom where he scooped up his phone and yanked it away from the charger. Maybe there was still time to call in and save his ass. He frantically turned the phone on only to see that there was a voicemail message waiting for him. He had a sneaking suspicion as to who it was.

When he listened to it, he knew he was right. It was his boss, and he was being fired via a voicemail message. It could only have been worse if it had been done over a text. "This is just fucking great."

"What's fucking great?" It was Fitz. From the sound he had just come home from work, as he was closing the door behind him.

Zim thought it would be wise to not tell Fitz he'd just been fired. Since he was responsible for his half of the rent—and that time of the month was coming up—it was probably best not to burden Fitz's mind with this nugget of information. "Nothing. Just . . . nothing."

"Traffic was shit today," Fitz said. "It flurried a little bit. It wasn't Battlefield Hoth out there, but it slowed the fuck out of everything."

"That sucks," Zim said.

Fitz stopped by the fridge to get an energy drink. "I'm going to catch a few z's, and then I'm going out to Brandon's show at Tailgators. You should come."

Zim grimaced. He couldn't stand that place because all of the waitresses had shot him down. Brandon would only make matters worse. "I think I'll pass."

"What's this?" Fitz held up the marker board with Zim's message on it. "What's this about the DT's?"

Zim took the board from him and erased it. "It's nothing. Never mind."

Fitz gave Zim a sidelong glance, and it quickly became apparent to the latter that the former knew everything. "Why are you home? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Zim said the first thing that came to mind: "I called in sick. I have this terrible headache."

"You told me you only have half a point left before they fired you."

Zim remained silent.

"You got fired, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I overslept, and they sent me a voicemail message telling me not to bother coming in again."

"Goddammit, Zim. Do you have your half of the rent?"

"Not right now, but they said they'd be mailing my last paycheck to me. I should have it in about a week."

Fitz sighed. "Well, just so long as you're getting it."

"No worries," Zim said. But he thought about the hell of looking for a job. Then he realized that he might actually have to do work. Fitz was a nice guy and would let him slide on a lot of things, but rent money was not one of them. If he couldn't get it for next month, he'd be out on his ass.

Fitz sipped from his energy drink. "I think you should come out tonight."

"You know I hate that place."

"Yeah, but you like alcohol. If you have enough of it, you might be able to forget your employment problems right now."

That did sound like a wonderful idea. "Maybe."

"All right." Fitz disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Zim with nothing but his phone and his thoughts.

About three hours later, after Zim had spent the day twiddling his thumbs and wondering if he should go out, Fitz emerged from his room, having just showered. He was already dressed in his usual bar shirt, and his hair sparkled with product. Already he had a 5-Hour Energy in his hand, ready to take it down like a shot.

"So . . . will you grace us with your presence tonight?"

Zim sighed. "I don't think so. I don't have a lot of money."

"Then flask it. I know I will."

Zim sighed harder. "I . . . sure. I'll come."

Fitz lifted his hand, devil horns up, and downed the 5-Hour Energy in one go. He roared, crumpling the tiny bottle in his fist. "Sail Hatan! If you hurry up we can be there by nine-thirty, ten at the latest."

This rang a bell in Zim's mind, but it was a distant sound, and he ignored it.