Everywhere That Tommy Goes by Howard K. Pollack

I’ve got something going on. The old man keeps looking me up and down like I must have just killed somebody.
    I turn away, then turn back and stare him down. I’m not letting anyone intimidate me.
    “You want something, old man?” I ask him.
    He turns away, sulking, and acts like he didn’t hear me. That takes care of that shit. I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t watch himself. What’s with him anyway? Looking at me and then ignoring me.
    I don’t mean to get carried away. I just get fired up sometimes when people look at me for no particular reason. People shouldn’t size you up just because you’re sitting at a bar getting a drink.
    It’s kind of strange, because I’m saying and doing things I would have never done a few months ago—for better or worse. And you know what, it’s all Troyer’s fault. No doubt, that guy has totally fucked with my head.
    The bartender comes back with my tequila. I down it in one gulp and order another.
    Before I book out of the dump, I finish off three shots and two brews. As I get up to leave, I see Troyer standing by the door.
    “What’s up, mate?” he asks me, still Aussie.
    “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Where did you come from?”
    “Been watching you the whole time. You going to let that old fart get away with that attitude? I saw the way he looked at you.”
    “Screw the old man. You and me got some talking to do.”
    “Whatever you say. Let’s walk.”
    We leave the bar, cross the street, and start walking along the strip that runs down the beach. It’s dark, I’m drunk, and I’m so mixed up I have no clue where to begin.
    “Look, Troyer—I don’t know what your game is, but everything you’ve done these past few days is totally fucked-up. Why are you doing this shit to me? I never did anything to hurt you. I thought we were friends. Why did you kill those girls?”
    “First of all, you wanker, I didn’t kill the bartender. I’ve actually been trying to protect you all along. The truth is, it was you who slit her throat. Whatever you think you remember is wrong. It’s not what really happened.”
    “Quit screwing with me. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.”
    “Fine—believe what you want. And like I said before, I didn’t kill the girl from the motel, either. I never returned to the room after I found you passed out on the bed. Look, I’m your friend, and all I want to do is help. You simply don’t realize that there is something wrong with you.”
    I stop dead in my tracks and push him off at the shoulders. “You’re the one who’s nuts, Troyer! I just don’t understand why you’re setting me up.”
    “Precisely the point. I have no reason to set you up. Think about it. From the first time I met you, all I’ve done is save your ass. I don’t have to remind you that if it wasn’t for me, those two goons who attacked you would probably have killed you. I saw something in you that night and decided to take you on as my protégé. Why would I try to hurt you after all that? The truth is, you don’t remember the crazy things you do.”
    “Bullshit! I’m not crazy. You’re the one who’s messed up. One day you’re from New York, the next you’re from fuckin’ Australia.”
    “What are you talking about? I’ve been an Aussie all my life.”
    “No, you haven’t! You only started that shit the night you met the bartender. Stop screwing with me. What about your whole orphanage story and Father Ryan?”
    “Orphanage? Father who? You’ve flipped your bird, mate, I was born and raised in Melbourne.”
    Man, Troyer is good. So good I’ll bet he’d pass a lie detector test.
    “Okay, then, how’d you find me here?” I start patting myself down wondering if maybe he’s got a bug on me.”
    “Actually, mate, you’re quite predictable and easy to track. More to the point, I’ve grown quite fond of you, and I feel obligated to try and help you.”
    “That’s a laugh. It seems every time you show up, trouble