From a Dead Sleep by John A. Daly Page A

Sean was no fan of twangy country music, but he hoped doubling the volume would serve as a hint to his uncle to change the subject.
    “You know that his daddy . . .” Zed began, before taking a second to sigh and lean forward to drop the volume back down. “You know that his daddy left him and his mother when he was a youngun’. I’d think you could relate to that a bit.”
    A scoffing gasp slid from Sean’s mouth. “That kid should stay away from me.”
    “Come on,” the old man snarled with a rejecting wince and a shake of his head. “Why do you always have to shit all over yourself like that?”
    “Because it’s true!” Sean snapped. “What does that kid want out of me?”
    “Probably just a friend.”
    “A friend? What? Like someone to throw a football around with or someone to take him to the movies?”
    “Maybe just someone to listen to him. To talk to.”
    “Well that ain’t me. I ain’t that guy. I’m the guy who gets smashed at bars and gets kicked out of his home because he pisses away his rent money on pool and poker.” Sean’s shoulders slumped, and he took a breath. A few moments later, he somberly continued. “I’m a joke in this town. No one takes me seriously. Not Gary, not even you.”
    With a discouraged grunt, Zed shook his head again and said, “Well, that’s one hell of a thing for you to say to me , boy.” His face turned to Sean, and his eyes burned right through his nephew. “I’m on your side, Sean. You’re not a joke to me. You’re my kin, and I’m proud of it. You wouldn’t be working for me otherwise.”
    Sean’s eyes lowered as his uncle’s words sank in. He raised his head and glanced out his window. Mom-and-pop shops at the edge of town floated by. None of them had changed in years. Same look. Same owners. Same names. He could feel his uncle’s glare from behind.
    Turning his eyes back on the road, Zed asked without expression, “You’re being evicted?”
    Sean closed his eyes and rested the side of his weary head against the warm window beside him. He knew his uncle would gladly bail him out. He had done it many times in the past. But Sean had always hated asking for anyone’s help, and with how he had lost the rent money this time, he wasn’t about to let his uncle get involved.
    “It’s fine. There’s no problem.” He cleared his throat and dropped his head to take inventory of his appearance, gazing down at his muddied and stained clothing. What a sight he was. Zed hadn’t remarked about the disarray of his uniform. Not one word. Sean found that odd considering the uniform actually belonged to his uncle’s company.
    Leaning back in the sheepskin-covered seat, Sean formulated how he would sneak down to the washing machine at the back of his apartment duplex without his landlord seeing him. Mr. Bailey lived on that very same side. A pawn shop that Sean frequented was closed on the weekends, but he knew that if he could hold off Bailey for another day, he could sell some items before work on Monday morning. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . he could make back enough to cover the rent.
    An odd sensation of nakedness suddenly overcame Sean. The staple weight that normally caused his front pocket to slightly sag . . . it was gone. His hand quickly rose to his chest where he fumbled unsuccessfully for the item that always resided there on his uniform.
    “Ah, shit!” he roared, before leaning forward and intensely scanning the floor and seat of the truck while distraughtly patting his hand across the other barren pocket.
    “What’s the problem?” asked Zed.
    Sean felt too humiliated to say, instead punishing himself over losing his badge. Despite his fuzzy head, he clearly remembered reattaching it to his shirt after waking up at the bottom of the trench by Meyers Bridge. After the morning he’d been through, it could have fallen off just about anywhere in between.
    He glanced up at his uncle’s eyes. Zed’s expression revealed that he had already