Agent Q and I wandered into the Fairview Pub for a couple of final pints before she disappeared back to Toronto. It was, of course, the night of The Big Game — game seven of Vancouver versus St.Louis — so even an hour before the game, the pub was filling up fast.
The Fairview, and I hope its patrons will forgive me for saying this, is a bit of a dive. Crappy music blares from the overhead speakers, and they keep the lights “moody” to hide the filth. But I suppose that, compared to my usual haunt, it’s fine. Unlike the Jolly Alderman, the Fairview actually has windows.
Because Q and I had arrived so early, we had front-row seats for the big screen, and the jersey-wearing flag-wavers in the back looked at us enviously. When I overheard a couple of guys behind me trying to find enough seats for a few of their friends, I turned and said, “Hey, we’re leaving in about twenty minutes. You can have our table if you want.”
He stared at me in disbelief. “You’re NOT STAYING FOR THE GAME??”
The music stopped. All heads turned. And in the silence, I think I heard a cricket chirping.
“We’re… uh…,” I sweated, “watching it… somewhere else.”
The music started again. All heads turned back to the big screen.
It was a very close call, but Q and I escaped without injury.