18 Wishin’ won’t make it so

“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” George said suddenly, “My name’s George. It’s my guilty duty to inform you that I’m spying on Drew right now.”

“You are!?” she said.

“It seemed prudent,” Jesse said, mostly because he was tired of being the silent sidekick.

George shot him a look, then turning his attention back to the neighbour and briefly smiled that smooth, almost greasy, professional smile. Then the smile vanished. He looked almost apologetic. “They’re coming.  I planted a bug on Drew. You need to get back to your apartment, this instant.”

She stood and squeezed Chris’s hand, nodding. Then, with creditable speed and grace, Chris’s neighbour heeded George’s advice.  They heard her door quietly close and then the hisses and squelched giggling as the two men shushed themselves. George left the apartment door ajar and peered out as they dopily took the stairs.  He motioned Jesse and Chris into the kitchen, where they couldn’t be seen when the door opened wide. Jesse stood between Chris and the door and waited.

“Where’s Chris?” Drew asked. His boyfriend stood next to him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Elsewhere,” George said.  “Leave or I’m calling the cops.”

Figuring it was two to one, they tried to crowd through the door.

George, with no apparent effort, pushed them both back and closed it.

Thunderous pounding and provocative cursing followed.

“Beat it,” said George through the door. “You’re holding Schedule I, II and IV drugs, you’ve been drinking and driving, and you’ve already committed mischief and uttered threats.  Unless you want to spend the night in the central lockup, get the fuck away from this door and shut up.”

There was shuffling, and then giggling again.

“They’re going to beat the door in with the fire extinguisher in the hall,” George said in disgust.  He jerked open the door as Drew tried to smash the door handle, and once again Drew fell over, this time onto his face, simultaneously discharging the fire extinguisher. In the chaos, the boyfriend started to scream and took off down the stairs like a scalded cat. The door to the parking lot banged and reverberated through the stairwell and corridor.

George hauled Drew to his feet and said, “I was going to call the cops, but honestly I don’t think that would help.”

Jesse bodily restrained Chris when he heard Drew’s voice.

“Fuck you,” Drew said. “Who the fuck do you think you are. If I want to talk to Chris you can’t stop me.”

“Wishin’ won’t make it so,” George said.  He shoved Drew, who was resisting vigorously, back out the door, and put a hand over his mouth since, once again, the volume had maxed out.

Then he pushed him down the stairs and called 911.