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Title: One Night at Mutha's Summary: A favor for a friend.
It was 3:29 in the morning when the phone call came. It was Frohike who answered it, then walked to his companion's bedchambers to deliver the message. It had happened again. Resigned, Byers dressed and headed out to the car, and began to drive into the city. On the short time he was on the Beltway, he was cut off four times by the same person, some hotshot kid in his dad's Plymouth Barracuda. The entire way Byers muttered to himself about the stupidity of today's youth. He knew his way to the rave well; tonight was not his first early a.m. excursion. In fact, it was his third, and this time he'd have to make his presence known, if only to prevent a fourth incident. The ancient-but-reliable van found a spot two blocks away; his best parking spot yet. Shivering in the January air, he nearly ran to Mutha's, eagerly awaiting the body heat inside. Mutha's, like all raves, was decorated in the full retro style of the late '90s. Most teens who frequented the raves refused to believe that their beloved disco balls were actually from the Stone Age '70s, but Byers knew otherwise. Disco was back, baby, and it was only a matter of time before it left and returned again. He flashed his ID to the burly bouncer, who wore a t-shirt that bore the name "BULLDOG" on the chest. "Don't have a heart attack, sir," he advised in his French accent. "Thanks, Bulldog," Byers muttered. God he hated coming here; it wasn't just that the task was unpleasant, it was the way everyone made him feel so *old*. Mulder would owe him big time after this one. The place was packed, and Byers didn't even bother trying to find his target right away. He pushed his way through to the bar, planning to order himself a nice coffee to wake up a bit. "You sure you should be up this late, gramps?" asked the barfly sitting two stools over. "I'm doing a favor for a friend," he responded. "How sweet." She popped her bubble gum. "I'm Olive. Like the oil." She held out her hand. *pop* Byers nodded. "John. Coffee?" he asked the bartender. "So what kinda favor's got you" *pop* "out on a fuckin' cold night like tonight, John?" Olive asked. "Like I said, a favor for a friend." *pop* "Gotcha. The silent type. I can get with that." She motioned to the bartender to refill her drink. "Me, I'm the dez tonight. Drowning my sorrows in virgin suicides." She raised her glass in salute, then drained the last dregs of the concoction. *pop* "My friends don't give a shit about my crap, though. They just wanna get drunk and/or high, preferably both." "Some friends." Byers sipped his coffee. "The dez is always ignored though. No big surprise." Olive's refreshed drink arrived, and she took a swig, then made a face. "Ugh. Too much root beer in that one." *pop* "If I guess the favor you're doing, will ya tell me?" "Sure." "Kick ass. Let's see...your friend suspects her husband of stepping out on her with some sixteen-year-old he teaches in his science class, and you're doin' like PI work." *pop* Byers couldn't help but snort. "That's one heck of a guess. And you're totally wrong. My friends are too in love to cheat on each other." Olive smiled. *pop* "Well, that's sweet. Refreshing in this day and age, huh?" The music changed, and her eyes lit up. "Ooo, The Scones! These gals are fuckin' awesome." *pop* She swayed as well as she could to the jerky beat of the song. Byers remembered when music had rhythm and melody, and you could hear the words. "Okay, so no one's steppin' out. Maybe..." *pop* "I got it. Your friend's kid is here, and you've gotta get the brat back to mommy and daddy before they find out their precious little one isn't snuggled in bed." Byers smiled. "You're so close, but so far." He finished his coffee. "Their son is indeed here, but they know about it. Usually when I follow him here, I just make sure he doesn't get into trouble. But tonight I have to get him home." "I see," Olive nodded. "You have any fuckin' clue where he is in here?" "I do. He's always in the same place, over in that corner, sitting alone, just listening to the music." "How perfectly dull," she laughed. *pop* "Too bad he's leaving; I coulda hung out with him." "Sorry to ruin your night," said Byers, without meaning it. "Nice chatting with you. I have to go do my job now." He tossed down some bills for the coffee and left the bar, pushing his way towards the corner he knew his quarry would be in. As he'd predicted, the boy was sitting all alone, nursing what Byers knew would be a Coke. "William." The boy looked up. "It's time to go home." The End
Note: This was for the IWTB Challenge, which included: 1. Char. A does good deed for Char. B 2. Steven King novel/char. 3. Plymouth Barracuda 4. Byers at a rave 5. French bulldog 6. bubble gum 7. balls (of any kind) 8. olive oil 9. scones 10. OC giving sage advice to a char. in #1 It's my first time doing one of these; how'd I fare? 4 out of 5 doctors say expressing your enjoyment of a fanfic to its author increases your life expectancy 23-23.8 years. The other doctor was killed by Cancerman before we could ask him.
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