Friendly Affairs part 4

	It was early afternoon, and Mike was tired. While he may have enjoyed his work, the complications of relying of a job as sketchy as his could make life far more stressful than he would have preferred. His pay, while enough to get him by, made his personal financing a constant balancing act of moment to moment priorities. Every dollar earned had to be carefully considered and weighed against half a dozen competing needs; leaving him with almost no opportunities to stockpile a safety-net when things inevitably went wrong. And then there was his schedule. Working nightshifts all the time meant having limited access to the day-to-day services that most people took for granted, with the result being things like trips to the bank or waiting on important calls had to be carefully planned around his atypical sleep-cycle. Today though, all of those individual drawbacks had encroached on him at once; leaving him exhausted and miserable as he stepped out of his car and looked up at the front face of his workplace.
	Before he could get too caught up in the sight, a gust of wind ripped across Mike’s face and quickly coaxed him inside as he bundled his jacket against his chest and shuffled through the front door. The temperature outside was well below freezing, and it was a treat to step into the heated lobby and feel the warm air rush down from the building’s overhead ventilation system. Normally such banal luxuries wouldn’t have garnered such a strong reaction from him, but this had been the first time he’d felt warm all day.
	It all started sometime around nine this morning. That was his estimate, anyway, as Mike had gone to sleep soon after returning home from his last shift. His spirits had been high thanks to his little act of heroism with Miss Foxy; and unlike the previous day, he had gone to bed with nothing but good vibes and a clear mind. But then the cold came in; forcing him awake like a constant dull-pain and keeping him from getting any rest no matter how much he huddled under his blankets and tried to ignore it. The chill only grew as the minutes went on, and eventually Mike was forced from his bed to find that his power had gone out.
	Cut, actually, as he soon discovered after checking the unheard messages on his phone; meaning his apartment had no lights, no internet, and most pressing at the moment, no heat. The cause -and the reason he was currently warming up in the lobby of his workplace- was an unpaid bill that had failed to be withdrawn from his currently empty bank account.
	Maybe some of the blame lay with him. After all, he had never once thought to actually make sure his paycheck was deposited into his account after getting home; nor did it occur to him to make sure his bank balance was in order before the power bill’s scheduled withdraw. Months of relying on automated systems had lulled him into complacency and made him vulnerable for a moment like this; and indeed, today was a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. But with all that said, the fact still remained that nothing gave his employers the right to withhold his pay.
	Now he was mad. In fact, he was downright fuming, and ready to give hell to whoever or whatever happened to cross his path on the way to his manager’s office. After deciding himself warm enough to leave the lobby, Mike bitterly brushed passed the doors leading to the building’s main party room and was instantly greeted by the sights and sounds his workplace alive and brimming with joyful energy; quickly putting a damper on his righteous indignation as the laughter of happy children and the savory smell of warm food reminded him that this was hardly the place to make a scene. He was so used to the dim and quiet atmosphere that the restaurant took on at night; seeing it during open hours was downright uncanny, and he couldn’t help but stare for a moment as he took in the almost alien sight of Fazbear’s as it was meant to be seen.
	“Hey,” a dispassionate voice called to him from his side. “Hey. Can I help you? You’re not supposed to be in here without a kid.”
	Shaken from his daze, Mike looked over to see a round-faced girl with too much eyeliner staring him down suspiciously from her booth next to the entrance.
	“Yeah, hi. I’m here to see the boss man,” he tried to sound casual. “I’m uh, I’m the night guy.”
	Mike watched as the girl mulled over his words. His explanation could have been better –a lot better, actually- but what was said was said, and after a few awkward seconds her expression changed as is dawned on her who he was.
	“Oh yeah, you’re the guard from the graveyard shift,” she pointed at him. “Mick, right?”
	“Uhh, sure, whatever,” he wasn’t in the mood to argue. “So is he in?”
	“Yeah, go on ahead,” the girl ushered him forward before quickly stopping him to ask, “Oh hey, so is it true this place, like, gets haunted at night? I’ve heard some pretty wild stories about the robots going crazy and stuff. You ever see any of that?”
	Mike glanced over to the main stage just as Spring walked out and greeted the crowed. “Crazy? No. They’re just kinda weird,” he smirked to himself as he waved to the rabbit and took his leave.

	Mike was impressed at how quickly Spring recovered after spotting him make his way through the party room. It was a testament to her professionalism that she didn’t just jump right off the stage and greet him personally. He could see it in her face how much she wanted to, but her audience was waiting and she had a job to do; so with only a quick crack in her composure, the rabbit got a hold of herself and started her set.
	The music she played was strangely familiar; a riff that seemed far too complex for her built-in audience of ten year olds. It was only when she starting singing that he realized what he was hearing. The two of them had spent hours listening to his inherited collection of classic rock CDs during the night, and Mike had heard her practicing the melodies on more than a few occasions, but never once had he thought she would actually be able to play that sort of stuff on stage. The again, as he looked around the room, most of the people there were actually middle aged parents, gossiping amongst themselves as they kept a distant eye on their overexcited children. Maybe she was playing more for their benefit than the kids. Either way, Spring was nailing the performance, and Mike decided to stay for a while and listen to her play before getting on with his business.
	While he lingered, he spotted Chica emerge from the kitchen; expertly balancing two large trays of pizza around a pack of kids as she navigated through the busy room. The two met eyes for a brief moment as she set to work serving her customers, and he couldn’t help but watch her as she did her thing. With practiced enthusiasm and a disarming smile, Chica placed her food down and began chatting happily with the small group of what Mike surmised was a child, his mother, and older brother. Taking special care to tease and banter with the youngest of the group, the scene would have almost been quaint, had it not been for a rather out of place looking older brother.
	Something about him just screamed trouble. The way he eyed Chica as she leaned over the table to grab their empty drinks made Mike feel queasy, and his concerns were promptly validated when the creep used the moment as an opportunity to reach around behind her and cop a feel. To her credit, Chica hardly reacted to the slight, and kept her composure cheery and cool as she walked away and disposed of the empty cups. Mike, on the other hand, was suddenly feeling a second-coming of that righteous indignation he had walked in with, and was only stopped from calling out Chica’s harasser when she returned from the trashcan and approached him.
	“Excuse me sir, but you can’t be here without a child,” the bird jived before giving him a playful punch on the shoulder. “If you don’t leave the premises immediately, I’m gonna have to call security.”
	“What was that?” he pointed over to the man at the booth she had just served; openly scowling at him as he ate his food in ignorance of Mike’s barely contained scorn.
	“Ugh, he just some creep,” she said dismissively before turning the focus back to him.  “What the heck are you doing here?” Chica’s cheery tone took on a hint of concern as she got a good look at his worn out face. “You look awful. Is everything alright? Is this about your mood-shift last night?”
	“No, I’m… Everything’s fine,” he lied. “I just need to talk to the boss.” Chica eyed him up and down; clearly not believing a word his said, but unwilling to call him out on it amidst the crowed. With neither of them fully committed to acknowledging their respective dilemmas, Mike decided to try and change the subject altogether in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I can’t believe they let Spring play that stuff during the day,” he glanced over to stage.
	“Pfft, what did you expect? You can only play Wheels on the Bus or Bah Bah Black Sheep so many times until your audience demands something a little more sophisticated,” Chica chuckled before glancing behind him at a newly sat table. “Listen, are you sure everything’s okay?” she gave the inquiry once last attempt.
	“Are you?” he looked back at the harasser from her last booth.
	“Don’t worry, Mike. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself,” she assured him and started walking away. Before she could get too far though, Mike gestured her to stop.
	“I know you can,” he replied solemnly. “We’ll talk more tonight. About my thing, I mean. Promise.”
	Chica smiled and nodded before heading for her next table; leaving Mike standing alone in the crowed. He wanted to say more, but time just wasn’t on either of their side, and he had other matters to attend to anyway. With one last look in her direction, he sighed and turned around towards his manager’s office; suddenly cognizant that there might not even be a tonight depending on what his boss had to say.

	 It took far more effort than Mike was comfortable admitting to work up the courage and knock on his boss’s door. Inside, he could hear an endless stream of aggressive blathering directed towards whoever was unlucky enough to be on the other end of his phone; pausing only momentarily for a hasty and irritable, “Yeah, come in.” to be bellowed in his direction.
	As he stepped into the office, a well-built, middle-aged man with thinning blond hair and a sharply trimmed handle-bar mustache looked up and waved him towards a chair before continuing with his conversation. His office was cramped and spartan, with smatterings of discarded and unorganized papers littering nearly every available surface. The only spot that seemed to have any semblance of care put into it was a dusty display shelf on the back-wall that was lined with old sports trophies and some commemorative plaques. Aside from that, the only other semblance of personalization the room housed was a wooden nameplate resting at the head of his desk. Etched into its surface in bold formal font was the name “Norman Douglass”, though Mike usually just referred to him as-
	“Sir?”
	“Hup, hold on one second,” he raised a finger in the air and held it there as he tried to wrap up his current conversation. “Yeah, alright. We’ll- We’ll get it sorted then. Alright. Al- Alright!” he hung up with a definitive slam before scoffing to himself and looking up towards Mike. “Aren’t you about nine hours early?” the manager stared him dead in the eyes; his expression flat and unwavering as he waited for a reply.
	“Uh…”
	“Ha, just pulling your leg there, sport!” his boss’s stony expression suddenly laxed as he leaned back into his chair. “So what can I do you for?”
	“It’s um, it’s about my paycheck, sir,” Mike began to explain; determined not to be thrown off again until he got his word in.
	“Didn’t get deposited, did it?” his boss replied without a hint of surprise; throwing him off again.
	“Uh…”
	“Listen champ, I appreciate you coming to me with this in person,” the manager leaned forward. “Lemme tell you, some of these damn kids I work with, they don’t know how to do anything that isn’t connected to their phone. I was just talking to Monique there- You know her? The fat girl with the hair thing? Anyway, she had the same problem you did, but did she want to talk to me one-on-one about it? No! She might as well be one of those robots out there; communicating wirelessly, through texts and Email and all that techno malarkey. But you and me, we liked to see the other man’s face when we have a problem. I can respect that, pal.”
	“Yeah…” Mike’s brain was screaming at him to say something –anything- to get the conversation back on track. “Listen, I woke up today with no power because of-”
	It’s the bank, you know,” his boss interrupted, again. “We’ve been having problems with them for a few days now. They weren’t happy with us, and now we’re not happy with them. That’s how it goes, I guess. Anyway, it’s something about inconsistencies in our revenue steam; as if that’s any of their damn business!”
	“Well, they are a bank… uh, sir,” Mike replied; and instantly the room went dead.
	“Hah, good one, bud!” his manager laughed after a moment’s pause; and Mike breathed a sigh of relief. “Anyway, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Monique and her stupid hair thing can wait a few hours until she comes in herself, but you did this right, so I’ll do you right.” Rising from his chairs, Mike instinctively followed his lead while his boss reached into his back pocket and produced a wad of twenty dollar bills. Quickly counting through them, he separated what he deemed to be a sufficient amount before putting the remainder back in his pocket and handing Mike the rest. “There yah go. Should be a week’s pay, plus a little extra on account of what we talked about. Don’t tell Monique; or the tax man if you’re feeling cocky!” He laughed heartily at his own joke before patting Mike firmly on the back and showing him to his door.
	“Uh, wait, one more thing, sir,” Mike managed to pause him long enough to get one final word in. “I shouldn’t be expecting this anymore, right? The bank thing?”
	“Not hardly!” he replied confidently. “I’m getting this all taken care of, pronto. Anything happens though, you let me know.”
	And then he was out the door and back in the wider restaurant; head spinning as he tried to process what just happened. The whole conversation was like whirlwind of casual dismissals and dad-isms; making the actual accomplishment of his goal feel hollow and unearned. It was all very disorienting, but at least he was able to pay his bills again, and for the moment, Mike decided that was good enough.

	Stuffing the wad of twenties into his pocket, he was ready to finally go home and get some sleep –after a quick trip to the bank, of course- only to be stopped in his tracks as he noticed Chica off to a secluded side of the room, along with that creepy guy from before. Judging by the look of her face, her customer friendly facade was wearing thin as the unwanted suitor actively blocked her path whenever she attempted to sidestep him, and Mike decided then and there that he wasn’t going to sit by and do nothing this time.
	“Hey, you!” he did his best to sound authoritative as Chica’s harasser turned to face him. Now that Mike could see him up-close, the guy looked roughly the same age as him, but was at least twenty pounds heavier and a few inches taller.
	“What do you want?” the guy shot back aggressively.
	“She’s not interested,” Mike ignored his better judgment and stood his ground. “Why don’t you go back to the main room.”
	“Yeah? What, is she your girlfriend or something?” he sneered. “You think you’re gonna earn some Faz-tokens for standing up for the robot?”
	“Don’t be an asshole, guy,” Mike maligned; trying and failing to keep his anger in check. “Look at where you are. This is the last place in the world to be acting this way.”
	“Ohhhh, so you’re the purity patrol or something?” He started grinning to himself. “Or is it the other way around? Is the yellow one your childhood favorite? Do you think if you defend her honor enough, you’ll finally get your big chance to stick your dick in its beak?” the creep mocked, before taking a step towards him. “How about you mind your own business and ge-”
	It must have been about then that Mike punched him in the jaw. That was probably what happened anyway, as he watched the man stagger back before looking down at his outstretched fist. Before he could truly come to grips with what he had just done though, his opponent quickly regained his composure and glared back toward him like he was ready to meet the challenge head on.
	Suddenly, Mike felt very stupid. Punching a customer at your workplace was a very stupid thing to do, and it didn’t seem like the situation had anywhere left to go but a full-on brawl; which, as Mike noted, was also a pretty stupid thing to do when surrounded by children. Combine all that with the fact that his opponent clearly had the physical advantage, and that his girlfriend would be watching the whole time, and Mike was forced to concede that this was probably the incorrect way to handle this situation. But before all of those terrible things he had only just now considered could actually come to pass, a large man in a worn-out security uniform grabbed his enraged opponent by the arms and restrained him against the wall.
	“Alright, you. That’s enough. We’re going outside,” the dayshift guard said with casual indifference as he dragged the man away towards the exit at the end of the side hallway.
	Mike could only stare in disbelief at what had just happened. All this time worrying about his job, and now he had just thrown it away. Even if he was off the clock and out of uniform, there was no way he could get away with assaulting a patron. Dread began to set in as it truly dawned on him how much he had just screwed himself; but before he could get too wrapped up in contemplating his own demise, Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and realized his boss was standing behind him.
	“Nice spunk there, slugger!” his boss said with perplexingly upbeat disregard for the potential lawsuit Mike had just brought about them all. “Might wanna hit the gym a little more though. You punch like a girl.”
	“Uh…”