I hand him back the bottle and I see he’s pretendin’ to swig. That ain’t working for Edgar, no fucking way.
“What do you say we find some shot glasses? Really make this cold go away, keep us warm.”
He says to me, “They say that’s just an urban legend. Alcohol just messes with your bloodstream and it doesn’t do anything to help you keep warm. It’s deceptive. That’s why people are always dying in hot tubs, because it throws off your blood, throws off your heart.” I heard that one before, but I still don’t believe it. This guy thinks he’s some kind of cocksuckin’ scientist and here I am, trying to do him a favor… trying to take away his pain. Ain’t that a bitch?
“I reckon. But it would feel nice. Sort of like we’re still human bein’s, you know?” I say, putting a sorry whine into my voice as I say this. Like I’m about to cry, but really I’m about to laugh because he’s falling for it.
“I know. I haven’t felt all that human in a while, not without Annie by my side.” His eyes get all big like he’s about to cry. What a loser. What a sap. I can’t bear to watch this madness, so I walk to the kitchen and fetch shot glasses from the cupboard. I already scoped out the place pretty good, which should make people on Chris’ end of the stick worried, but he doesn’t even notice, so wrapped up in his own shit. Maybe his ass is drunker than I expect. I sit back down with the shot glasses, placing them in front of us on the coffee table, filling mine halfway and Chris’ all the way to the tippety top. It’s too dark for him to tell the difference.
“You must love her lots,” I say. Listen to me. Love. That’s a riot and a half. Love is the biggest fraud anybody ever done created.
Love ain’t nothin’ more than two sets of genitals slamming together like a drum beat.
Love is a hot meal and total silence.
“I do,” he says and my heart just about explodes with rainbows and unicorns.
I change the subject because I don’t want to know too much about that pretty princess. She’s gonna be just like Christmas mornin’. I wanna leave some of it as a surprise. I can’t wait to see her come through that door. I’ll be so damned rock hard; I might not be able to contain myself. I almost make an excuse to take the lantern and walk to the bathroom, so I can have another gander at that sweet candy in the picture on the wall.
“Let me ask you something. You ever killed a man, Christian?”
He looks at me like I just told him I’m about to corn-hole his wife, which ain’t so far from the truth, mind ya’.
“I mean to ask because this thing is getting pretty far out, you know? What if somebody came into your house and attacked your family? You think you could defend yourself? I know you love your family, but how far would you go to protect them?”
I pour another shot for him, and he takes it. Maybe I’m getting at his nerves, making him think about all the bad shit that may happen. We take three shots in a row. I skip one altogether but he doesn’t notice. I guess my question really rattled his birdcage, cause he’s taking shots on his own now, no need for Edgar to push too hard on it.
“Yes, I guess I could kill if I had to. I’d do whatever it takes.”
“Good man,” I say.
“My family means everything to me.”
“Again, good man. Wish I had a pop like you growin’ up. Somebody to protect me from all the crazies out there,” I say, pointing at the window. Even though we can’t see through it for all the snow, he looks at the window, nodding. He knows about the crazies. He just don’t know how fuckin’ close he is to The Crazy Train itself. The poor sucker.
“So where did you grow up?” he asks me, wanting to change the subject again himself. I feel like he already asked me this, so maybe he’s trying to wear me down, trying to get me to slip up. I pour another shot and he takes it real fast. Motherfucker is on autopilot now, hip-hip-hooray. I pretend to take a shot, but he don’t notice. He’s too wrapped up in his own damn head.
“Here and there. Grew up on the road mostly, like I said. Started drinkin’ and acting a fool when I was real young.” I pause, looking at the fire.
Here I go. Ready?
“And in case you’re wondering why I asked, yeah, I killed a man once.” Once. Can you believe that? Sometimes, the best lies have an ounce of truth in them. This is sorta like the total freakin’ opposite of that I guess. Or should I say, I reckon. Christian trusts me when I get to reckonin’.
Another shot, down the hatch. I take one this time, since he’s way ahead of me. I need to feel loose, just the same as anybody else in this here situation that can become quite troublin’.
“Really?” he asks, his jaw opening to reveal a set of pretty white teeth, shining in the lukewarm fake-ass fire.
“Yep. Man in a bar, he came at me with a knife. I was minding my own business but I took a bet against him that night, that I could whoop him in a game of pool. He lost pretty bad. I took my winnings and he was mighty gracious about it, but I guess he got to stewin’ a bit, cause out of nowhere, he comes at me with the biggest dang knife I ever did see.”
“Jesus.”
“Fuckin’ aye,” I say, suddenly realizing that I’ve slipped from my Precious Gentleman routine. A bit early for that, but he’s flapping in the boozy wind anyhow. He’s losing his shit.
“Did you go to jail?”
“For a spell, just ‘cause I couldn’t make bail. But the bartender said it was self-defense. That was true, though. I was only protecting myself,” I say. None of this is true, but you probably already figured that out, didn’t you? You’re awful smart, ain’t ya’?
“I can’t imagine.”
I get real serious and my jaw gets all tight, flexing hard as hell, and leaning in closer to him as I pour another shot. We’re gonna need another bottle soon. “Listen to me,” I say to him, my voice dropping low, then lower still. “When you gotta do it, you’ll do it without thinking. So you say you can’t imagine, but it’ll happen when you least expect it. Somebody will come at you, and you’ll snap into action.”
He is scared shitless, looking into my eyes, thinking about what I’ve dug up inside him, hoping to summon that kinda courage that I’m jawwin’ about. He don’t got it, cause he’s a spineless jellyfish. He wouldn’t even have the balls to buy what I got inside me—all this devilin’ fire to take what’s mine-mine-mine—even if they sold it at the department store. He don’t stand a chance, not in this world.
I feel like I’m doing him a favor, ain’t that strange?
I pull out my knife, the one Skippy stuck me with. “This is the knife I used on that guy when he came rompin’ at me. My friend Bobby gave it to me for my birthday the day before. Ain’t that lucky on me?” I lie to him again. I’m sure that he’s hearing my real voice now, not that dog-and-pony show that I’m used to puttin’ on with strangers.
“I don’t know if I can do it, Edgar. I’m not like you,” he says, belching between words, and I can’t but help feeling kind of offended. “I can’t kill.”
His head lolls to the side like I almost laugh when I think to myself that it’s about to roll off his neck. This fairy gets drunker than an anorexic teenage girl. Too fuckin’ easy.
“You’ll have to. It’s gonna happen real soon, you best believe me. And you’ll have to defend your family.” Does he even hear what I’m saying? He’s got a thick skull, this one. Thick and drunk.