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And then-
1:09 a.m. Tavers: Mindy won’t let me sleep until I get confirmation you’re home safe. I’m tired as fuck. Go home and save us both.
The second one causes me to bark out a laugh. I can picture it clearly, too. His wife probably kicked him to the couch. She’s a strong one. A feisty little Italian thing no more than five-foot-two and a hundred and fifteen pounds, but she’s got him by the balls. No doubt about it.
I’m not in the mood to appease either of them, though, no matter how cute she is, so I fire back another text and pick up my fourth shot.
1:10 a.m. Me: Tell her I appreciate that and thanks. I’m at Bar 9 having a few drinks to unwind. Don’t worry about me, Mommy, I’ll be home after bar close.
I tack on a pair of pink kissy lips for added effect. Tavers’ response comes quickly and says only two words.
1:11 a.m. Tavers: Fuck off.
“Your girlfriend?” the old man beside me croaks.
“What?” I ask and tilt my head to get a quick look at him. He’s slumped so far over the bar his forehead nearly touches the top, but his eyes are directed at me. He nods his head toward my phone.
“Sending you messages?”
Normally, I’d find the prying rude and would probably say so, but tonight, I’m all out of fucks to give. “Nah. My work partner. His wife doesn’t like me out drinking alone, but sometimes that’s the only way to go.”
“Cheers to that,” the old man mutters before taking a hefty swallow of his drink. It looks like some sort of bubbly concoction, but I couldn’t begin to guess what’s in the glass.
The noise jacks up a decibel as the kids in the corner cheer at their pool game. I glance over at them, unable to help my curiosity. Part of my job is to always be aware of my surroundings. Even a few innocent kids can turn from rowdy to deadly when alcohol is involved.
“Do you remember being so carefree? I sure as shit don’t. All I know now is misery…” He trails off, mumbling under his breath and dropping his forehead until it’s flat on the bar. Good God, this guy is drunk. I wonder why Tom hasn’t called him a cab yet. It’s obvious he’s nearing the point of overserved. Lucky bastard. If I have my way tonight, I’m well on my own way to being drunk. On that thought, I slam down the fifth shot. I can feel it now. That first hint of alcohol coursing through my system. Everything inside starts to warm as if molten lava fills my veins. It almost prickles, and the numbness starts to take over. I know if I were to stand right now, I’d stumble.
His words make me think back on my own years as a young adult, and I can commiserate. “No,” I growl darkly as thoughts of my lost childhood take hold. The minute Aislin disappeared, I spiraled down a desolate path of hopelessness. All these years later, I still haven’t recovered.
I wonder if it’ll always be like this. At least with her body found, I can begin to have some closure. The only way to completely close the book on this chapter would be to find her killer and bring him to justice. I won’t settle for anything less. My phone vibrates on the bar. Without looking, I reach down and press the button to completely turn it off.
He looks over at me again. “You’re young, son. You’ve got plenty of time to fix your wrongs. Not me, though. Nope. I’ve fucked up beyond repair this time.”
I bring my last shot to my mouth and look over at him. “Oh, yeah? Can’t say there’s much in life that’s completely unforgiveable.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve hit the jackpot this time.”
“I haven’t spoken to my brother in about a decade. Went and saw him for the first time tonight. The visit was short, but I left with the sense we could patch things up someday.”
“Good for you, son,” he grunts, not unkindly. I get the distinct impression that my words affect him. I’m just not sure how.
I give him a side glance, definitely feeling the full effects of the vodka now. “Yep.”
Our side of the bar goes quiet. I bet the liquor has finally knocked this guy unconscious. I see Tom on the other side of the bar and start to wave him down when the man speaks again.
“Fucked up,” he mumbles. After a brief pause, he goes on. “I didn’t mean to.”
Normally, I’d leave well enough alone, but a strange vibe hits me square in the gut. I’d be a shit detective if I didn’t trust my own gut. So I press him further. “What didn’t you mean to do?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Can you fix it?” I ask.
“No,” he groans. “No, goddammit.” Now his voice is hardly a whisper. “She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve what I did to her.”
“Did you cheat on your wife?”
He peers over at me with bloodshot eyes. Now that I’m seeing him head on, I can see he looks like shit. I thought he was three sheets in before, but now I can see he’s probably been on a week-long bender. His hair looks dirty and matted, the grease from being unwashed slicking it back in places.
