6

I sat in a padded booth, a cold brew gripped between my hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a group of four at a table across the space, still talking and laughing and clinking glasses. A small stage more or less in front of me lay empty, the guitarist who’d played there earlier having long since left.

I pulled the mug to my mouth and tipped it back. Nothing wet my lips but suds. I focused on the glass and found it was empty of everything except my own misery.

I swiveled my head toward the bar, waiting until the room stopped spinning, and waved to the bartender, a flat-chested, androgynous woman with arrow-straight brown hair parted precisely down the middle. She wore a rib-length checkered blazer, a frilly blouse, a yellow ascot tie, and probably something below the waist, too, though I couldn’t see what with the bar in the way. She acknowledged me with a flick of a dish towel, nodded to the two remaining patrons at the bar, and headed over.

I pushed my mug to the side of the table as she approached. “Another beer.”

She ignored my glass and sat down opposite me. “Oh, I got your drift with the initial wave.”

I glanced at her hands, which seemed too large. Her voice was also deeper than I’d expected and was marked with a notable lisp. “You didn’t bring another, though.”

“You’re quick.”

I grunted, and she smiled.

“You’re Daggers, right?”

I nodded, but the room started to spin again, so I stopped. “That’s right. How’d you know?”

“You’ve been coming here for a year, off and on. I keep my ears open. That’s one of the things bartenders are good at, don’t you know?”

“Well, you’ve never introduced yourself.”

“The bar’s named Jolliet Jjade’s. I’m always here. I figured you could deduce the rest for yourself. You are a detective, aren’t you?”

I wet my lips. “How’d you guess that?”

“Were you not paying attention during the part where I said you’ve been coming for a year and that I keep my ears open? Besides, it’s not as if it’s hard to tell.”

“That I’m a detective?”

“That you’re a cop. How many beers have you had?”

I snorted. “You forgot? Guess it’s my lucky day. Where’s the tab?”

“I was seeing if you remembered, actually.”

“If you must know, I’ve had one fewer than I need. Which is why I was trying to get you to bring me another.”

Jjade gave me the squint eye. “Yeah, I may run a bar and all, but I find that letting my best patrons keel over from acute alcohol poisoning isn’t good for business. Better to have them die slowly from cirrhosis after years of liver abuse.”

“You’re a savvy entrepreneur.” I might’ve slurred that last bit. Entrepreneuuuuur.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” asked Jjade.

“Trying to have a few drinks in miserable silence. You’re not helping.”

“Yeah, I got the gist of that already. I meant why. You’re married, right?”

“Gods, you just don’t quit. And here I thought I was the detective. What don’t you know about me?”

“You’re wearing a wedding band,” said Jjade.

I glanced at my hand. “Oh.”

“Look,” said Jjade. “It’s not my place to pry, but like I said, I’ve noticed you here before. More times than I can count. A couple of times with those cop friends of yours, but most of the time by yourself. It’s late. You’re here, again, alone. If you’re married…”

I felt my teeth grind. “What are you getting at?”

“If you want to talk about anything, I’m here. I don’t mind. Comes with the job, to a degree.”

“I don’t want to talk.” That came out in more of a growl than I’d intended.

“Not a problem,” said Jjade. “Just offering. But either way, I’m cutting you off. Six beers is enough, especially after those shots you started with.”

“Six?”

Jjade smiled as she stood. “So you didn’t know. Your damage is a half crown and ten. Leave it on the table before you leave.”

Jjade wandered back to the bar. I dug some coins out of my pocket, counting them twice because math seemed to be giving me a problem at the moment, and stood. If the room had swirled earlier, now it decided to dance a jig. I steadied myself on the edge of the booth and took a deep breath.

I heard Jjade’s voice from by the bar. “You going to be okay?”

I waved idly. “Just need some air. I’ll be fine.”

I stumbled out the door and into the chill night air, stopping once again to steady myself against the front of the building. I filled my lungs with New Welwic’s finest, mostly free of the horrid scents of stale piss and rotting garbage that plagued the city in the summer months. The cool air felt good on my face, but it alone couldn’t sober me. I should’ve asked for some water before I’d left.

I took a few tentative steps and managed not to fall on my face. I felt strength grow in my legs, bringing me confidence, though who knew how misplaced it might be? The alcohol probably wasn’t making me the best judge of my own abilities. Still, as long as I didn’t appear so drunk as to make a tempting target for New Welwic’s most unsavory individuals… I couldn’t risk getting jumped. The folks at the station would never let me live it down, even after death. I could imagine the tombstone. Here lies Jake Daggers, detective extraordinaire, mugged to death over twelve coppers and a leather jacket by an ogre half-breed with a brain the size of a pea.

I shook off the morbid thoughts and kept moving. Physical activity, that was the key to sobriety, wasn’t it? It burned off the alcohol…or was that a myth? Whatever. I was going with it.

I walked, but not toward my apartment. That was too close. It wouldn’t provide me the activity I needed, never mind that it was the last place in the world I wanted to be at the moment. Every time I thought of Nicole I felt the anger the beer had displaced growing inside me, frothy and thick and mixed with equal portions of guilt and despair. I couldn’t face her. Not yet. At least Tommy would forgive me. He wouldn’t even remember what happened, I’d bet. As long as it didn’t keep happening. One way or another, it wouldn’t.

I let my gut lead me, and lead it did, treating me to a unique slice of after hours city life. I travelled down Monroe Street, then south through the Mercantile District, past cobblers and dressmakers and haberdasheries, all of them closed and shuttered, the lanterns on the streets outside lit for safety but none left burning in the windows. I stopped short of making it all the way to the sea, turning somewhere around Appleton before heading back. By the time I’d made it to Rucker Park, I’d started to feel almost human, the stars having ceased their constant meteor shower and coalesced back into distinct, stationary points.

I stopped in a clearing at the edge of a pond thick with reeds, frogs croaking a steady melody from within. The moon hung low in the sky, hovering over the tops of buildings to the south. I wasn’t much of an astronomer, but that meant it was late, didn’t it? Two or even three? I’d neglected to glance at the clock at Jjade’s before leaving. Fight or no, I needed to get to bed, otherwise I’d never make it to work in the morning, at a reasonable hour or otherwise.

I looked around me, trying to get a sense of my surroundings—and suddenly realized my gut was an asshole.

The two benches which straddled the splitting path across from the pond gave it away. I glanced at the body of water, remembering exactly where I’d knelt down. Where I’d reached into my pocket and produced the ring. Where I’d taken Nicole’s hand as she squeaked and covered her mouth with the other.

The vision didn’t last long. As quickly as it came to me it flew away, replaced with a new one. Nicole in our apartment, yelling and crying. Clenching her fists and pointing her fingers. Tommy, crying in the background. But I saw more than tonight’s events. Others, too. Me, leaving the apartment, slamming the door as Nicole’s angry shouts trailed behind me. Her shoulder, pulling away from my hand as I tried to cuddle after a long day at work. Coming home, time and again to a darkened home. Cold meals. Drink after drink after drink.

I was wrong. The beer hadn’t drowned the anger. It had only roiled it up, and now it came back, frothy and bubbling.

I leaned over and retched, vomit splashing to the ground with a wet splat. I heaved, twice, three times, the beer rushing from my stomach to soak the earth. Sadly, my anger and disappointment didn’t leave with it.

When I stood, I saw for a brief moment all the images overlaid, the happy and the sad, the good and the bad, but mostly the ones that infuriated me. Nicole was at the center of them all. But so was I.

In a rush of pure anger, I reached down to my hand, wrenched the wedding band from my finger, and gripped it tight. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I intended to do—throw it into the pond, maybe—but the reckless rage faded as quickly as it came, much like my alcohol-induced malaise.

With a scowl on my face, I stuffed the ring deep into my pants pocket, turned, and stumbled off.