Page 37 of Demise

Bones

I shut the car door, breathing in the cold New Jersey air. It smells different. It all looks the same. Run-down buildings, familiar faces, same kids running around in the streets, but its smells changed.

Like everything’s falling apart. Like I don’t have it under control anymore. Like the fucking castle I built is crumbling around me and I don’t know which wall to hold up first.

I walk toward the door of my bar, opening it and stepping into some warmth. Mae’s got Christmas lights hung around the bar and a Christmas tree with silver tinsel.

“Bones, good to see you back,” Carl says from the poker table. He and the usual boys are playing a round. They all greet me.

“Good to be back, gentlemen,” I say. “Don’t lose all your money.” They laugh and wave me off.

I see Mae drying some glasses. She’s looking at me, a little hurt in her eyes, a little I wish things were different.

I slide onto the barstool, a little sorer than I was earlier. “Mae, give me a shot and a beer, please.” She obliges and I take the shot after she serves it to

me. The chatter is low in the bar. The TV is playingIt’s A Wonderful Life.

“You okay?” she asks me.

I shake my head, pulling my pain pills from my coat pocket and popping one, chasing it with my beer. I look up at the TV. What the hell does George Bailey have to complain about?

What?

All his dreams didn’t come true. Beautiful wife, warm home, good kids. I’ll show the man some fucking problems.

I hear the door to the bar open behind me. I turn to see Sweep and Trig.

“Sweep, come play a round with us,” Carl says.

“Another time,” Sweep replies. He walks up to me. “I need to talk to you.”

I sniff. “Yeah, I seem to be popular today.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is serious.”

“I know that,” I reply.

“Mae, give me two shots and a beer,” Trig says.

“Sure,” she says. “Sweep, you want anything?”

He waves her off. Looking back to me, he signals toward the stairs.

I nod, sliding from the stool. We head up. I remove my coat, hanging it on the back of the door. Sweep takes a seat on the couch, rubbing between his eyes.

“You got another headache?” I ask. He’s been doing that a good bit lately.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“You need to go get your eyes checked. You can’t see for shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I got some things I need to tell you,” he says as I sit in the chair.

“So, tell me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Bexley

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