-Anyway, what can I say? She ended up transferring the next semester. Bates or Hobart, I think.
…
-What?
-I can’t believe you just told me that.
-C’mon, it’s no big deal. I mean, who cares now right?
…
…
…
-Jesus, man, will you stop it with the pinched face? You want another drink? Tell you what. It’s Friday. Have another drink.
-I don’t want another drink.
-Suit yourself. Train isn’t for another, like, twenty-five minutes. I think they serve food here, but it’ll probably take next to forever. Oh, wow—hey. Hey, dude. Check it out. Redhead—three o’clock. Phew, I’m telling you, man. Manhattan in June, it’s like a goddamn torture chamber.
-Here.
-What’s this?
-Give the bartender the rest.
-You’re leaving?
-Yeah, I’m leaving.
-Didn’t you hear what I just said? The train back to Connecticut isn’t for another twenty-five minutes. What, you’re just going to mope around and read your email on your phone? Call the wife and tell her to save you some chicken pot pie? Don’t be such a pussy. We’ll ride back together.
…
…
…
-Dude, wait! Hold up a sec….
-You raped a girl, you self-involved prick.
-What?
-You’re a rapist.
-Jesus, man, keep it down will you? I don’t think the whole bar heard you.
-You and three other guys. I can’t believe you just told me that.
-Oh, please. And anyway, it was just me and two other guys and one was her stupid boyfriend. What’s the big deal, huh? It was twenty-three years ago.
-What’s that supposed to mean?
-Well, I think it means it was twenty-three years ago.
-That’s all you have to say for yourself? So, what? There’s some statute of limitations that erases the fact that you’re subhuman piece of shit?
-Christ, why’re you being such a skirt?
-Let go of my arm.
-Fine. Have your stupid arm back. You know what I think? I think you ought to step off with all this self-righteous attitude of yours.
-Oh, is that a fact?
-Yeah. You’re too uptight that’s your fucking problem.
-Gee, I guess that’s me all over.
-Goddamn right that’s you all over.
-Jesus—how can you be so glib about this?
-Listen, dude, just forget I said anything.
-Pin is out of the grenade now.
-Well, stick it back in.
-How can you even live with yourself?
-Live with myself? Y’know what? Screw you, man. Screw you and double-screw your suburban Knights of Columbus holier-than-thou sanctimonious bullshit. You’re telling me you’ve never taken advantage of a chick, ever? You’re a goddamn liar. Yeah, that’s right. You’re a liar. And I’ll tell you something else too, dickhead. You don’t know jack squat about me.
-Two minutes ago you told me you gang-banged a drunk girl back in college, and I should just forget all about it?
-Jesus, it was different back then.
-Different?
-It was the nineties.
-Oh, that’s just perfect. The nineties. Just perfect.
-Hey, and I’ll tell you something else too, Rachel Maddow. Like it or not, I’m a goddamn executive vice president in our division now.
-Meaning?
-You know what I mean.
-Oh, so you’re threatening my job now? Over this? Jesus, you are drunk.
…
…
…
…
…
…
-Look, you know what? I’m sorry, all right? I apologize. It was a joke. That’s right. It was all just one big, sick joke, and I made it all up. I was just pulling your leg to see how you would react and you took the bait like a charm. You’re so gullible. Not a shred of it even happened.
-Why don’t I believe you?
-I don’t know, but you should.
…
…
…
-Look, I swear on my six-year-old son, and I’m sorry if it upset you, okay? I didn’t have lunch. I mean, two of these double Grey Goose on the rocks and boom—straight to my head. C’mon, man….
…
…
…
…
-My wife….
-Huh? Your wife? What, about your wife? You need to call her or something? Okay, that’s cool. I understand.
-No, it’s not that….
…
…
…
…
-Oh.
…
-Oh, Jesus.
…
-Oh, God. Oh, shit….
-Yeah. She was raped like that back in college too.
~ fin ~
A huge fan of the interpretive private eye films The Long Goodbye (1973) and The Drowning Pool (1975), Kieran Shea‘s stories have appeared previously in Shotgun Honey, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, and elsewhere. He’s also written a couple of novels and one short story collection.
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