Six (‘seece’ en français)

Levesque

            As he did each night, Levesque sat at the window with his bottle of Stoli and a heavy shot glass and watched the night descend. Beth had run from the table two hours ago. The bottle, full at the start, was now at the midway point.

As the rain increased its rhythm on the windows, he increased the pace of his race to melancholy.

He hadn’t meant to be cruel. Or at least now he thought he hadn’t meant to be. That was the trouble when he didn’t drink. Things weren’t as clear. He wasn’t as in control. The other piece of him had room to take over.

He’d wanted to see the emotion rise up in her eyes. He’d wanted to see the hurt, the pain, the anguish. She hadn’t acted with any sympathy towards him as he relayed his morning.

He’d seen the concern behind her eyes when she asked after Davis. She knew what time it was. She knew he would have been there with J.D., getting the store ready.

She would have known because Davis would have just left the house. His house. Levesque’s house. Levesque knew he came every day, ten minutes after he left for the store. He knew it was why Davis was late everyday. It was Davis’ own little FU for his not granting Beth the divorce she and Davis were so desperate for.

He couldn’t grant it. That would have been giving in to his father. He burned with rage for that old man. He took a drink.

“Would it have killed him, just once to approve of something I’d done?” he mumbled to himself.

A gust of wind rattled the bay window. He saw his father’s image there, reflected from the photos hanging above the fireplace.

“You were right Dad. You were 100% right. Are you happy? She’s everything you said she was.”

The rain lashed harder against the windows, a bolt of lightning cut the sky. He took a long pull from the bottle and remembered his father’s words when he told him he wasn’t going to Cornell because of Beth:

You idiot. You’re giving up the rest of your life for a cheap fling.”

            “I am not, I love her.”

            “You only think you love her. You think you love her because she’s the first female to smile at you. You think you love her because you’ve been drunk with her a couple of times, and everything seems rosy when you’ve been drinking.”

            “It’s not like that. She cares about me. She –“

            “She cares about what you can provider her. She likes your money. She likes that you come from some. She doesn’t care about you. She just wants the jewels you can put on her fingers, and the comfortable life you can provide. I thought you were smarter than this. If your mother could see you now, God rest her soul.”

            “She does care –“

            “Stop it! I can’t listen to your noise. Do you know where she’s from? Do you know her background?”

            “I know she’s from a shitty part of town –“

            His father’s left hand had reached out and slapped him across the right side of a face, with a quick return to the left.

            “You’ll not ever swear in my presence! Yeah, she lives in a dive downtown. Did you know her father’s a drunk? Never done a day’s honest work in his life. Her mother threw him out ten years ago. After that, he just stumbled into the Chanti night after night, hoping someone would pay his freight. You can’t tie yourself to someone like that. The disease runs in the family. It runs in the blood. She’s going to suck the life out of you.

            “You have to find someone respectable. Someone who’s not going to be seeking out male attention because her father wasn’t a good family man.

Yeah, don’t give me that look. I know the stories about her. How she bats her eyelashes at you and your testosterone charged pals and doors open for her. As soon as you stop with the baubles and trinkets from the store, she’s going to start looking elsewhere.

            “She may claim otherwise, but I know the type. She’s going to get what she wants from you, and move on to the next, you know it, and that’s the only reason your staying. You’re staying because you’re afraid she’ll run off with some other guy if you aren’t around.

“That’s the one thing you’ve got right here. She will. Mark my words.”

 

“God, I hate you,” he said to the rain. He took another long pull from the bottle. His vision blurred as his mind flashed back to the conversation he’d had with his father when he told him he and Beth were getting married:

“You’re a fucking idiot. It’s bad enough you’ve stayed in this piece of shit town for college, but now you’re going to tie yourself down further, with the gold-digger. Son, I can’t condone it.”

            “Why can’t you just admit you were wrong about her?”

            “Because I’m not.”

            “You don’t know anything.”

            “Son, your 20 years old, with a year of college in your home town under your belt. You think you’ve seen the world? You’ve seen nothing of it. You’re a fool if you don’t think I know just how this will end. Your blind to her charms, of which, I grant you there are many, but it doesn’t make you any less of a fool.”

            “Fuck you, Dad.”

            His father rose up from his chair, pushing his shoulders back as he reached his full six feet of height. A vein on the ride side of his forehead began to pulse down to his eyes. The muscles of his chest and arms strained the material of his shirt.

            “If you think for even a minute at 60 I will tolerate that language coming from you, then you also must think I don’t have the ability to throw you across this room. In both instances you would be wrong.”

            He had cowered as his father rose, “I’m sorry.”

            “You’re damn right you’re sorry. You do not have my permission or my approval in this matter. I don’t care how perfect you think she is. You’re going to be hurt by her, and I refuse to say I ever gave you my blessing or anything of the sort in the matter that led to your demise.”

            “You don’t even know her. You refuse to meet her.”

            “I met her once. And I knew her father. That’s all I need to know about her.”

            “Why can’t you have an open mind about anything?”

            “Because I know what’s best for you. I’ve lived a life already. You’ve stayed stuck in the same place. You’ve never been out. I’ve seen some of this world, and it’s a mess. You have to focus on protecting what’s yours. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m trying to protect you right now.”

            “You’re suffocating me. You’ve always suffocated me. Nothing has ever been good enough.”

            “Because you haven’t been good enough. You haven’t pushed yourself, or even attempted to make the most of what you have.”

            “Because I’ve been afraid of you.”

            “And that’s yet another fault of yours, you’re soft. Toughen up. Be a man. This girl is just going to push you around. You need backbone.”

 

“I’m not sorry you’re gone,” he whispered to the window. He emptied the bottle of Stoli. Putting it back on the end table, he knocked over the shot glass. It fell with a thud.

He pushed himself up from the chair. Bracing himself on the window, he stumbled into the kitchen. He went into the refrigerator and found a container of cranberry juice. Unscrewing the top, he took a long drink. He opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and took down a fresh bottle of Stoli. He took another drink from the cranberry juice, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, replaced the top and put it back in the fridge.

He stumbled back to the recliner. Landing with a thud, he unscrewed the top of the fresh Stoli and took a long swallow. He heard Beth’s feet creak across the floorboards upstairs. He took another swallow and went back to remembering.

 

 

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Cinq

Beth

They’d gone through the motions. He’d arrived home at the usual time and announced his presence with the squeaky opening of the cabinet above the refrigerator. She didn’t have to see it to know he was taking down the bottle of vodka. He’d poured a shot, thrown it back and slammed the weighted shot glass down on the counter. This meant he was ready for her.

            When she’d appeared from the laundry room, he’d asked how her day was. She knew he didn’t care. This was just part of the routine. He hadn’t really cared in over ten years. He asked just to go through the motions. It’s what his father had done.

            She’d taken two steaming dishes from the stove and prepared plates for each of them. She’d brought them to the table as he took another shot. He used to try to hide it from her. Now he announced his presence home with the thud of the glass on the counter.

            The routine continued over plates heaped full of chicken stir-fry and rice. She asked him how his day had been. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t care either. His answer was always “great”, followed by a shot of vodka.

            Tonight it had been different. There’d been a tension in the air. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt it, but it was the first time it carried heaviness. It was like the day at work had been too much for him, and he now felt the burden of it all on his shoulders.

            When she’d asked him how the day had been, he said had been different. When she asked him how so, he said the store had been robbed. She had felt genuine shock, and a certain amount of pity, when looking at him, and how dejected he felt.

            She’d thought it must be his father. He still couldn’t get out from under the fear of his father’s wrath even after all these years.

            He’d told her two men had held the place up right around 9:15am. One had been massive, and had used Davis as a human shield of a sort. At this, she’d kept her face impassive. That was part of their deal, to never speak of, or show emotion about the elephant in their relationship, Davis.

            He’d told her how they picked all the diamonds, gone through real fast, and done it, just so. They’d left everything else. He thought it strange to have left the other items as many of them were of great value.

            The police had mentioned how strange it was, but they didn’t offer much else. He said he felt like they thought maybe he had something to do with it, which was crazy.

She was only half listening. She couldn’t stop thinking of Davis. She was worried for him. J.D. hadn’t mentioned whether or not he was okay, and that scared her. Her stomach knotted with the pain. She thought she’d risk his anger.

“Is Davis okay?”

J.D. hadn’t looked at her. He was still staring at the chair he’d been telling the story to. He reached for the bottle and poured another shot. He took it. A strange look passed across his face and his eyes snapped into focus. It was as though the weight had lifted.

“He’s dead.”

She’d held herself together. Emitting only a small gasp. Every inch of her wanted to burst with the anguish she felt. She didn’t know why it popped into her head or why it mattered. She knew it was unfair to ask. But she had to ask the question.

“Could you have done anything to stop it?”

“They had guns. They shot him in the head. The larger of the two had caved his face in with a punch before hand. After they’d taken everything, they shot him. I saw a hand come up. Then the gun was aimed at his head. His brains splattered all over the display cases and you could hear the fragments of bone rattle around on the floor. He’s dead.”

The emptiness of his voice hadn’t helped, nor his attention to detail, but they didn’t break her. It was the loss. The tears were coming, but she had been determined not to give him the satisfaction.

She had excused herself, and went up to the bedroom and slammed the door. She’d buried her face in the pillows and sobbed.

That’s where she was now. Sobbing. She sobbed for Davis. She sobbed for herself. She sobbed for the loss of the complicated but decent man she thought she’d married. She sobbed in fear of the cold, dispassionate man who had just told her about the death of her lover. She sobbed until she was empty and all she felt was numb.

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Quatre

Chamberlain

“What got you in there?” Chamberlain asked Reilly as they moved from the store towards their cars.

“That guy. I dunno. There’s just something about him. About his story. You know? I didn’t like it.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t like it?”

“Something felt off.”

“You didn’t hear much of it. Why’d you get so worked up when he said the guy was massive like you? It was just description.”

Reilly’s reply was lost in the creak of his car door opening.

“What was that?”

“I said, it just felt like the guy was hiding something, trying to shift the focus to something else.”

Chamberlain rolled his eyes, “Jesus, kid, how you go from him hiding something to him accusing you, I will not understand. Let’s head back to the station and write it up.”

“You got it.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“Any idea why Levesque, a robbery and this date would have any significance?”

“Not a clue.”

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