Skeletons in the Rum



  Skeletons in the Rum

  By Cricket Nelson

  Copyright © 2013 by Cricket Nelson

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted without permission in writing from Cricket Nelson.

  "Nine seventy-three," the acne scarred young man said as he rang up my twelve pack of beer.

  Without saying a word, I slid my VISA Gold out of my wallet and handed it to him. I tried my hardest to stand still. If I were to sway from my previous twelve pack, he might not sell me another one. I'd only go somewhere else anyway, but I'd like to avoid it if possible.

  "Sign here," he said as he slid the little white receipt in front of me with a chewed up blue pen.

  I scribbled my name on the tiny line and pushed it back.

  "Thanks, have a nice night," he said as he laid the yellow copy of the receipt on top of my beer.

  "Thanks, you too," I said as I felt safe enough to expel my beer and rum breath.

  Too often, I had to hold my words because they carried the odor of my sins. Not that I cared, but for some reason, once people smell it on you, it's the only thing they focus on. It doesn't matter what the hell you say, it's all garbage once they smell the weakness on your breath. Judgmental pricks.

  "Ah shit," I mumbled as I staggered across the parking lot into a little pothole and spun around off balance. Luckily I caught myself on the hood of my car. "Place is crap. It's falling apart. I'll tell that little asshole he'd better get that fixed or I'll sue his ass," I slurred as I put my beer on the hood of my car and marched back into the store.

  The little bell on top of the door alerted the acne boy store clerk as I swung the door open. Dumb kid just turned around and looked at me with a blank expression.

  "Yes?" He asked.

  "I almost fell out there," I pointed. "Parking lot's shit, and you'd better get it fixed. If I fall again I'll sue you and your fucking parents," I spattered out and wiped my chin with the back of my hand as I waited for his response.

  "Sorry sir. I've complained to headquarters, but there's nothing I can do about it. I just work here."

  "Yeah, well have your parents get out here and put a cone up on that shit! This place sucks. And their gas is priced too high too," I added as I strained my eyes to focus on him.

  "My parents?" He laughed, "My dad lives somewhere in Canada, and my mom is home sleeping after a long shift at the nursing home. They don't have any construction cones."

  "Well they fucking should! And they should clean this place up, it's sick. A pathetic gas station," I pointed around inside the convenience store.

  "Okay sir. I haven't spoken to my dad in years, but I'll try to track him down and tell him that some drunk guy in Syracuse wants him to put a construction cone in the parking lot of the Yellow Duck gas station. You'd better go now, sir," he laughed.

  "Drunk guy? I don't see no drunk guy," I swayed back and forth as I looked to my right and left. "I know you ain't talking about me. Cus, I'll whip your ass. I just wanted you to fix the parking lot before someone gets hurt. Some kids could get killed out there."

  "Yes sir, we'll get right on it. Have a good night," he said with a smile. "I do hope you're not driving."

  "Damn punk kids," I mumbled under my breath as I walked back out the door.

  I swooped up my twelve pack, pushed the unlock button on my keyless entry, and slid behind the wheel of my practically new BMW. Three years old, but still, I've kept it clean, well maintained, and garaged the whole time. It's probably the best thing I've got.

  I ripped open the cardboard end of the beer box and pulled out a blue can. It was cold and wet with condensation. Its contents of delicious escape were contained in a beautiful aluminum piece of artwork. I held up the can and admired its craftsmanship.

  "Ah yes," I hissed as I popped the top and guzzled half the beer down in one gulp. "Damn that's good," I said as I set the can on the dash and started the engine. "Damn Victor, you're good too," I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror as I zoomed in on my icy blue eyes. I still look as good as I ever did. Maybe even better. I don't give a shit what Veronica said. I studied my nose, my chin line, and ran my fingers through my wavy blonde locks of hair and stroked them towards the back. If you ask me, I look a little like Matthew McConaughey. Maybe even better.

  I swiped my beer off the dash, swigged some down, shifted my BMW into drive and pulled out of the Yellow Duck parking lot. Back to my shitty apartment. I hated going back there. I used to have a big beautiful house, but apparently Veronica wanted the house and not me. At least I got to keep my car. I'd been spending more time in it to avoid the solitude of my apartment.

  I never realized how the noise and chatter of children make a place a home. Without it, the silence is deafening. Brats used to drive me nuts though. I honestly didn't think I'd miss them. Maybe I don't. It's probably just their noise I miss. They are snotty, selfish, ungrateful little leeches anyway. All they ever wanted to do was talk on the phone, text other little snot-faces, and watch television. They never bothered with me.

  Christopher was fourteen and Katie was almost a teenager. Close enough, so her teen-stench was already showing. Veronica turned them against me, I know it. I did nothing but love and support them all. Everything I did was for them, and they turned around and booted me out of my own life!

  I've made mistakes. Nothing big anyway, but who hasn't? They can't blame me for everything. They have to claim their responsibility too.

  "Turned their backs on me, that's what they did," I said out loud as I threw my empty on the passenger floor and cracked open a new can.

  When I looked back up, I had crossed the double yellow line, so I quick jerked the wheel back over. There were no other cars on the road, but it would still be polite of me to stay in my own lane.

  The flashing lights in my rearview mirror nearly stopped my heart. "Aw shit! The police," I said as I unlocked my door and slowed down. For a minute I considered jumping out and running into the woods, but I knew I was in no shape. I'd make it to the ditch, and wind up getting tazed.

  I stopped, put my car in park, and opened my window about half way. I figured if they couldn't smell my breath, I'd be fine.

  "License and registration," a man's voice ordered as he scanned the side of my car with a flashlight. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

  I grabbed my insurance card and stuck it out the window as the officer illuminated my empty cans with his flashlight. I really need to get a garbage bag or something, I thought.

  "Victor, when are you going to learn? Most people that drink and drive, don't literally drive around with the beer still in their hand! What is wrong with you? You've lost everything you have because of this shit. Now you want to lose your license too? Maybe your life? Maybe take someone else's life? Get out of the car. Come on. Put your hands up on your head," Mark, my ex-brother in-law demanded.

  "Come on Mark. I'm almost home," I pleaded as I got out of the car.

  "Do you have any weapons on you?" He asked as he patted me down.

  "No, I don't own any weapons."

  "You're driving one," he growled. "Geez Victor, you look like shit! What happened to you? Veronica told me you'd fallen apart, but I couldn't imagine how bad. Look at this, you've pissed yourself, you smell like death, and you're out driving around," he shook his head.

  "No, I must've spilled my beer."

  "Okay, now they make urine
scented beer. I'm going to have you take a breathalyzer. Sign this," he said. "And I'm going to ask you to walk this white line over here in a minute, but you can start by reciting the alphabet, followed by your daughter's middle name," he said as he wrote on his clipboard.

  "Katie's middle name? What's that have to do with anything?"

  "Just seeing you intoxicated you are," he smirked. "Listen buddy, I don't like this any more than you do. I've always thought the world of you. I thought you and Veronica would be happy together forever," he paused and scribbled more words on his paper. "Um, the middle name anytime," he looked up and his eyes met mine.

  Mark was a middle aged heavyset man of average height with dark hair and eyes, and he always had a nice tan. Even in the winter. Just like his sister Veronica. Boy was she beautiful. I always forgot how beautiful she was, but I caught a glimpse of her in Mark's brown eyes.

  "Oh man," I rubbed my forehead. "Boy, I know it, but I've just got so much going on. Shit kid over at the Yellow Duck, sabotaged the parking lot. Pushed me down into a pothole. Said he knew me, and went to Canada with my dad," I shook my head. "Dumb fuck kid, didn't even know my dad's been dead for ten years. My dad," I started to cry.

  "I know Victor. I know. It's been hard. But you've got to get your shit together. Snap out of it. You're forty-five years old, and look at you. Screwed up