AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“His last drink was a Jagerbomb. You know what those things do to people.”
Scott frowns, and looks from Dixon to me, concerned. “Last guy I had to kick out loved Jagerbombs. Got so drunk he thought he could impress these ladies by karate-chopping through a table. Broke his hand and his forearm so bad the bone showed, and he still tried to punch me when I told him he should call it a night and find a hospital. If you ask me, those drinks should be illegal.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Not… Jager…” Dixon says.
“Look at the drunk asshole. Bet he’s already feeling the hangover,” Scott says. “What do you want to do with him? Throw him in the dumpster?”
"I wish.”
Except I don’t. What I want is for Scott to get his phone charger and get the hell out of here.
“He’s here after hours. He’s in no state to do anything. I should call the cops. Let them deal with this idiot.”
“The cops? What? Why?”
“This Jager-loving asshole can’t drive, so he should sober up in the drunk tank. Let Costa Oscura PD earn the tax dollars I don’t declare.” Scott already has his phone out, his fingers putting in the police's non-emergency number.
“Wait, don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you know that it’ll take forever for the cops to get here. It’s two in the morning on a Friday night — they’re busy handling actual emergencies. I really don’t want to wait around for some cop to get here and take this guy off our hands,” I say. Doubt flickers in Scott’s eyes, but I know I need to do more. My mind races, searching. “Besides, I’ve already called this guy’s buddy and told him he can meet us at that all-night diner a couple of blocks from here to pick up his friend. Just help me load him into my car and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You sure, Alex?”
“Positive.”
Scott shrugs, puts his phone away, and then grabs Dixon under his arms. “I got him. You just get the door for me, OK?”
I nod. This is turning out even easier than I thought it would. I’d been going to the gym for months to get stronger, just so I could be sure that I could drag Dixon around, but now I don’t even have to do that. “Thanks, Scott.”
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, I should thank you, because normally, taking care of a drunk like this would be my job.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just going to plop him in a booth at that diner, get him a cup of coffee, and let his friend take care of him. Honestly, it’s on my way home, so it’s basically nothing.”
“You’re a good person, Alex,” he says.
I smile at him. Even with what I’m about to do, I like to think I’m a good person, and it feels nice to hear Scott say that. With Dixon, what I’m doing is justice. After what he did to my family, to someone I love, I have no qualms about what I’m going to do to him.
“Thanks, Scott.”
Minutes later, Dixon is slumped over in the front seat of my car, his cheek resting against the dashboard of my crappy Ford Focus. It’s a faded navy blue, the paint job has more chips than a bag of Lays, it’s twelve years old, it’s prone to overheating, and I hate driving the thing — I’d rather be behind the handlebars of my motorcycle — but I never ride my bike to work. Not once. It’s part of my plan — to do nothing to attract attention from Dixon or any of his MC buddies, and few cars are as unremarkable as a Ford Focus.
As I steer through the darkened streets of Costa Oscura, I glance at Dixon's comatose form, ensuring he isn’t stirring. I can’t relax until Dixon is tied up in the room I have prepared for him. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Not from fear — no, this isn't fear; it's an icy determination. After tonight, things will change for me.
It's not far to my place, an apartment tucked away on a street in one of the seedier parts of Costa Oscura. I live in a quiet building with sketchy neighbors who mind their own business and walls that keep secrets well. It’s perfect.
Pulling into my parking spot, I kill the engine and listen for a moment to the silence outside. It's time. I circle around and yank open his door. He tumbles to the pavement, his cheek crashing into concrete, leaving a bloody smear behind. Oops.
I leave him there a moment and walk around to the trunk of my car. I pop it open and take out the other dolly I’d stowed there, along with some rope and handcuffs. Sweat forms on my brow as I tie Dixon to the dolly and then handcuff him on the off chance he wakes up as I’m lugging him around like a giant hunk of meat.
“Holy fuck, you weigh a million pounds,” I grunt, as I wheel him through the parking lot toward the elevator. I can’t even imagine what it’d be like to move him without help.
I press the button, the doors ding open, then ding shut behind us.
A minute later, I’m opening the door to my apartment and then unceremoniously dumping Dixon onto my dirty living room floor, right next to a pile of old books and a mismatched set of weights.
