Mobster's Bones

Chapter 1 Unedited

Chapter 1Troy

"Remind me to never, ever, ever drink again," Jake whines. His arm is slumped over my shoulder. He reeks of tequila and Chinese food. I turn my face away to steal a compulsive look at my watch. Celia should be coming over for our biweekly "date."

"Your learning curve is messed up," I point out. "If you were on track with your age matching college years, you would have been in high school for your first hangover, probably on some cheap ass beer in some pimpled-faced teenager's cellar. But lucky you get to experience the hard shit at a testosterone-fueled frat party."

"Being smart and a prodigy athlete sucks sometimes," he slurs in my face.

"Dude, don't talk," I grumble, turning my head away from his breath. "You're too close to me for that, just walk."

I help Jake down the steps of the frat house and out into the fresh fall air. The glow of large bulbs hovering high above our heads lights up the thick lush green grass that outlines the cement walkways of Notre Dame's campus. Newly fallen yellow, red, and gold leaves are scattered everywhere.

"The fact this hasn't happened earlier in your academic career amazes me," I mock. "You've been here for three years."

"Why are we leaving?" Jake slurs.

"We? I came to get you! You're trashed and you said you feel sick. Don't talk."

Jake's legs wobble, making it more difficult to keep him from crumbling to the ground.

"Maybe I wanna talk," he challenges me.

"It's not your best fuckin' moment, man, shut up."

"You've changed," Jake declares cryptically.

"Whatever." He is annoying the shit out of me. I am being a good friend by dragging his ass out of there. If he loses his scholarship, he won't ever graduate.

"Where is the crazy guy I met my first year?"

"Plans change... people change..." I trail off.

"Last year changed you."

"I've had a lot of changes."

"No," he garbles with force. "I'm not talking about losing Megan to the freakin' Mafia; I'm talking about after the casino last year... After all the bullshit went down with them coming here: Erin, Megan, Antonio, Vito," Jake lists, swinging his head back and forth. "I know you can't talk about it. But it made you a fuddy-duddy." Jake stumbles; talking lucidly and walking at the same time is a struggle for him.

"Who says that?"

"It's a saying," Jake insists.

"Yeah, if you're ninety years old... Anyway, maybe I've matured."

"That's only part of it," he comments.

"Well, you're the double F."

"What the hell is that?" I catch a direct whiff of his breath.

"Fucking funny," I tell him, wrinkling my nose and turning my face away.

Jake laughs but stops, stiffening next to me.

"Oh shit... I feel sick."

I steer Jake off the path and toward the bushes.

"Hold it for two seconds." Jake doubles over, clutching his stomach while letting go of me. He wobbles over to the evergreens and pukes violently. My own stomach lurches watching him.

Jake flicks a thumbs-up at me after fertilizing the bushes with tequila and Kung Pao chicken. I lead him to the parking lot and we hobble over to my sedan, and I fold Jake's tall body in.