THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 037 ] breakups are better with margaritas

XXXVII.

b r e a k u p s a r e
b e t t e r w i t h
m a r g a r i t a s

—ALCOHOL REALLY WAS a marvelous thing. There wasn't anything else, Five thought, that could numb you quite like a good drink. And he wanted to be numb. For the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more than to feel perfectly, absolutely numb.

He was sitting at the bar in the foyer, pouring himself a margarita (or two, or four—who was keeping track, really?) with Delores regarding him quietly from her place on the countertop with her lovely, blind eyes.

Five raised the green liquid to his lips. Not enough alcohol. He went to the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of tequila. Much better. He liked the buzz.

"Well," he said to Delores, "do you think we really did it? Do you think we actually stopped the apocalypse?"

Delores made no reply for a moment. The jazz music played softly in the background.

Then he heard the mannequin's familiar voice, bobbing up inside his mind: Now what?

Five's eyebrows went up. "Now what?" He stirred his margarita absently. "I don't know. I'm open to suggestions."

To his dismay, Delores didn't seem to have anything in mind. Five leant forward and put his arms down on the table and rested his head down on them. He was tired, so dreadfully tired . . . But it was done now. The world would be safe.

He sat up, pushed the hair off his forehead and drew his cocktail glass towards him. Then, at a sound at the other end of the room, he looked up. He felt a brief surge of hopefulness.

But it was only Hazel who stood in the doorway.

"The front door was open," he remarked as he advanced to the table, "so I took the liberty of walking in."

Five sighed and turned his gaze back to his drink. He must've left the door open. Strange—he was getting so careless these days. Age, maybe.

"Do you have my sister?" he asked vaguely, "and . . . if not, would you like a margarita?"

Hazel just stood there. He was holding, Five noticed, a revolver in his hand.

"Are you here to kill me?" said Five. He supposed he might have to defend himself if that was the case. How tiresome life was.

The man glanced down at the gun he held and put it away quickly. "Ah, shit. Sorry. Old habits." He straightened his tie. "I—I can understand why you might feel that way."

"Well, you attacked my house, tried to kill my family, and kidnapped my brother."

Hazel's brow creased. "There's not much I can do about the past. Don't forget I'm not the only killer in this room. You got your own bloody history, pal." He paused. "Speaking of which, that job you did in Calhoun—that shit's legendary. Can't believe I'm actually sittin' here, talkin' to ya. I mean, I know Cape Town got covered up, but—"

Five interrupted. His tone was suddenly harsh.

"I don't talk about South Africa. Hazel, why are you here?"

Hazel shifted on his feet. "You know, I'm—"

He was cut off by Diego coming up from behind and kicking him so hard he almost fell over.

"Diego, no—!" began Five, but then stopped himself. He decided he'd rather just watch this all play out. Might be entertaining.

And entertaining, it was.