The Great Below

The Holiday - Part 2

"I bought a stun gun," Victor continued. "I tried it for the first time on the train. It was risky because of the noise, but it softened her. She was no trouble to bring home after that. I used it a few times in the car. She hated it, I could tell. The pull of the electricity made her seize and jump, but what else could I do?"

Alex drained the rest of his beer and ordered another, scrambling in his jacket for a pen. There was a jingle of keys from his outer pocket, and the pen clattered to the bar through clumsy fingers. He wrote notes on his bar napkin.

Victor went back further, to some of their early fights. She'd never been optimistic about their relationship. It took a strong hand and a lot of determination to guide her. He described the bruises on her stomach but embellished the stories, enjoying the pallor in Alex's face. Why should a bruise be a single, impulsive strike when it could be a savage beating? And the stomach, that just made sense. It wasn't debilitating in the sense that she could fracture a bone or sprain a joint; it just reminded her not to cross him. It wasn't overly visible but sometimes ached for days.

And this was what separated him from the yearlings already. Victor could stomach the things that had to be done. He didn't need crutches like booze or cigarettes. Alex had hit bottom on his second or third beer and when he lifted his pen for another note, he held it upside-down, attempting to write with the clicker.

They talked for an hour. The crowd of local college kids gave way until the Nut House was full of leather-clad bikers. Alex's cell phone vibrated against the worn wood of the bar. Victor had to help him press the right button to answer it, which was a good sign. A fourth beer lingered in front of him. What a light-weight.

"Yes?" Alex asked. His eyelids hung heavy at the halfway mark, though he spoke with surprising clarity. "I know, we're still talking. I'm on my way now." He took some cash from his wallet and placed it on the bar. Then he almost tumbled off the stool. Victor wrapped an arm around Alex, steadying him, and led him outside to a parking lot full of motorcycles. A cold breeze was busy gathering dead leaves and scattering them across the loose gravel. Alex's car keys still jingled sweetly from his front pocket.

"I've got this," Alex said. He shook Victor off and took the last few steps to his driver's door on unsteady legs, then leaned against it for what looked like a hug.

"You can barely stand," Victor told him.

"No, I can do this. I just need some fresh air." He went hunting for his cigarettes again when his hand closed over the key fob. The car alarm balked, a piercing electronic wail, and both men recoiled. An aging biker climbed off his Harley, glared, and went inside.

Victor snatched the key away and silenced it. "I thought you people lived for discretion," he muttered, and shoved a protesting Alex around the front of the car and into the passenger seat. Pure, beautiful silence after he slammed the door and weighed the keys in his hand. It didn't feel right, doing Alex any favors. He came around, settled into the driver's seat and started the car.

Alex stared out the windshield, mostly awake. He had managed his own seatbelt, which was just as well. Victor wasn't sure he had it in him to be that helpful; if Alex flew out the windshield, it was his own damn fault. "You're going to have to give directions," Victor said.

Alex patted at his shirt, likely wondering if he still carried his concealed handgun. "Does that mean you're taking us back?" There was surprise in his voice, under the veil of cheap beer.

Victor backed them out of the parking spot and down to the main road, enjoying the firm leather grip of the steering wheel in his hands.

"You have to," Alex said, and gave his crumpled pack of smokes another go. "There's something you need back there and I'm the one keeping her alive."

#

Nick's face as they pulled into the basement of the parking garage made the whole experience worthwhile.

Victor parked the sedan and took out the key. While Alex fumbled with his seat belt and tried to exit, he spun the key fob off the ring of Alex's other keys and concealed it in his palm. He would need it long enough to lock the car anyway.

"Hey buddy," Nick began warily, scrutinizing Alex as he steadied himself. "What's going on?"

Alex pushed himself off the car and used the momentum to move toward the security door. "It's bad," he said. "It's worse than we thought."

Nick looked after him as he drifted past, then cast a questioning glance at Victor.

"He had a couple beers," Victor said.

"All on his own, did he?"

Victor was glad for the half-light of the garage. He hadn't decided if the floods he'd seen were low light or motion detecting, but they hadn't come on yet in any case, and that left most of the lot dark. He approached Nick, jingling the remainder of the key ring in his hand. "He's going to need these."

Nick nodded, waving him on.

"There's just nothing in his expression..." Alex's voice carried from where he'd given up at the front door. He leaned against the concrete and stared at his shoes. "He's telling you the ugliest shit and—"

"Quiet," Nick reminded him.

"He just looks at you like it's nothing. It's a fucking box score."

Victor closed the distance between them, but all Alex had the ability to do was stare at him wearily. Victor reached out and tucked the ring into Alex's pocket, delighting in the new, valuable key in his own pocket. "You're welcome," Victor said.