Prohibition

Chapter 29

Raymond downed another glass of liquor. The strong liquid stung his throat as it went down, but he didn't really expect it to do more than that. In light of Evelyn leaving him, he seemed to have developed an immunity to alcohol—the one thing he needed more than anything right now. After storming home last night, he had consumed glass after glass of whiskey in a desperate attempt to forget everything that had happened—to no avail. Even after consuming much more alcohol than was necessary to make him completely ossified, all he could think about was Evelyn telling him she never wanted to see him again, then leaving the brothel with Scott. He had spent a sleepless night alternating between nursing a blazing, bitter anger and desperately wanting to throw himself at Evelyn's feet and beg for forgiveness.

Now, in the mockingly bright light of morning, he banished all thoughts of asking Evelyn to take him back and let his anger envelop him. For, without his anger, he had nothing. Alcohol could no longer soothe away his troubles, apparently. So, instead, of the much-needed warmth of alcohol, he let the heat of his anger and pain course through his veins, burning away all self-reflection and thoughts of forgiveness. Deep in the back of his mind, Raymond knew he was in the wrong. He shouldn't have gone to the brothel without telling Evelyn what he was doing—hell, he probably shouldn't have gone at all—and he shouldn't have done what he did with Rose. Evelyn's reaction had only been natural, and Raymond, if he was being reasonable, could hardly blame her for it.

But Raymond was not being reasonable. Being reasonable meant admitting he was wrong, that everything that had happened was his fault. He couldn't do that. Raymond had never been good at admitting he was wrong, even less so, now that he was hurting. So, instead, he nursed his anger—anger towards Evelyn, anger towards Scott, and—almost without realizing it—anger towards himself.

Trust goes both ways, he thought moodily. He had to trust that Evelyn was not two-timing him; so why could she not trust him? He had never lied to her, never given her cause not to trust him, yet she assumed he was like Charlie! And Scott—he would never forgive him for taking Evelyn away. Any chance Raymond might have had of reconciling with her had vanished the moment Scott walked out the door with her. He had taken Raymond's last shot.

Raymond lit a cigarette and watched as the cloud of smoke wafted up to join the others in the room. He had dragged himself out of bed that morning with the half-cocked idea of going to some of the bars and speakeasies in town and trying to find out more about the syndicate. After all, it was about time he did some real work again. But, now that he was sitting inside one of the speakeasies, he felt all desire to do anything fade away like the dissipating smoke of his cigarette. Mechanically, he lifted his glass to his lips and drank some more.

Hours passed by, slowly, arduously—yet, at the same time, they seemed to fly. Late morning faded into late afternoon, then early evening. Still, Raymond sat listless and brooding. "Raymond!" someone called. Looking up, Raymond saw his friend Kent coming towards him.

"Kent," Raymond replied as Kent pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. "What are you doing here?"

"What a welcome!" Kent exclaimed, lighting a cigarette. "You don't have to act so happy to see me, you know."

"Funny." Raymond smiled sourly. "Now's not really the time."

"Why? Are you okay?"

"Honestly? No." Raymond reached for his glass again, only to find that it was empty. "I'm not."

"What happened?"

"My girlfriend left me." The words were like acid in Raymond's mouth.

"Really?" Kent grinned and exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I didn't think you did girlfriends."