{"id":7857,"date":"2011-02-18T08:02:57","date_gmt":"2011-02-18T13:02:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/?p=7857"},"modified":"2011-02-18T11:30:17","modified_gmt":"2011-02-18T16:30:17","slug":"i-dont-drink-anymore","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/2011\/02\/18\/i-dont-drink-anymore\/","title":{"rendered":"“I Don’t Drink Anymore”"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is my own entry into the SHACKLETON’S SCOTCH flash fiction challenge<\/strong><\/span><\/a> I posed yesterday. You… are going to get in on this challenge, right? You know you want to. <\/em><\/p>\n

She stands outside the brownstone under sodium light.<\/p>\n

The bruises have begun to fade. The cuts \u2013 on her lips and chin, across her brow, on her hands \u2013 have long-crusted over. She\u2019s going to have the limp for a while, but oh well.<\/p>\n

The case in her hands is heavy. But worth it. Because it\u2019s her way back in.<\/p>\n

Jack answers the door. Is he happy to see her? Or just puzzled?<\/p>\n

\u201cAmanda,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know you love Scotch,\u201d is the first thing to come out of her mouth even though she hasn\u2019t seen him for years, and she thrusts the case up and hopes he\u2019ll take it. \u201cThis isn\u2019t just Scotch, though, this is the real deal, a, a, a really rare\u2026\u201d She\u2019s nervous. She shouldn\u2019t be nervous. Given everything. But she imagines the kiss\u2014their first in a long time, the first since everything happened.\u201cI went through a lot to get it for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

The spider monkey screamed and kicked her in the face, sending up a spray of sweat.<\/p>\n

Another leapt onto her back, hooting and shrieking.<\/p>\n

Amanda grabbed the one from behind, used him like a reaper\u2019s scythe to knock the other monkey\u2019s feet out from under, letting go as she completed the move so they both bowled into one another. They crashed into the corner of the courtyard, knocking over a terracotta pot of reedy Cyperus papyrus<\/em>. The pair of gangly primates clambered atop one another, hissing, and in the deep of their throats she saw the winking red light.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it you want?\u201d Kebir said, stroking the fennec fox that stood on his bony left shoulder the way an angel might perch on a pin. The gun in his hand pointed at her heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want Delacroix,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Kebir crossed the space between them. He pressed the gun between her breasts.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you don\u2019t know where he is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know he\u2019s here. In Tangiers.\u201d<\/p>\n

Kebir smiled. His gums were puckered and pulled away from the teeth. \u201cIf only I would tell you where.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes went wide as he realized: Amanda had the khanjar knife with its camel bone handle against Kebir\u2019s manhood. Kebir sighs.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026Delacroix is beneath Benhaddou.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\u201cIt looks\u2026 old,\u201d Jack says. He doesn\u2019t take the case. Her arms tremble.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not just old. It\u2019s rare.\u201d She smiles. \u201cRarest of the rare. Like you. Like us.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

She had Delacroix by his wife-beater, her knee in his pumpkin gut, his blubbering head held over a yawning chasm. Beneath him, giant stone gears boomed and growled as they turned. Stones tumbled into the abyss, swiftly pulverized by the hungry cogs.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I want!\u201d she yelled over the din.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have it! I told you! Please<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind them, streams of sand whispered from above: a shard of earth tumbled and shattered. The bodies of the robot soldiers lay half-buried.<\/p>\n

The whole place was coming down. All the trip-wires and trigger stones. Leading to this. But she wasn\u2019t going to think about that now.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho?\u201d she asked. \u201cWho<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKr\u00fcger! I sold it to Kr\u00fcger.\u201d He wept. It gave her pause, this grown man crying so. It was all he needed. His pudgy hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of sand and throwing it in her eyes. Amanda toppled from his prodigious body, her vision watery, blinking away the stinging sand-born tears, and by the time she could again see, Delacroix was ducking down a hidden side-passage, the wall closing fast behind him.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t matter. She had a name. And it explained so much. The monkeys. The robots.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

He isn\u2019t taking it. She doesn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s really been a long time,\u201d he says. He looks then over his shoulder. What is he looking for? She imagines making love to him again. How sweet it will be.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Kr\u00fcger danced around the room with the eyedropper, pirouetting this<\/em> way, waltzing that<\/em> way. He tilted his handsome head back, extending his tongue, and then placed a drop of amber liquid there. Kr\u00fcger was like a child catching snowflakes. He laughed.<\/p>\n

Then: a tap-shuffle-slide over to his wall of super-soldiers. Nine of them. Each a Frankenstein stitching of flesh, plastic, and metal. Kr\u00fcger grabbed the jaw of one, yanking it downward. He squeezed the eyedropper\u2019s bulb and dropped a liquid dot in the soldier’s mouth.<\/p>\n

Slowly, the cyborg\u2019s eyes opened and focused. The half-man shifted in his bonds.<\/p>\n

Kr\u00fcger sashayed to the next in line, whistling.<\/p>\n

But he didn\u2019t make it. The butt of a rifle cracked him in the back of the head.<\/p>\n

He looked up from the ground. Amanda eased the mouth of the .30-30 against his throat.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou look like hell,\u201d Kr\u00fcger said.<\/p>\n

She did. Split lip. Blood from a forehead gash. Worse, she still had the limp from escaping the collapsing tomb beneath A\u00eft Benhaddou. Kr\u00fcger\u2019s tower defenses were top-notch.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m taking Shackleton\u2019s Scotch,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWithout it, how will I fuel my beautiful babies?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shrugged. \u201cYou won\u2019t. I need it for someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo I see love in your eye?\u201d<\/p>\n

That old romantic. \u201cYou do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you may have it.\u201d He laughed, but then suddenly yelled: \u201cKill her!\u201d<\/p>\n

The super-soldier puffed out his chest, snapping the metal bar holding him in place. The cyborg screamed, a metallic wail\u2014<\/p>\n

Bang<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Amanda put a bullet in his eye.<\/p>\n

The cyborg fell like a stack of teacups.<\/p>\n

Kr\u00fcger looked crushed. \u201cSorry,\u201d she told him, then kicked him in the face.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t drink anymore,\u201d Jack says, retreating a step.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, wait,\u201d she says, laughing because this suddenly seems so absurd. \u201cThis is Shackleton\u2019s<\/em> Scotch. Lost. Preserved in the Antarctic ice for 100 years. Nobody else is going to taste this. Nobody but you and me.\u201d She feels her heart sink. \u201cYou love Scotch.\u201d<\/p>\n

The door opens behind him. A little girl no older than three runs out\u2014all pigtails and footy pajamas and freckle-cheeks\u2014and hugs his leg. \u201cDaddy, Daddy, story-time!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt really has been a long time,\u201d he says again, and she\u2019s not sure if it\u2019s an apology or an explanation or what. But then he retreats another step, and another, and he and the little girl go back inside and the door closes with a gentle, hesitant click.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you,\u201d Amanda says to the door. She leaves the case on the steps.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cI know you love Scotch,\u201d is the first thing to come out of her mouth even though she hasn\u2019t seen him for years, and she thrusts the case up and hopes he\u2019ll take it. \u201cThis isn\u2019t just Scotch, though, this is the real deal, a, a, a really rare\u2026\u201d She\u2019s nervous. She shouldn\u2019t be nervous. \u201cI went through a lot to get it for you.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[71],"class_list":{"0":"post-7857","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"hentry","6":"category-theramble","7":"tag-fiction","9":"no-featured-image"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pv7MR-22J","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7857","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7857"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7857\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7862,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7857\/revisions\/7862"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7857"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7857"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terribleminds.com\/ramble\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7857"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}