Excerpt: Like A Rocket

Outside in the cold air, Vincent headed in the direction opposite Andy’s car. His friend ran out of the club behind him, but he pretended he didn’t see.
“Vince? Hey, Vincent!”
He moved faster and didn’t answer.
“I’m really sorry.” Despite his longer stride, Andy was having trouble keeping up. “Come back and I’ll behave. You can be as grumpy as you want. Promise.”
“I’m going to go someplace quiet and dirty and dark and I’m going to get very, very drunk.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You will not.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
“Then stop me.” There was a likely-looking place coming up on the left. Vincent stepped in to the street and crossed. Cars swerved and stopped. Their horns protested loudly.
“How will you get home?”
“Cab.”
“If you’re too drunk to hail one?”
“Then I’ll sleep on the street.” He pushed open the door, which somehow managed to be sooty, and went inside the dark pit of a bar. “An uppity club guy’s going to try and come in here and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t let him,” he said. “Thanks.”
Sure enough, when Andy came in, some guys by the door pushed him back out. They didn’t want him in there either. “Vincent!” he called, startled, as the door closed in front of his face.
He wasn’t watching. He sat at the bar and asked the bartender, who wore a nametag that said Ted, for a shot of vodka. He knocked it back and asked for another. The glass was quickly filled. He liked this bar. The bartender was actually cleaning some beer glass with a dirty rag. Clichés were an excellent thing as far as bars went. Vincent took another shot.
“Hey, buddy,” Ted said, “if you’re planning on pickling yourself tonight, give me your card now before you’re too drunk to do it.”
Vincent smirked and pulled out his wallet. It would be very late before he was drunk enough to satisfy himself. Spinning the shot glass in front of him, he pulled out a card and flicked it at the bartender, who rolled his eyes.
“This is a Barnes and Noble gift card.”
Vincent chuckled to himself. “Whoops.” He made a point of actually looking inside his wallet this time and handed the barkeep his card. The man rolled his eyes again and gave him back his gift card.
“Another shot?” Vincent thought for a minute. “Actually, you can just leave the bottle.”
The man behind the bar laughed hoarsely and thumped the bottle down onto the chipped counter. “Sure thing, Champ. I’d charge you for the bottle if you weren’t already well on your way to a nice hangover. I’ll charge you for as much as you drink.”
“Ethics,” Vincent mumbled contemptuously. “I’ll be drinking this little bottle here at the least. Don’t you worry about me.”
“What makes you think that? First-time drinker?” He was amused. Laughing at him.
Vincent didn’t like being made fun of. “Recovering alcoholic.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Hold on, now.” Ted swiped the bottle off of the counter in a lightening-fast motion, then smacked him on the side of the head with his palm. “No. Just no.”
“What’s the deal?” Vincent complained loudly. Men turned to look at him and then turned back to their drinks. “I’m paying, right? Is there some kind of law against this?”
“No. Give it up. You’re not drinking any more.”
“I’ll go to a different bar. It’s not like it’s a big deal. They’re all over the place.”
He stood up, grabbed his card back off the counter, and went to the door. Behind him, Ted called, “Don’t do it, little buddy. It isn’t worth it.”
It had to be a rotten night when he wanted a drink and couldn’t even manage to hold onto that.
Andy’s car was parked on the curb. Its headlights shone ahead, making long shadows in their yellow light. Vincent lowered his head and tried to get away without being seen.
A car door slammed. “Vince!”
He moved faster. Andy grabbed his shoulder. Vincent swung an arm out and caught Andy across the face. He stumbled and fell in to the gutter.
“I told you to leave me alone.” Vincent’s voice was ragged. Next thing he knew, something hit him hard between his shoulder blades and he was pinned facedown on the sidewalk.
“No,” Andy growled. “This has gone far enough. You’re going home.”
Andy was too heavy. “Let me up.”
“If you promise not to run.”
“Yeah. Sure. Promise. Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll follow you to every bar you go to and tell them you’re an alcoholic. I will. I’ll do it.”
Vincent glared in to the concrete. Even if he threw Andy off now, he had his mind made up and a plan that he had no immediate answer to. “Fine,” he spat. Andy rolled off of him. “I can drink at home.”
Andy stood up. His arms hung loosely at his sides. “I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t even know why you keep all of that around.” His voice grew angry. “You knew you’d have a day like this sometime. Why did you keep it all, idiot?”
“For days like this.”
“Look, you can crash at my apartment tonight. I’ve got the extra room set up just for crap like this, and also visiting parents. I don’t want you to go back home.”
“Take me home, Andy. I’m tired and I want to drink until I pass into an alcoholic coma.”
“I won’t. I was serious about the kidnapping. I can’t force you to have fun, but I can stop you from doing this to yourself again. Somehow I think the authorities will see my side on this one, since I could see you through the window—drinking. I’d bet money that your blood-alcohol level right now is enough to support me in court, no matter how coordinated and articulate you are.” He sounded disgusted. “You can try me if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Bloody drunk.”
Vincent turned to continue his bar-hopping journey down the street, ignoring Andy. Andy’s trunk slammed. A loop of something flew over him and then tightened around him. Vincent grunted, the air forced out of his lungs.
“What? Are you serious right now? Andy, so help me I’ll—how is that so tight?“
“One of us was a boy scout and it wasn’t you. And I told you I was serious.”
“Jumper cables? Really? What are you, MacGyver?”
“That’s the name.”
“This is the stupidest—and weirdest—thing that has ever happened to anyone. Ever. Are you okay with being the most bizarre and idiotic human being ever born?”
“Yeah, I think I’m prepared to take that status.” Andy sounded more tense than the words themselves would suggest. Andy had one end of the cable wrapped around his wrist several times. The clamp was tight in his hand. When he reached one hand out to open the passenger side door, Vincent had a chance to escape—by running and breaking Andy’s wrist.
He was far from happy with Andy, but he wasn’t yet ready to be his enemy. That would come later, if he still tried to keep him from drinking. For the time being, Andy kept his wrist.
Vincent scowled as Andy theatrically held a hand out toward the open door.
“We’re not on a date,” he said, climbing in, “and I don’t like you right now. Don’t try to be cute.”
“Whatever you say.” Andy slammed the door. It was nearly silent inside for the brief seconds before the other door opened and he ruined the beautiful quiet.
“I’m sorry, Vin,” Andy said, locking the doors. He looked at Vincent steadily. “You hate me right now, but I swear you’ll thank me for it later. No, you don’t want to hear that right now. But you will! No. But you will!”
“Shut it, Andy.”
“’Kay.”
“At least get me a good whiskey.”
“No.”
“A beer?”
“No.” Andy started the car and pulled out of the spot on the dingy curb. Vincent glanced at the clock. It was only eight-thirty. And hour and a half after it had started, the big night out was over—ending in a whimper.