Dancing With The Devil (part two)

Chapter 66: Drunk

"Come on in Ciaran"

Jim smiled, politely, and let his old friend into his house. He lead him into the meeting room at the back of the house and gestured for him to sit down at the head of the table. Ciaran reluctantly sat in the seat that Jim usually sat in and smiled nervously. He watched Jim saunter over to the drinks counter and pour them each a glass of whiskey. He placed one glass in front of Ciaran, but didn't sit down. He just wandered aimlessly around behind him, as he spoke to him.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here, so late at night. What with it being New Years eve and all," his voice was slightly high pitched, even a little flirtatious, "I just wanted to let you know, how much I have appreciated your hard work and commitment throughout the years."

Ciaran laughed half-heartedly, "are you drunk?"

"Drunk with love," Jim exclaimed dramatically, waving his hands around madly. A small amount of liquid fell from his glass as he placed it on the table. Jim then strode behind Ciaran, slamming his hands down on his shoulders, beginning to kneed his fingers into them. Ciaran didn't know weather to be enjoying himself or terrified for his life.

"You know what's really annoying, Ciaran, your voice. Well... your accent," he said, leaning down to Ciaran's ear, "I always thought you had the most entrancing voice."

"Thanks?" for some reason it came out as a question.

"But now," Jim shook his head playfully, "you're two posh... and English," Ciaran's face fell.

He chuckled again, "sorry."

"Here's something you should know," Jim said, suddenly changing the topic, "my wife brings out a new side of me. It's quite.. a defensive side of me."

"What do you mean?"

Jim looked up at the ceiling, playfully considering the answer, "well, I just spoke to her on the telephone," he said 'telephone' with an upper class accent, "and she mentioned you, in quite a negative way actually. It took me by surprise."

"Is this where the defensiveness came in?"

Jim chuckled as Ciaran craned his neck to look at him.

"Something like that."

He patted him on the shoulders and picked up his drink. He invited Ciaran to make a toast with him, so the other man stood up with his glass in hand and smiled, raising it up.

"To the basement."

"W-what?"

"Oh shit, sorry. I meant to say to the new year. But speaking of basements," He clinked their glasses together, "follow me."

Jim set his empty glass on the table and lead his old friend out the room. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked a large steel door that was a little farther down the corridor. He smiled as he pushed the door open, allowing Ciaran to go down first. As they walked down the surprisingly well cleansed basement steps, Jim flung his arm around Ciaran's shoulder, smiling as they made their way towards the room at the end of the narrow stairs.

"What have you got down here, Jim?"

Jim smirked, "remember when we were younger, and we used to spend loads of time in the basement of my house with that scrawny northern kid."

"Conor?"

"Yeah," he smiled flatly, "Conor's dead now, but, I thought you might find the idea of the return of the basement... nostalgic."

"Why are you showing my this?" Ciaran smirked, sipping his drink.

"Well, because, like I said, I'm very defensive," he began to stare into his eyes, "and my wife has been telling me that she doesn't like the way you look at her," his tone became angry, "she says you don't respect her as much as you respect me, which doesn't make any sense."