Blood is Thinner Than Water

10/15/2019

Jake drove back to the house quickly, grabbed the keys to her car that were left in the cupholder thankfully, and drove the car to the Boston International Airport. So as to avoid suspicion, he parks the car in the long-term parking lot. Where else could he leave it without attracting attention to the fact that she is gone? Plus he had seen in one of his favorite tv shows that this trick is very effective. Nobody pays attention to the amount of time your car is in long-term parking until that driver pays. And this car would not be going anywhere unless by towing.

He pockets the keys, checks the car to make sure no registration, paperwork, or anything else that could be traced back to him was hiding anywhere in the car before walking to the edge of the airport, making sure to evade security checkpoints a couple of miles down. He makes his way to Ryan, who had dropped off his lackey back at "HQ" on the way back from the woods. Jake was relieved considering that that guy was starting to get on his nerves before.

Neither of the men say a word the whole trip. Silence overtook them. It was for the best anyway. There was nothing to talk about. And he was in no mood to listen to the radio.

Once they finally get to Jake's, he suddenly remembers the recorder. Of course, there was a password so he could not get into the device.

"Do you know of anyone who can hack into this thing?" Jake asks dryly.

Ryan takes the device in his hand, gives it a once over, and gives Jake a wry smile to try to cheer him up. "Yeah, I know a guy. This would be a piece of cake for him."

Seeing as how Ryan didn't even ask what the device was, Jake assumes that he knows that what he is holding in his hand could very well cause the end of his career and everybody else's if it winds up in the wrong hands.

"I'll give this back as soon as possible," Ryan adds before Jake quickly gets out of the truck and heads back in the house.

He heads straight for the bedroom, lays down, and tries to take a quick nap. Sleep never comes. Only daydreams. And none of them pleasant.

He can't stop seeing the end of his gun barrel on her forehead, her eyes almost pleading him to pull the trigger. She looked so frail, so childlike. Not quite unlike the day that he picked her up from the police station on the afternoon of her mother's murder.

Should he have let her go?

After all that he had done for her. Protected her from unwelcome house guests, leading her towards the right group of friends to have, carefully assessing every guy she ever went out with so as to assure himself that she would be in the right hands always. He even gave up on so many of his own relationships, afraid that any woman he would bring home would cause jealousy or animosity with her. One woman he got as close to the end of the driveway after a really nice second date dinner, ready to take the next step and introduce the two, only for him to change his mind at the last minute. 

All that for nothing.

He quickly sits up, the house eerily quiet. Suddenly, he doesn't feel so good.

A night out is what he needs. He can't stay here.

He drives himself to the bar where he frequents with the rest of his crew. Ryan, Jordan, and another crew member named Alex were already at the counter when he arrived. They all look at him with almost surprised glances, especially Ryan.

"Hey, if it isn't the life of the party himself!" Jordan slaps Jake on the back when he grabs a seat next to him. "Your drink is on me. What will it be?"

"Anything strong," Jake retorts.

The bartender mixes some vodka with a shot of rum. Even if he goes home puking his guts out, there will be no way he will allow himself to go home sober. And he very rarely drinks.

The men all talk about meaningless things. Well, at least meaningless to Jake. After about three drinks, he starts to feel the effect of his drink; his head feeling cloudy, everybody's speeches sounding slurred, including his own, the room starting to spin whenever he would stand on his own two feet, which wasn't very often. There was one point where he started laughing after every sentence that someone said, even if what the person said wasn't funny at all.

A couple of times, the men would look at each other and suggest that Jake had enough to drink, asking if he was ready to go home. He would rebuff them, and if any of them would mention the idea of home to him a second time, he would give them a glare and ask if he wasn't any fun to be around.

The final straw came when the bartender, who had been interjecting in their conversations from time to time in between patrons, brought up the subject of kids.

"These kids today...I just got a message from my fifteen year old son asking about what to do with his little sister who can't stop picking on him. Like, take your little sister somewhere or something. Figure it out amongst yourselves. Don't bother me about it. I'm working." The bartender starts laughing after saying this.

Something about what he said rubbed Jake the wrong way. He doesn't know if it was what he said, how he said it, or if it was his laugh.

"Maybe your son needs help," Jake starts as he is finishing off his fifth drink. "Obviously...hiccup... he has no real world experience so he needs your opinion and advice on certain things....hiccup."

"Yeah, but I can't be there to coddle him all the time. He's too old for that shit."

"It's not coddling if he...hiccup...hiccup..." Jake couldn't even get the rest of his sentence out as he gasps in breaths between hiccups.

"What do you know about kids anyway?" The bartender pushes. "Do you have any?"

"No, I don't...hiccup...And I'm glad I don't."

"Then don't tell me how to be a parent if you quit while you were ahead." The bartender turns his back to Jake as he says this.

A fire burns inside Jake. And it wasn't just the alcohol burning inside his stomach.

He leaps behind the counter without thinking, the effects of the alcohol no longer a concern, and the next few moments were all a blur as he grabs the bartender by the shirt, punches him and knocks him to the ground.

"Say that to my face you bastard!" He yells as he continuously punches the bartender in the face and gut.

The bartender manages to fight back by pushing him against the wall of wine glasses and bottles, but nothing could beat Jake's intuition when it came to fighting from his years on the streets. He ducks underneath the bartender's punches, and grabs a bottle of wine before he feels a blow to the back of the neck.

He could very faintly make out Ryan standing over him as he falls to the floor and blacks out.