Chapter IIX

IIX

 

He tapped me on the shoulder to join in, but I was too scared to sing sympathy.  I held on for dear life.  Madigan was driving like a nut.  He was out of control.

“It’s red,” I shouted.

He ran it.

“You ran the light,” I told him.  “You trying to get us killed””

“Relax,” he replied.  “You’ll live.”

“I don’t want to get maimed either,” I said.

“Trust me,” he said, coming to a screeching halt.

A minivan full of kids in front stopped for a yellow light.  When the light turned green he waited for the vehicles on the left to pass and then did a slingshot around the van and back to the right to avoid a rear-end collision with a Cadillac making a left turn.  He weaved in and out of traffic like a possessed person.  He had no regard for other traffic.  I was terrified.  He jumped on the rear of a pizza delivery driver.  He failed to signal a right turn.  Madigan jerked the wheel, squeezed between two cars, and then slid over to the other side of the road in front of an oncoming SUV.

We barely made it back to our side of the street.  The near miss was an adrenalin rush for Madigan.  He barked like a seal.  I was gasping for air.  Beads of sweat dripped down the side of my face.  My heart was pulsating rapidly; and the only thing on my mind was getting out of the car as I braced myself against the dashboard.  He came to a halt.  I unbuckled my seat belt.  

“Where you going?” he asked.

“I’m getting out,” I replied, opening the door.

“What are you going to walk home?” he asked.

I nodded and then stepped out of the car and closed the door.  He pulled up his sunglasses and looked at me.  I should’ve walked away.

Instead, I told him, “You’re crazy.”

“Certifiable,” he laughed, motioning me back in the car. 

I glanced at the car behind us.  The driver started beeping his horn.  He stopped when Madigan turned around and snarled at him.

“Get in,” said Madigan.

The other guy gave me an angry look.  I didn’t know what to do.  The guy beeped his horn.  So I got in�"buckled my seat belt and braced myself.  Madigan drove off more like my father than that lunatic behind the wheel.

“Is that better?” he asked.

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Much better.”

“I don’t normally drive like that,” he said.  “I just wanted to find out how you’d react if I took you out of your comfort zone.”

“That was a test,” I said, “A test for what?”

He laughed. 

“You don’t need to be concerned about that,” he said.  “Just know that you passed.”

“Passed what?” I asked.

He lowered the music.

“How you deal with adversity,” he said.

“More like a death wish if you ask me,” I said.

“No,” he said, “That’s where we’re going for wings.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought we’d go to Mudder’s,” he replied.  “You’ve heard of Mudder’s?”

I nodded, “But I’ve never been there.”

“Then today will be a first for you,” he said.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re going in the wrong direction.”

“Just taking a different route,” he said.

“I hope it doesn’t take too long,” I said.  “I need to piss.”

“Can you hold it long enough for me to run by a house?”

I nodded.

“It’s just down the road,” he pointed.

Before the intersection of Linden Avenue, he turned left on a small side street and made a right on Loventree Lane.  It was lined on both sides by quaint little brick bungalows with small front yards and long, narrow backyards. 

“What do you think of that tree?” he pointed at a huge white pine up on the left.

He had just jeopardized my life for a stinking tree.

“It’s a tree,” I said sarcastically.

“Not just a tree,” he said; his eyes fixed on the pine, “but a destination.  I’ve been driving here since I moved to Dayton.

I looked at the tree, but it wasn’t what had captured my imagination.  A red Durango was parked in the driveway on the side of the house.  The vehicle looked very familiar to the one I had seen parked in my spot on more than one occasion�"down to the tinted windows.  Madigan was checking the curtains of the box-bungalow for a crack or something.  He grabbed his cell phone in the console and pressed a number. 

“Hi,” said a female voice over the car speakers.

He hung up.

“Why did you hang up?” I asked.

“It was the wrong number,” he replied.

I questioned him, but he insisted it was the wrong number.   I didn’t inquire any further.  Besides, his mind was somewhere else�"where, I don’t know.  All I know is that he didn’t say another word until we reached Mudder’s. 

“You’re not going to put the top down and lock it?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Someone might steal your car,” I said.

He laughed; and, as if to make a point, tossed his keys on the front seat.

“Now that’s just crazy,” I told him.

He smiled.

“It’s your car,” I said.

“And it will be here when we get back,” he said.

We made our way to the front door.  I glanced back at his car.  He caught a glimpse of me out the corner of his eye.

“Relax,” he said.

“Never hurts to take precautions,” I said.

“Only if you’re unsure,” he told me.

“And you’re not?” I asked.

“Not in the least,” he replied, reaching for the door handle.

He made his way to the back of the dining room.  At first, I thought he was checking out the sporting events on each television�"or maybe, the undergrowth of archaic plastic beneath the windows.  I just wanted to find a table.  I had to use the restroom.  He went back to the edge of the crowd surrounding the bar.  He singled out a high top near an older man watching the Reds’ game.  The gentleman glanced at Madigan.  He gave a nod to the old guy.

“Let’s sit here,” said Madigan.

I nodded.

“What kind of beer you want?” he asked, glancing up at the television.

“None for me,” I told him.

He stopped a passing server.  “Is Lisa here?”

The server nodded. 

“Tell her I’m here.”

“Yes, Mr. Madigan,” said the server, scurrying off towards the bar.

“The bathroom is behind the bar over there,” Madigan pointed.  “What do you want to drink?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“I’m having a key lime martini,” he said.  “They make it special for me.  Would you like one?”

“No,” I replied, heading off to the men’s room.

As I stood in front of the urinal, I stared at the wall and considered sneaking out, but my curiosity had already gotten the better of me.   I wanted to know what else was going to happen before the end of the night.  Besides, I was hungry.  So I walked back to our table.  A cute blonde with a really dark tan was talking to Madigan.  She wore a pair of white shorts and a white t-shirt.

“This is Ritchie,” he said, grabbing me by the arm.

She extended me her hand.  “Hi Ritchie, I’m Lisa.”

“Call me Rich,” I said, shaking her hand. 

“Rich,” she said, glancing at Madigan.

I looked at him, “My name is Rich.”

He paid me no heed.

“What would you like to drink?” Lisa asked him.

“The usual,” he replied.

“Same for the wings?” she asked him.

He nodded; his eyes glued to the baseball game.

She turned and smiled at me.  “And what can I get you Rich?”

I started to tell Lisa, “I don’t�"“

“He’ll have the same,” Madigan told her.

Lisa began to write that down.

“Not a double, though,” he said.

“What’s a double?” I asked.

“Killer,” said Lisa.

“I can do a double,” I told Madigan.

“Give him the Muckin Extreme,” he said to her.

She repeated our order. “That’ll be two Key Lime martinis, your usual Double Mucker, and just the Mudder Muckin Xtreme for Rich.” 

“I don’t want a martini,” I said.

“Would you rather have a beer or soft drink?” asked Lisa.

“A Coke,” I replied.

Madigan looked at me.

“I don’t drink,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“I don’t,” I said.

He turned to Lisa, “He doesn’t drink.”

“I don’t,” I said to her. 

“Bring it,” he told her.  “If he doesn’t drink it, I will.”

“And the Coke,” I said.

“Coke,” she nodded, heading off to the bar.

He snapped his finger and pointed at me.

“You drank Coke at my parties,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Miguel told me,” he replied.  “You really don’t drink?”

“I don’t want to go there.”

He asked, “Not even mixed drinks?”

“No,” I replied.

“Have you ever had one?”

“I’ve had my fair share.”

“Well, try this one,” he said.  “It complements the wings.”

“I’d rather not.”

“What you have a nasty bout of poisoning?” he asked.

I felt rather uneasy with him prying into my past. 

“You’re probably tied to some kind of religious belief,” he said.

“What would make you say that?”

“I’ve seen that blonde and you walking to that Baptist church on the other side of the bypass.”

“I attend Sunday services there,” I said.

“And here I thought you were making a move on her,” he said. 

“She’s the one that first invited me.”

“Are you a Baptist?”

“I was raised Southern Baptist,” I replied.  “My father, my grandfather, his father�"”

“Damn you,” shouted Madigan.

“What?” I asked.  “Did I say something wrong?”

 He shook his head.

“Not you,” he said, pointing up at the screen.  “Reds just gave up the tying run.”

I glanced up at the television.  Strangely enough, I was somewhat relieved by that.  Then the old guy sitting nearby made a comment to Madigan about pulling the Reds’ player that made the error.

“No, I’d leave the rookie in,” Madigan told the guy.

“Hey, not to change the subject,” I said, “but I really don’t want that drink.”

“You will when you start in on those wings,” he said.

He reached in his pants pocket for his cell phone.  Someone had sent him a text.  He read it and sent off a response just as Lisa arrived with two key lime martinis.

“Your wings should be up in about fifteen minutes,” she said.

“Don’t forget that Coke,” I told her.

She nodded.  I pushed the glass towards Madigan.  

“I don’t want this.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” he said.

He slid the glass towards my hand. 

“Try it,” he said. “It’s not going to damn you.”

I glanced down at the martini.

“Come on,” he urged.  “Jesus turned water into wine.”

“He didn’t get drunk.”

“Nor will you with just a sip,” he said, nudging the glass towards me.

I touched the stem of the glass with the tip of my finger.

“I promise you’ll like it,” he said. 

I looked at him.

“Drink,” he said.

I sipped it.  It was good�"tart and tangy but sweet and frothy.

Reviews

[Amanda Moubarak]

Wow these new chapters were really good. Finally Rich and Madigan meet and talk. It's great. Can't wait to know more and to see where their relationships will go furthur on and to find out more about Rich's past and why he doesn't drink. It seems like he regrets that night, for staying, and maybe for drinking. I'm so excited to know some more :) 😄