I Ordered A Rum

I ordered a rum, even though everything about this place shouted scotch. From the candlelight to the antique staircase with wood accents, I knew this watering hole all too well. But there was something different about tonight, and I finally figured out what it was....

As I set down my glass I knew I shouldn't have come. But it was too late. There she was...

The last three times we met like this she tried to kill me, yet here I was lining up for number 4. She took a slow drag off her long smoke. "Mind if I sit down?" she asks. I don't say a word. She takes that as a yes.

I knew what this was. It was your classic game of cat and mouse, only she was a psychopathic killer and I was a washed up cop trying to earn an honest day's pay. But there was nothing honest about this. Not her.

She ran her finger around the rim of my glass. "How have you been detective?" I reach up to my collar and pull it down far enough to give her a fresh glimpse of the scar she left me from her .22. "Oh, you're not still mad about that are you?" she whimpers.

I wasn't mad. I was pissed. Yet here I was. I could take her in right now on a stack of charges high enough to keep the DA busy until his youngest daughter's wedding. But prison wasn't going to solve this problem. I was.

I ignore her question and ask my own. "How's Tony?" Tony was old school Italian mob. He ran this city and this club. And she was his girl. "I figured he'd be pretty upset after losing another kid." I say looking her in the eye.

"His boys died years ago" she quibbles.

"I'm talking about the one from last week."

Her half smile quickly drops away and she knows that I know.

"It's a real shame for people like you when a caring nurse down at St. Mary's owes a has been cop a favor. Even more of a shame when she gets him copies of your medical records." I throw the grungy yellow file on the table like I was dealing the final card in a perfect hand. "You can open it, but you already know what's in there."

She swallowed hard and glanced at the folder then back at me. "Poor Tony" I mutter. "His chance to finally have someone carry on his name. With his temper, I wonder how he'll react when he finds out." I sit back and watch to see if my piss poor attempt at at a sympathetic pitch had any impact.

"Paperwork lies Detective", she says with confidence.

"Yeah, but a fetus never does". I reach into my coat and withdraw a jar containing the evidence in question. It was actually just a soggy grape soaked in vodka, but hopefully she wouldn't take a closer look.

"Where the hell did you get that?", she asks.

"This isn't my first rodeo" I retort. But the truth was I had never been to a rodeo. Ever since that incident at summer camp I've never been able to get near another horse. But that was then, this is now.

"You're attention to detail impresses me detective". She pauses.

"I'm sorry, was that a question?" I ask.

"Did you hear a question mark? I don't think so", she asserts.

"You don't hear question marks...nobody hears a question mark. It's the inflection in ones voice at the end of sentence that denotes a question." I snap. God, the sexual tension was so thick I could bucket it.

"Benji baby, please..." she starts. I got to her. It worked. "What about Atlantic City?", she asks. I shrug as if that night meant nothing to me, but the truth is I never fell harder.

I reach down to retrieve the jar off the table and that's when I notice the piece of paper affixed to my evidence "California Grapes". Damn it! Why didn't I remove the label??? How could I have been so careless???

Maybe she wouldn't notice. It was facing me. However, the bloated grape was suspended in the room temperature vodka and could easily rotate with the slightest vibration.

She taps her fingers on the table. "Where do we go from here detective?"

Stop tapping the table I think as the grape slowly begins to spin. Counter-taps I quickly think!! I tap my side of the table with slightly more zeal to stop the motion of the rogue grape.

"That's up to Tony", I say.

"Don't do this", she pleads. "Can't we just runaway? You and me baby. Just runaway and never look back".

I picture the idea. The two of us in a quaint craftsman with a white picket fence and 2.3 kids, but get real Ben. That's not the hand we had been dealt. I knew eventually everything would catch up to us, to me. But my thoughts are interrupted by the waiter.

"Can I get you all anything else?" He asks.

"No" I respond.

"And are you all done with your grape in a jar?"

Damn it! My eyes immediately dart towards her who is already looking at my exposed prop. The waiter blew it. He certainly wasn't getting a tip. Not from me.

"Yes, we're all done with it" I calmly reply.

She wasn’t mad. She was boiling. I reach down and take a well deserved sip of my rum.

She begins to speak, but her words drift off as she recalls the yellow folder I threw onto the table. Don't open it I pray. She reaches for it despite my prayers.

"That won't be necessary..." I start. But she opens it anyways. Crap. This wouldn't be good. She slowly retrieves the contents from inside the envelope and examines the series of stick figure drawings I had made portraying her in precarious positions. The one that had particularly disturbed her was the one of me taking a stick figure poop on her face with the caption "she's full of it".

I'm pretty sure I saw her gag a little. "Look, I was in a dark place..." I begin.

"Detective. Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you in front of everyone at this establishment and leave you for dead", she inquires.

I rest my arm on the back of the chair next to me. "Any chance you're still interested in running away together? The first tank of gas is on me." I suggest this knowing I had left my wallet at the house.

Tony's goons began to close in around me until I was completely encircled.

"Good luck detective" she says as she pushes away from the table. She throws the drawings back in my direction except for one that she folds up and sticks into the crease of her bosom. So she did like my drawings. How about that? And just like that, she was out of my life again. Gone. Leaving me wondering what just happened and what would happen next.

Yeah, I'd have to deal with these goons, but I've been in worst positions. This was nothing compared to that night in Atlantic City. So let's get it over with.

**Something similar happen to you? Ordered the wrong drink for the right occasion? We need to hear about it. Submit your tale in the comments section. Who knows, your falsehood might just save a life...but probably not.