Absinthe and Chartreuse

For years, ever since we were young, I’ve taken all the abuse I could take from Philip – whether it be physical, mental or emotional. God knows I’ve tried so hard for so long to tolerate him but I’ve had enough. It was only then when I realized that all that tolerance was meant to build up my rage accordingly so that I could plot a praiseworthy revenge. I honestly don’t know if this was within my true nature or if this was a result of all the bottled-up aggravation that has come to be from all the shit Philip has given me almost all my life; because not only would I impose revenge, but I would impose it with brutal impunity.

Up to that day, despite how much he’s done to me, I never spoke an ill-word nor made an ill-movement towards him. Up to that day, as much as it disgusted me, I still agreed to be in the same room as him; I still greeted him with sensible smiles; I still shook his hand firmly when he’d reach his out to me; I still spoke to him with the impression that the pleasure of the conversation was mine. Up to that day, despite how much I loathed him, I never gave him reason to doubt my good-will in any way. I didn’t know much about Philip, nor did I care to; but one thing I knew well about him was his explicit desire for alcohol – specifically liquor.

It was during one night at that uncultivated festival wherein I was to cross paths again with Philip – as expected.
“William?!” He screamed out from a distance.
I turned and stopped in my path while he walked, barely, towards me.
“Billy Boy!!!” He shouted while grabbing me by the arm.
“Philip.” I said with a smile so big, you could see my gums.
“Where’ve you been, buddy?!” He said with his drunken, smoky breath which smelled more like a burning sewer.
“I’ve been right here.”
He grabbed my hand with both of his sweaty paws and rapidly shook it. I used my other hand to pat him on the shoulder and laugh.
“Billy Boy! Bi – ly – boy!!! Take a sip, my man!” He said while handing me his bottle of gin.
As much as I was aware of my lips about to be contaminated with his toxic saliva, I went ahead and took a gulp from his bottle.
“Yeeeeah Billy! C’mon, let’s go get more drinks! This party’s just gettin’ star – ted!”
“Ah shit, I’d love to Phil but I was just about to leave.”
He paused, while trying to stand still with much effort, and stared into my eyes with his red, lush eyes. He then pulled me closer to him by my shoulder and pointed his finger at my nose.
“You… do not… Get to call me Phil! You got that?!”
I put my arm around his shoulder and said, “Heh – heh – heh. Gotcha, Philip. But just the same, I can’t. There’s somewhere I gotta be. Maybe next time, yeah?”
“Well, what the fuck have you got goin’ that you gotta leave now?”
“Nah well, it’s just… I scored some Absinthe and Chartreuse from this store downtown and I invited Nelson and Amir for a lil’ drinking session back home.”
“Absinthe and Chartreuse?” He asked with a twinkle in his influenced eye.
“Absinthe? …and Chartreuse?”
“Yeah.” I answered.
“You do know they banned the selling and production of Absinthe in the U.S.?”
“ Hah! Yeah, I do.”
“You holdin’ out on me, Billy Boy?”
“Jesus Philip, I wanted to invite you but you seemed to be havin’ too much of a good time here. I didn’t think you’d wanna leave.”
“Nonsense! Let’s go!”
“We can do this another time, Philip. You don’t have to come right now. I can probably get some more next week.”
“Nelson wouldn’t know Absinthe from spiked punch. And Amir? That fucking rag-head would enjoy anything other than brown water! You need someone who can appreciate those fine spirits!”

“We’ll be drinking in the basement, though.”

“Basement? Why?”

“Personal preference. I do all my dodgy activities down there.”

“You’re still so weird, Billy. Yeah, okay whatever.”
“You sure? It could get a bit damp there and you look like you’ve got a cold.”
“I’m fine God dammit! Let’s go!” He shouted, with the words spraying at my face.
“Alright, then.”

We arrived at my house. All the helpers were gone that night because I told them I’d be spending the evening out and wouldn’t be home until the next morning. I wasn’t worried about any of them being around because they all anxiously left minutes after I told them their services weren’t required for the rest of the day. Philip realized the house was empty around five minutes after we entered.
“So where are those two assholes?” He asked, with a cigarette in hand.
“They’ll be here. I had them get some ice and smokes on the way over.” I said while lighting my own cigarette.
“Yeah? Tell ‘em to bring some bitches over while they’re at it, too! Ha – ha – ha!”
I took out a bottle of brandy from the cabinet, poured myself a glass, handed the bottle to him and sat myself on the couch.
“Where the fuck is it?” He said while walking and looking around aimlessly.
“Well, aren’t we waiting for the guys?”
“No, fuck those clowns! Let’s get on with it!”
“Alright, then.”

It’s always been my dream to live in the perfect house; which was why I had this place completely renovated from the ground up when I bought it years ago. A few mentionable favorites of mine are the patio, the entertainment room and the basement.
“Y’know, we don’t have to do it in the basement. It really is damp there, man, I’m tellin’ you. That cold of yours sounds like it’s gettin’ worse.” I said as we walked towards the basement door.
“Stop acting like a fucking bitch and just go!”
“Alright, then.”
“Ah, Chartreuse! The only beverage so good, they named a color after it! Ha – ha – ha!” He said with the brandy bottle already half empty.
“Heh – heh, yeah. This way.” I said as I turned on the basement lights and walked down the stairs.
The basement was actually the only thing that I didn’t renovate. There was a portion on the floor wherein it strangely had an uncovered hole. It looked like workers made a hole using a crawler drill and forgot all about it post-construction – It was roughly an 8-foot deep hole.  The sales agent offered to have it fixed for free but for some unknown reason, I told her I would handle it on my own and went on to purchase the house.  I never did get to fix that hole. All I did was cover it with lumber wood. I didn’t worry about the helpers getting into an accident because the basement was empty so they never had reason to go down there.

Once we were down the basement, I walked ahead and moved the woods aside to expose the hole.

“What the hell is that?” he asked.

“A hole.” I answered.
“You’re really are fucking weird, Billy!” He said; and considering his intoxicated state, all he said next was, “So where’s the booze?”
I pointed down the hole and said, “Down there.”
As he stepped alone the hole’s edge to take a peek, I pushed him in. I threw my cigarette, picked up my shovel and jumped in. I thought he was unconscious but he started to get up and dust himself off – not even noticing that his forehead was bleeding a bit from getting scraped from the hole’s walls when he fell in.
“Hah! Ha – ha –ha! Ah, Billy Boy! You got me there! Wait ‘til the guys hear about this ol’ prank you pulled. Good one! Oooh, you got me! Yeah, Billy Boy!”
“Heh – heh. Yeah…  good one.” I said and THUD!!!

I bashed the shovel hard on his forehead which made him fall face down instantly. All he said upon impact with the shovel was, “Omph!” probably because the bastard was too drunk to say anything else. I started striking him repeatedly on every part of his body; bruising him, breaking bones; and causing hacks on his skin – like of a rusty machete. I don’t know how long I hit him, but it felt like forever. I finally ended it with two blows behind the head. I just stared at him for a while until he started to slowly turn over with whatever strength he had left in that pig of a body.
He just layed there, bloodied and mumbled, “Mmmm… B – b – buh… Hu – hu… Mmm – buh…”
“Y’know, I also fucking hate you calling me Billy Boy!” I said; then rammed the shovel into his mouth and stomped down hard, slicing through his cheeks and dislocating his jaw;  making his face split in two. His body jerked for a brief moment until he finally stopped moving. I buried that no-good son-of-a-bitch in my basement that night.

Obviously, his disappearance was unnoticed nor was I suspected of anything to do with it – assuming he was being searched for – because it’s been eight years now and I still haven’t heard anything about him since that night.

Copyright © 2010 by FV Nicolas


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