The Extinct

CHAPTER

10





The bar was dirty and cluttered with posters, sports memorabilia and neon signs proclaiming what type of beer was preferred. There were three pool tables taking up what little free space there was and it stunk of spills that hadn’t been cleaned. It wasn’t crowed since the night had just begun, but with few other bars nearby it would be filled with people in less than a couple hours.

Eric sat at the bar sipping a Long Island iced tea and smoking clove cigarettes. He had an amazing fake ID made almost three years ago. A friend of his had his own machinery and printed off ID’s for all their friends.

But Eric had been drinking long before the ID; usually with his dad and always in foreign countries that didn’t care who they served.

Thomas walked in and stood by the door, scanning faces in booths and tables before spotting Eric. He sat down next to him and ordered a scotch and water. “May I have one of those?” he said, motioning to the package of clove cigarettes. Eric gave him one and lit it with a lighter. Thomas took a long pull, letting the smoke whirl around him before he spoke. “Do you know how your father died?”

“A lion.”



“Tiger, actually. At least they tell me it was a tiger. Regardless, he died saving my life. I wanted you to know that.”



“That doesn’t make me feel much better.”



Thomas nodded. “I’m a guide,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard him. “Primarily just Andhra Pradesh but occasionally I’ll go farther south if there’s work, a wealthy client or whatnot. I had your father and one of his friends from London with me then. They wanted to hunt bull elephants for awhile, which is illegal, but a special license can be granted if you have the money. I suppose there’s licenses for any manner of things if you have the money.” He stopped and took a drink; chasing it with water. “You know, tribes in Kenya think the big cats are spirits of their ancestors. There to protect the land from invaders.”

“And you believe that?”

“No. We’re easy prey. Somewhere down the road the one that killed your father got a liking for us.” Thomas finished off his scotch and ordered another. He drank what remained of the water, wiping his lips with a napkin. “But I’ve never seen one like this before,” he said. He looked into Eric’s eyes. “I’m going back near the coast around Kavali with another group. I thought perhaps you would want to go.”

Eric finished his cigarette and took out another one but didn’t light it. “Why would I want to go?”

“I suppose it helps. To see where your father was and what happened. I lost my father when I was young too. He was a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy and died in South Africa. When I was old enough, I moved there . . . and, anyway, it helped.” Thomas finished his second scotch and pulled a business card out of his wallet. He put it on the bar next to the lighter and threw some cash for the drink. “Call me if you like; there’ll be little expense for you.” He patted Eric’s shoulder and gave a soft, almost melancholy, grin. “I am truly sorry about your father.”

Thomas turned and left without looking back.

Eric drank a little more and when a band started setting up to play he left. The air was lukewarm and he liked the shadows the moon cast over the streets and sidewalks.

He decided it was better not to sleep at home and rode a bus down to his mother’s house and used his own key on the front door. All the lights were off and the house was quiet as he went through the front room and into the kitchen. He took a bottle of wine from a cupboard and a glass out the dishwasher and sat at the dining table. The wine was a good red, much better quality than he thought Jeff or his mom would have. It was silky going down his throat and warmed his belly.

Footsteps coming down the stairwell and seconds later Jeff was standing in the kitchen. He was wearing a tank top and boxer shorts and stared at Eric without saying anything. He went to the fridge and took out a plate of leftovers, removing the tinfoil and shoving it into the microwave. “You’re drunk,” he said, turning to Eric and folding his arms. “I don’t like you coming to my house drunk.”

“It’s not your house, Jeff.”

They sat staring at each other, the only thing between them silence and hatred. Jeff was bigger and had seen a lot of fights since he spent some time in prison, but Eric knew he wasn’t very fast. The microwave sounded and beeped three times but they didn’t move.

“Your mom’s asleep,” Jeff said. “I know you want a piece a me, so,” he held out his arms, “here I am. Come take it.”

Eric’s fingers tightened around the glass and his stomach fluttered, but he didn’t budge from his chair. Attacking him was what Jeff wanted. And he wasn’t sure he’d come out on top.

Jeff took a couple steps toward him, a sardonic smile across his face. “You know what your dad’s problem was? He wasn’t a real man. A real man knows how to f*ck his wife. That was why they got divorced, did you know that? Your dad couldn’t f*ck her right. But me, hell, I f*ck the shit out of her every night in your dad’s bed and she loves it. And you know what else she likes? She likes when I smack her around. I mean, sometimes, when I’m loaded, I go too far and we gotta go to the hospital, but that bitch loves takin’ a punch when it comes from me.”

Eric was on his feet. He swung at Jeff with a right and Jeff tried to duck but it caught him on the cheek. Eric threw another punch, landing on Jeff’s skull as he ducked down. Jeff came up with a punch that landed squarely on Eric’s jaw and dazed him. He took a step back as Jeff stood up straight and started jab after jab into Eric’s face, his nose and lips instantly starting to bleed and swell. Jeff grabbed him with one hand around his collar and pinned him against the counter, punching his face with his free hand. Eric felt lightheaded and knew he’d go out soon. He reached back into the sink and grabbed a dirty glass, swinging it into Jeff’s temple.

The glass shattered cutting both men as Jeff shouted “F*ck!” and covered his eye with his hand. Eric’s vision was spinning and his face throbbed; his eye was starting to swell shut. He turned to leave the house and felt an impact on the back of his head and saw a bright white light as he hit the ground.

Jeff was on top of him, punching and swearing, foamy spit spewing from his mouth. He wrapped his hands around Eric’s throat and began to squeeze. Eric’s breathing was instantly stopped and his lungs felt like they’d explode. Blood rushed to his face as he gasped and wheezed, trying to slip in air. He clawed at Jeff’s hands but he was too angry to let go. In his eyes, Eric could see he was going to kill him.

The blood was rushing and the world was going black so Eric didn’t hear the scream that echoed in the kitchen. But he did see the silhouette of his mom grabbing Jeff. She wrapped her hands softly around his face and was sobbing. She was saying, “Look at me darling, look at me Jeff, look at me” and trying to bring Jeff’s eyes up to hers. Tears were streaming down her face but she kept speaking in a soft voice and held Jeff’s face gently. His eyes, bloodshot and full of hate, came up to hers. Her almond eyes soothed him.

“Let him go,” she said softly, “let him go my darling, let him go.”

Jeff squeezed harder, gritting his teeth, nearly crushing Eric’s throat, and then let go. He stood up, knocking the table over as he stormed out. The red wine flowed over the ground as Eric felt his mother’s hands caressing his face. He began to violently cough and his throat burned as he took in a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” his mother was saying, wiping at the tears that were dropping down onto his face. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Once he was able to breathe regularly, Eric stood up, his head pounding, and walked out of the house, saying nothing to his mother who he was sure just saved his life.