The neon sign beckoned to her like a lighthouse of old. Samantha trudged along the docks with the neon sign always in sight, drawing her in. Failed. The word echoed over and over again in her mind. Her parents. Aunt Beth. Andre. Her brutally aborted child. Fitzgerald. Judy. Dr. Herschowitz. Mrs. West. Mrs. Pryde. The family on the highway in Tucumcari. The list of deaths she'd failed to prevent seemed endless. I am nothing, she thought again.
She opened the door to the Grey Oyster Pub. Inside, an overweight bartender cleaned a glass and smoked a cigarette. An old man rested his head on the bar, snoring with a beer in hand. "What'll you have?" the bartender said.
"A bottle of whiskey," she said, slapping a bill onto the counter. "Good stuff, too. This is a celebration."
"Yeah, what are we celebrating?"
Samantha gulped down a glass. "The end of my sobriety."
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Just shut up and go back to cleaning your glass."
"Listen, lady, if you're going to be a problem then I'll have to bring the cops over here and things will get ugly."
She reached into her pocket and tossed her badge onto the counter. "I am a cop, shithead. Get lost."
The bartender grumbled as he retreated into a corner. Samantha poured herself another glass. She savored the burn of the alcohol, the lightness it created in her head. All her cares and concerns floated away like black balloons rising into the night. She hadn't enjoyed this pleasure in how long? She couldn't remember.
Either because she hadn't drank anything in so long or because she hadn't eaten in two days, she felt the dizzy rush of inebriation after only three drinks. She tilted back on the stool to the point she lost her balance and collapsed to the floor. She lay there giggling a moment before climbing back onto the stool.
This woke the old drunk up. "Hey there," he said. "Don't remember seeing you round these parts before. You new in town?" He smiled at her with a mouth missing all but six teeth. This caused her to giggle again.
"You want to show me a good time, sailor?" she asked.
"I can't like I used to, but I still got some moves."
He reached down to his gnarled belt as if to show her right then and there. The bartender grabbed him by the shirtfront before he could get the belt off. "Damn it, Floyd, what'd I tell you about that?"
"She asked me," Floyd said.
"Lousy old drunk. If you didn't keep this place afloat I'd kick your sorry ass out."