THE DEVIL'S NEST – AN EXCERPT

Here is Robert Creighton talking to Pete Schreiber in a Minneapolis pub that the story is named after.

“Doesn't sound worth it.”

Pete scoffed. “You fucking think?” He quickly downed the final quarter of his pint. “I didn't feel any better after attacking Todd. I didn't get anything out of my system. I got my hand cut open and still haven't washed the blood out of that coat. I lost my knife and spent too much on beer that night.”

“Couldn't they do a DNA test on the knife?” I stepped towards him, checked around quickly, then spoke softly. “I know he didn't recognize you, but still...”

“I'm sure they could. If they catch me, then fuck it. I have nothing to live for. But anyway, I got off at 38th. Instead of turning left to walk home, I turned right, went into the Cardinal and drank until they closed. I lied and told the barman that I cut my hand on some ice after a fall. I don't think they bought it. I threw up on a snowman while walking back home. I should have stayed in like every other night. Just watch shitty films on SyFy and jack myself off into a coma when those Girls Gone Wild infomercials come on.”

“You shouldn't go out by yourself,” I said. “You've never been good with that.”

“I try to have nice, easy-going, and calm nights out by myself.” Pete stared fondly at his empty glass. “It worked more often than not with Carey. We were like a team. She was the diplomat. I was the one who told people to fuck off if they overstepped their boundaries. It worked. I've always been a mess by myself and I can't help it. Things happen.” He put his glass back on the table and made a quick order to get us some Furious. “Anyway... Things such as trying to cope with losing a job. Things such as getting around the idea that maybe I'm not a very good fiction writer. I hear the conversations around me. There's nothing to be optimistic about in this country. Everyone thinks the politicians are clueless when they actually just hate us commoners. The music is shit. What we see on film and television is terrible. The kids get more fat, more stupid, more lazy, and more greedy. We're being killed slowly by every meal we consume. There's nothing we can do besides drink until we're numb. I'll open my notebook and add another line of thought to an already impressive, yet valueless, compilation of rotten ideas, hopes, and past desires. Somebody asks me what's in the notebook, and I don't know what else to do other than tell them to mind their fucking own. More problems arise when whiskey takes me over. Sometimes, things happen.”

“You either stab them or go on a long rant,” I said with a smile. “That's not fair. They can't win.” Pete pretended like he wasn't going to pass me my pint. “So you come to The Devil's Nest of all places?”