The Innocents Nathan Senthil (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📖

me grab us some food.” Peter exited and jaywalked to the shop.

Once Joshua had completed his notes, he went inside the FedEx and mailed the notebook to New York City.

After Peter returned to the car with mouthwatering goodies, Joshua resumed driving. Eyes mirror-hopping, he found no vehicle following them.

* * *

Joshua tried to sleep, but he couldn’t. Light on the window, footsteps outside, shadows underneath the door, everything unsettled him. Oh, and what a splendid time for his brain to vividly reminisce the near-death experience he’d had just hours ago!

A close brush with the Reaper’s scythe had put things in perspective. Joshua wasn’t safe in Detroit, but he couldn’t go back home, not when he’d made such a tremendous leap in the case.

Though his will power surpassed his fear, it couldn’t mask the nefarious truth. There were people itching to kill him. They had tried once—possibly three times—and failed. If they were the kind to learn from mistakes, they would eventually succeed.

Joshua desperately needed something to calm his nerves. And then, amidst the cluster of dark thoughts, a bright light shone through. An epiphany.

Gabe doesn’t need you.

His mind was correct. Joshua had stopped drinking to nurture his son. Now that the boy was a full-grown man, Joshua shouldn’t be this cruel to himself anymore.

Yeah. You shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” Joshua whispered. “I shouldn’t.”

* * *

“What was I saying?” Peter said, his words slurred. It’s alright. A lightweight wasn’t in a kinder place than in the presence of an alcoholic. Plus they were in Joshua’s room. As a responsible drinker—an experienced drunk mostly—Joshua had given his car key to the receptionist, ordering him not to return it until morning. They had enough liquor and fast food to last for two days.

Peter stretched on the bed and turned onto his stomach as he droned on, “… my ex-wife always told me you were a bad influence.”

“I don’t blame her,” Joshua said. That was true. He’d woken up Peter and explained his desperation to him. Then he dragged him out.

“We can pretend we’re celebrating… didn’t we find something today?”

“We did.”

“Just figured something out,” Peter said.

“What is it?”

“You know, when you delete a message on your phone, it pops up an option, asking if you want to ‘Delete it for Everyone’, and if you select it, the receiver can’t see the message?”

“Yeah?” Joshua asked, thinking, no more heavy stuff for you.

“It’s a good tool, that option. I mean, someone gets real angry and types a page long venom and sends it. Then they sleep and wake up the next morning, feeling like a total douche, regretting they sent it. With this tool, you can delete the hate before the damage is done.”

“You just figured this out?” Joshua asked.

“Nah, I figured something else. You remember the time when random assholes tossed a matchstick into mailboxes? I don’t think it’s meaningless vandalism anymore. It could be the old school way of ‘Delete it for everyone’.” Peter laughed and pulled a pillow under his face.

Smiling, Joshua poured the fourth round in his glass.

His long-lost comrade, Jim Beam, filled his heart with blissful warmth. Joshua took a sip and held it in his mouth, twirling and sloshing it around, before swallowing. The aroma, the taste, the texture, it all felt just like yesterday. If Joshua were smaller—or the glass bigger—he would have plunged his head into the brown ambrosia. And sucked the goodness in with all his holes and pores, like a sponge.

People might judge him for his love of Jim, but those people hadn’t been shot at with a gun that could make baseball-sized holes through their bodies. So fuck them.

“Petey,” Joshua called. “French fries.”

Peter said something, but the pillow had muffled the sound.

Joshua got up and turned Peter. “The fries. Where are they?”

Even without anything obstructing his face hole, Peter’s words were unintelligible.

Joshua thought for a moment. He could let Peter sleep. But where’s the fun in drinking if your buddy was just gonna lay on his crotch?

“Oh, no you don’t.” Joshua hauled Peter to a sitting position and shook him. “The night’s still young.”

Peter’s eyes opened asymmetrically as he got his bearings. He needed a push. Joshua opened the Skoal tin and placed two pouches in his palm.

“What’s…”

“A little boost.” Joshua showed him how to use them, and Peter followed suit.

Thankfully, the nicotine visibly brought some sobriety in his friend.

“Bad influence, indeed,” Joshua muttered and handed Peter a Miller Lite, before pouring himself the fifth round.

Chapter 25

April 10, 2019. 05:17. P.M.

 

A strong urge to throw up awoke Joshua. Covering his mouth, he half-blindly rushed to the bathroom.

But no draw.

Dizzy and nauseated, he stood straight. Chapped lips, dry throat, and foggy vision. How irksome.

And how… nostalgic. It reminded him of the spontaneity of his younger years.

Also Joshua low-key welcomed these discomforts. It felt good—kind of dirty—to spoil oneself after decades of stoical abstinence. Anyway, as he splashed tap water onto his face, he promised he would quit drinking when he went back to New York. Jim had already claimed one angel from Joshua’s life, his wife, and he was not ready to lose another, his son.

But here in Detroit, the drinking neither affected him nor his job. He and Peter were waiting for lab results. Lolly’s kerchief had been tagged as high priority. However it would still take at least three days for processing it. Though DNA was considered as admissible evidence from the second half of the 1980s, the National Level CODIS was only implemented in 1998. That had given Lolly ample time to have learned and taken precautions against leaving his genetic fingerprint.

But no harm in trying, right? If the DNA didn’t match any criminal record from the past, it might match some case in the future. Anyone sharing