Fishbones Book II – Chapter 38: Bad Taste

Posted On January 6, 2021

by Eyugho

Ferris didn’t love this wine bar, or any wine bar really. But he did love Demos, and this was the spot Demos had chosen for this date. Well, Ferris was pretty sure it was a date. Venn diagrams and column charts had been running through his head in a vain attempt to calculate the difference between a date and simply spending their usual time together.

What made this different? It couldn’t have been the setting. Cold rain was pelting the street outside, streaming down the large glass windows. They had been to wine bars before as friends. This conversation wasn’t especially romantic, either. Wait, maybe this wasn’t a date.

Then, as the lamplight fell along the curve of Demos’ jaw, as he glanced over with that look—

Demos had made that look plenty of times. The one that was set straight on Ferris’ eyes with a hint of tightness, that was so deep he could get lost in them. The one that was warm, wanting. He had been making that look for years. There was only one difference—now, Ferris understood what it meant. It was like seeing it for the first time, feeling every unspoken word low in his chest. That was the difference.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Is this a date?” Ferris asked. Any suspicion in the question was unintentional. His voice was low in the din of the bar, swallowed by the conversation of other patrons and the clinks of glass and knives on charcuterie plates. He and Demos were seated at the bar, angled on the stools just enough to see each other’s faces. Demos’ knee had brushed his own several times and Ferris was 100% certain it was intentional.

Demos smiled, unfazed. “Do you want it to be?”

“Uh—“ Ferris should have known his partner would throw the question right back at him. He should have prepared notes. “Sure.”

Demos gestured to the three wine glasses that sat before them on the counter. “Then be nice and humor me—tell me what you think.”

“Honestly, these all taste the same to me.”

“Okay, try this Piedirosso.” Demos scooched a fourth glass over with his fingers. “It’s like night and day. Different region, different varietal.”

Ferris’ eyes fell to the glass that was now in front of him. He held in a sigh and lifted it. There were steps to this—far too many steps. But Demos had looked so happy explaining them, so hopeful that Ferris might get sucked down into this wine hell right with him. Ferris rolled the glass by the stem then took in the scent. Yep, it was definitely wine.

He took a sip then paused in thought. “Hey, you’re right. This one tastes more expensive.” He tilted the glass to take in the scent once more. “I’m getting notes of a—300% markup on the wholesale cost per bottle.”

“Fine. This isn’t a date,” Demos said with a scoff.

“Hey, wait.” Ferris bit back a smile and reached for his arm. “I’m done being a jackass. I promise.”

Demos let out a quick laugh. “You can’t be done if it’s just your personality.”

“Hang on a second—“

“Hey, look who it is,” came a new voice from behind Demos. A man had leaned an elbow on the bar—a man Ferris had never seen before. He was tall with angled cheekbones and bronze hair that fell down to his shoulders in waves. The only color in his outfit was white, each line cut in striking angles that most other men probably couldn’t pull off. His eyes were on Demos.

“It’s been a while. What’re you doing tonight?” he asked.

Demos didn’t look over—or even lift his head. The laughter in his features had vanished, replaced by a stony gaze down into his glass. He took a sip then set it onto the bar with a clink. “Sorry, I’m with someone.”

It was only then that the newcomer looked at Ferris. “With who, him?” There was something unsettling about the man’s gaze as it drifted over him, judging every detail of Ferris’ features. His hair. His clothing. The stranger snorted then looked back at Demos. “Come on. You can do better.”

Still, Demos didn’t look over. “I wouldn’t call a misplaced Zara mannequin better.”

The ex, or whatever he was, eased himself from the counter with a chuckle. He moved down the bar just enough to lean in against Ferris’ ear.

“Keep an eye on this one.” His voice was seedy and damp. “He’s a real slut.”

There was the scrape of a bar stool, the crack of knuckles on bone, and the clamor of an entire man’s body toppling back into a dining table. Patrons cried out and recoiled as their drinks spilled, glass and wine splattering onto the floor.

Ferris said nothing, only breathing—keeping his fist tight as he stood staring at the man now bent backward over a table.

“What—“ His victim gasped, failing to stop the gush of blood from his twisted, swollen nose. It stained his fingers, running down the front of his crisp, white jacket. “W-what the fuck!”

Ferris felt a hand on his wrist. Demos was tugging him backward, toward the door and away from the enormous mess Ferris had just created with his outburst. A bartender was punching in numbers on a wall-mounted phone. Probably calling the police. With a final glare, Ferris tore his eyes away, allowing his partner to usher him out of the building.

Rain pelted the two as they half-ran half-walked down the street. Demos tugged him up a stoop, allowing the covered doorway to shield them from the torrent. Hopefully whoever lived in this building wouldn’t choose that moment to throw open the door. Ferris brushed rainwater from his hair, his heart still racing.

Demos’ gaze was cast down and even in the dark Ferris could see the weakness in his posture and the weariness in his eyes. That was it. The two of them were probably banned from ever going to that particular wine bar again. Ferris had embarrassed him in public. Overreacted. Caused a scene.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Ferris said. “I didn’t mean to—“

Demos’ forehead dropped onto Ferris’ shoulder. He buried his face against the wet collar of his jacket, both hands resting on Ferris’ chest.

“Thanks,” Demos murmured.

Ferris took in a breath before holding his partner against his chest. One hand went to the back of his head, fingertips brushing against his hair. Rain was the only thing he could hear, still pelting the sidewalk and skipping on the roofs of parked cars.

So,” Demos said, his voice weak. “You’re not going to ask who that was?”

“Is that something you want to talk about?”

“No.” Demos’ fingers gripped his collar. His next words were quiet, barely audible against his shoulder. “He’s not wrong, you know.”

“You think that matters to me?”

“Well—“

“It doesn’t,” Ferris said. “It never has.”

Ferris could feel Demos’ next breath shudder in, then out. They were both quiet for a while, huddled under the entryway of an incidental apartment building. The few people on the street were hunched, clutching umbrellas as they bustled over puddles.

After a beat, Demos huffed a laugh into his shoulder.

“What?” Ferris asked.

“You just broke a Givenchy model’s nose.”

Ferris narrowed his eyes. “A what model?”

Demos laughed again—Ferris could feel him shake against his arms. Well, at least someone found all of this amusing.

“You know,” Demos began. “You’re not out of my league.”

“I—wait, what?”

Demos glanced up. “You said so. Back in the alley.”

The alley. That was behind the restaurant, back when Demos had asked why Ferris had never admitted how he felt. Why he’d stayed silent the last couple of years. That guy he’d punched had driven the point home. “You can do better.”

“Oh, come on.” Ferris made a weak gesture back in the general direction of the wine bar. “I’ve practically lived in an Italian restaurant for a decade and I still can’t tell the difference between a Grignolino and a Dolcetto. And you—you literally had a model trying to pick you up in public.”

Well, maybe he would have to take a break from modeling with his nose in three pieces. Ha.

“So?” Demos huffed out a breath. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t something rotten in me. That I don’t—deserve to be called that.”

“Demos, you’re not—“

“There’s something decent in you. Something I can’t take away no matter how far down I drag you with me.”

“You’re wrong—you’ve never dragged me anywhere.” Ferris pulled back just enough to get a look at his partner’s face. “Well, except to that wine bar.” He took in a slow breath, his hands resting on Demos’ upper arms. “You’re not rotten. You deserve to be happy, just like everyone else. I don’t want to hear you say it ever again.”

“But I’m—“

“I love you. You think I’m going to let anyone talk about the person I love like that?”

Demos reddened, averting his eyes. “But—look at me.”

“I am,” Ferris said. “Are you trying to tell me I have bad taste?”

Demos’ eyes dropped to Ferris’ shoes, lingered for just a moment, then drew back up to meet him. “Well—“

“Oh, come on. I just bought these shoes.”

Demos laughed. The smile had returned to his face, this one lighter—softer. “Pescetto,” he said, taking Ferris’ face in both his hands. “I want you to know—“

Ferris leaned in closer, enough to feel his partner’s breath on his cheek. “Yeah?”

“They’re both from Piedmont but the Dolcetto is bolder.”

A curt laugh escaped Ferris’ chest. “Of course it is.”

“And I love you, too.”

They were an inch and a half from an actual kiss when a car began honking from the street. Two men yelled at one another in the rain followed by more honking. There were still pedestrians moving up and down the sidewalk. This was a bad place to have a “moment.”

Ferris pulled back with an apologetic look. “You know, we never finished our date. Maybe we can try somewhere—uh, where I haven’t punched someone.”

“Anywhere I want?” Demos asked with a look that made Ferris uneasy. “Okay then. Uchi.”

Ferris dug in his jacket pocket for his phone. “Do you have the number? I’ll see if they have a table.”

Before Ferris could push a single button, Demos had cupped his hand over the phone to snap it shut with a clack. “You’re cute.” He slipped out his own phone, scrolling through the numbers until he found the one he’d saved. “I’ll call. Your name won’t get us into this place.”

Of course it was a restaurant that was hard to get into. Of course. Ferris wasn’t sure if Demos was connected through the restaurant or through the other family business. Either way, what Demos wanted, he usually got. Demos was only on the line for a half minute before he ended the call.

“We’re lucky. There’s a table for two if we—“

There was a ring—this time, from Ferris’ phone. He dug it out of his pocket and glared at the notification. “Shit, hang on. It’s Sergio.” The phone snapped open and he lifted it with a sigh. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Sergio said. “You in the mood to drive me and my friend to the pig farm?”

This had happened before. “My friend” was an unplanned corpse and the “pig farm” was, well, an actual pig farm. Sergio was certainly strong, but moving a body was always easier with another set of hands. And he had perfect timing, as usual.

“Again?” Ferris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always ask me?”

“You know Demos doesn’t have any upper body strength.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m kind of busy,” he said with a sigh. “Where are you?”

“The restaurant.” Sergio paused before continuing, his voice raising slightly in pitch. “And uh, one more thing. Promise you won’t be mad?”

“No.”

Ferris could hear him groan through the phone speaker. “I happen to be, uh—not alone?” There was another pause, this one longer. When Sergio finally spoke, it was in a hurried mutter. “Seamus is here.”

“What the fuck do you mean Seamus is there?”

“Great, see you soon!”

The call ended and the only answer Ferris got was dead silence.

“What was that all about?” Demos asked with a raised brow.

Ferris was glaring a hole through his phone. His fingers tightened around the case before snapping it shut. “We’re going to the pig farm. One body. Plus your cousin after I fucking kill him.”

“Fine, but you’re doing the lifting. You know I don’t have any upper body strength.”

#

The cab’s brakes squeaked as it came to a stop in front of Ristorante Giorgetti. Ferris and Demos shielded their faces from the rain with their arms as they hurried under the awning. The keys Demos pulled out were unnecessary—the moment his hand went to the knob, it turned. Sergio had left it unlocked.

“Idiot,” Demos muttered under his breath as they pushed their way inside.

At the bar was Sergio, seated on a stool and halfway through pouring himself a glass of whisky. Blood stained his face, hands, and shirt. It seemed he had made some effort to clean himself then had given up halfway through.

“Okay, where is it?” Demos asked, already tired.

Sergio gestured toward the kitchen with his glass. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

With a sigh, Demos crossed the room, throwing the swinging doors open with both hands. There was a pause before he groaned. “Seriously, Sergio?”

The doors swung shut behind him.

Before Ferris could say a word, Sergio had swept up and thrown an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, there’s my good friend,” Sergio said with a forced smile. “Uh, so—remember that pinky promise? Remember how much you liked me when we had that conversation? I want you to hold on to that feeling.”

Ferris nudged him off then dragged the back of his hand across his jaw. Blood. Great. His glare fastened on the only other man in the room. “What the fuck happened? Where’s Seamus?”

“He wasn’t even supposed to be here! I told him to go home.” Sergio threw up his hands in defeat. “It was all a big—misunderstanding?”

“A misunderstanding? I swear to God—“

“Look, I didn’t know he’d stayed late. Shit with Jimmy got out of hand and your friend rushed in there to bust a fucking vodka bottle over the guy’s head. Or was it gin? I don’t—anyway, he saved my life.” Sergio sucked in a breath through his teeth then continued. “Then I might have killed Jimmy with a butcher’s knife.”

“Right in front of him?” Ferris’ hands balled into fists, fingernails digging lines into his palms. “You know how much seeing my first dead body fucked me up? How many years I had nightmares about it?”

Sergio took a moment to count on his fingers. His face scrunched in thought as he made a Giorgetti’s mediocre attempt at math. “Uh, which body was that?”

“It was—“

The rest of the story played through Ferris’ head as he stood there, silent. It was right there through those doors. Almost ten years ago. Sergio had been there, too—he’d asked Ferris to find Rocco in the kitchen. The body was in the alley, in trunk of Victor’s car. The Lincoln. Victor. He made Ferris promise not to tell anyone. Ever.

And he never did.

Ferris looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sergio only shrugged. “Well, you got used to it, right? Everyone does, eventually.”

Ferris’ eyes snapped back onto Sergio. “I don’t need Seamus ‘getting used to’ seeing a guy getting hacked in two with a cleaver every time he closes his fucking eyes!” His chest heaved, drawing air through his raw throat. “Where is he?”

Sergio gestured back with his thumb. “He went to smoke in the alley. He’s—wait. Hey, hang on. Am I going to have to find another bartender? Ferris?”

But Ferris was already gone. He averted his eyes as he went through the kitchen, only catching a glimpse of Demos on his knees with a bucket and a sponge. And a lot of red.

It was still raining outside. The back door clicked shut and Ferris looked up to see Seamus, smoking in the alley. Just where Sergio said he’d be.

“Seamus. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, mate.” Seamus flicked ash from his cigarette, keeping his eyes on the opposite wall. “All good.”

There was no awning in the alley, nothing to block the rain. It was clear he’d been standing out there for a while. His hair was matted to his forehead, clothes soaked from the shoulders down. He was pallid, staring, fingers shaking around the damp cigarette.

He didn’t look “all good.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Ferris said, stopping at his side. “I never wanted you to see—any of that shit. I can help you find a new job, maybe at—“

“I don’t want a new job.”

Ferris knew that look, that tone of voice. He too had been there, staring at a wall. Voice drifting. Disconnecting from his own thoughts.

“You can’t stay here.” Rain began to spot on Ferris’ glasses. “I don’t want you involved in any of this.”

Seamus finally looked over with a starling glare. “You’ve already involved me, haven’t you?”

There was a silence before Ferris spoke under the sound of the rain. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Fer,” Seamus said with a scoff. “My old manager—unconscious in the alley behind the bar with two broken hands and a tip jar smashed over his head? You thought I wouldn’t notice that? I’d be daft enough to think it was a coincidence?”

Ferris cringed. “…Yes?”

“I know you don’t think I can handle this, but I can.”

“It’s not a matter of handling it. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You let Demos do it.” Seamus took a drag of the dwindling remainder of his cigarette. “You think he’s some kind of misunderstood darling, don’t you?”

“No—“ Ferris’ eyes dropped to the pavement, watching the droplets spatter over shallow puddles. “He’s not a good person.” He closed his eyes. “And neither am I.”

Seamus didn’t seem to have a response. They were both quiet, both taking a moment to absorb what Ferris had just said. Finally, Ferris huffed out a breath into the cold air. “And anyway, I don’t let him do anything,” he said, glancing back over. “I couldn’t stop him from doing this with a shark cage and a brick of ketamine. You know that.”

“I do. And you’re not going to stop me either.” Seamus sucked at what apparently a burning filter then coughed. ”I won’t go looking for trouble. I swear it.”

“But trouble always comes to you,” Ferris said. “Doesn’t it?”

Seamus flicked the cigarette butt aside. “Look who’s talking. You’re an accountant who comes home every night with black eyes and busted lips. I like working here; I’m good at it. You want me to go back to being unemployed? A bum sleeping on your sofa?”

Ferris frowned. “I—not every night.”

“The two of you, there’s always been—something between you. Something I wasn’t a part of.”

Ferris swiped a hand across the air. “I don’t want you being a part of this!”

“And what do you care?” Seamus was closer now, his voice bouncing off the brick. “How are my choices any of your business?

“It’s my business because you’re my friend and I love you.” Ferris’ breath was rising under the cold, wet air. “This life, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Especially not you. I—“

Ferris paused. He watched as Seamus’ hands dropped, his body shuddering in each breath. His brow was drawn, eyes tight with a frailty Ferris had never seen before. Even in the rain, Ferris could see it. The welling in his eyes, the pull of his lungs. Tears broke over the rims of each eyelid, running down to his already wet jaw. He shook, posture waning.

Ferris stepped in, taking his friend into his arms before he could buckle.

“I’m sorry,” Seamus said into his shoulder. “I— I’ve fucked up again.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I just wanted—I just wanted you to think I was worth something. That I could do one thing on my own.” Seamus’ teeth were grit, each word choking out. “I didn’t even get this job myself. You had to hand it to me and now—now I’ve let you down. I’ve let you down again.”

Ferris hardened his hold, keeping his friend steady. “You haven’t let anyone down. You’ve come so far this year.” He took in a slow breath. “I’ve seen how hard you’re working. I’ve been so proud of you—you know that.”

Seamus sniffed then exhaled. Ferris could feel his fingers tighten around his jacket, the shudder in his body settling. “Then—let me stay. Just let me try, Fer.” His voice softened under the sound of the rain. “Let me decide for myself.”

Ferris shut his eyes. He knew Seamus was right—that he was an adult that could, and should be making his own decisions. Ferris couldn’t simply step in and whisk him away from every danger in the world. It wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t that simple. But God, he wished he could.

He sighed. “I’ll talk to Demos after he helps Sergio, okay?” It wasn’t a yes, wasn’t a no. But it was the best he could offer at this point.

After a while, Seamus nodded against his shoulder. “All right.”

Ferris couldn’t shake the thought—the dull stare Seamus had carried, the distance in his voice. Tonight had affected him in ways that would follow him to his deathbed. This shouldn’t have happened. Ferris shouldn’t have tried to save the day, to get him this job. He should have known—

He let out a soft breath, then pulled back to give his friend a weak smile.

“Come on,” Ferris said. “Let’s go home.