Boris Huang
1
Last Call
One Shot.
I couldn’t help myself.
Why did he point at me? Didn’t he know what would happen? And yet one shot was all it took. To take
his life away. I examined the body. No weapon. He had nothing. Shit. At least the autopsy would tell me
what he was on.
I tried rewinding back to when it had happened. A late-night distress call. I turned on my sirens and
blasted towards East 6th and North King Street. Drugged-up delinquents try to go on stabbing sprees all
the time. I thought this would be no different.
I saw him as I turned the corner. But he had seen me too. All of a sudden I was chasing him on foot,
racing into the engulfing darkness ahead. “Suspect is in a black hoodie, jeans. Appears to be about 5’7”.
He is running towards East 7th on North King Street.” Why do they always run? “Freeze! Stop running or I
will shoot!” He started running faster.
“I didn’t do anything!” The voice belonged to an adolescent. Probably only a few years older than my
kid. And just as rebellious. Slower and slower, he went. Shorter and shorter, the distance between us
became, and yet he couldn’t see it was all so futile. “Stop already, I just wanna talk!”
Then he turned around, almost instantaneously. I saw something in his hand. I thought I saw something
in his hand. The noise was deafening. For a moment I saw his face. I was wrong. He was much older than
my son, but I saw something transcending any one person. His eyebrows raised, his eyes twitching. His
mouth agape. I saw confusion, but I also saw disappointment. Why? Hadn’t he brought this onto
himself? Hadn’t I done everything I was supposed to? And yet I felt so perturbed. His legs could no
longer support his body. I stood there, in shock. My legs were numbing, yet my arm hadn’t moved. Still
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raised, still holding the cold metal, black gun. Did I really kill him? The body hitting the ground broke my
trance. I approached it accordingly. I called an ambulance.
His name was William Casey. At least, that’s what his I.D. said. I had already given my captain a full
report on the incident.
“William pointed at you?”
“Yes sir.”
“But he didn’t have a weapon?”
“Yes sir.”
“Listen, Sergeant. I know this is your first time dealing with a situation like this one. You’re doing well. I
know those types. They’re nothing but ticking time bombs ready to ruin their own lives with collateral
damage. In fact, William Casey probably wasn’t even his real name. You did the right thing. Now, I know
you didn’t panic because he pointed at you. He was ready to charge at you wasn’t he? Like a cornered
animal, no other options. He was ready to bash your brains in. I know those types, Sergeant. They’re
destined to be a statistic. I’m correct am I not, Sergeant?”
I once scraped the side of a car as I was pulling out of a parking spot. I distinctly remember it being
outside the courthouse, I had just finished my hearing for a DUI. Funny how I had been on the other side
of the law. My father was in the passenger seat. His frustration was silent and palpable. The clash of
metal on metal filled the silence. Then I drove off. I could see my father’s face just as disappointed now
as it had been then as it went down in shame.
“Yes sir.”
3
It was almost dawn when I finally arrived home. I pulled into the lonely driveway. An abrasive reminder
that my wife had taken off with my son to her mother’s house only last week. I hadn’t touched a drip of
alcohol in a month. But that didn’t seem to be enough of a solution for her. Our relationship was more
than dysfunctional. I walked in and collapsed onto the couch, defeated. Maybe I’d call her.
The shadows of my living room whirled towards me. In an instant I had remembered the terrible deed I
had done. I stole his life from him. I felt my arm raise to fire the black remote. An infrared bullet pierced
the TV.
“—the indigenous Gal—“
“Tired of—“
“investigators are still looking into why the woman shot her husband yest—“
“Twelve dead in mass shooting af—“
“—still leading in polls after his speech on Tues—“
“A teenager was discovered dead last night. Her body was found barely concealed by hedges downtown.
There were no external wounds but investigators suspect foul play. The girl’s family is still grieving—“
Hours went on, yet I could find nothing about William Casey’s death, his murder. The Captain told me
the family would likely contact me. They hadn’t. No family had called for him. No friends would see him
on TV. He had been abandoned by society.
My stomach convulsed violently. As if I could vomit all of my troubles away. I made my way towards the
bathroom, refusing to turn on the light as I meandered through the darkness. It was nighttime already. I
remembered when I would sneak into the house drunk. If my wife awoke she would probably chase me
out of the house, but it only made the philandering more exciting. That was long ago, and the
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excitement was now replaced by something more penitential. Now there was nobody left to hear me
puke out my pain, no wife to help her uxorious husband back to bed. Or maybe she had suspected me
from the start. The large dent on the door was a piercing reminder of when she had thrown a chair at
me the night I was caught. The hole in the wall was from my subsequent reaction. I walked over to my
son’s room. Normally it was locked; if the kid wasn’t out smoking pot with his friends, he was in his
room smoking pot with his friends. He used to plant fireworks in the neighbor’s mailboxes. One caught
on fire and I had to apologize on his behalf and pay for a new mailbox. It didn’t stop him. Damn kid
always loved trouble. Now the room was barren, save a few clothes, his bed, and wardrobes that were
left behind. I walked over to the bedroom. Still, nobody in here either. I threw my phone to my halfmade bed and left the house.
I didn’t take the Victoria. I also didn’t know where I was going. No uniform, no gun. I could blend in with
them. The streets were emptier than usual. The park usually had a few hooligans hanging around. I
looked around. No one. Was this somewhere William would hang around? I kept walking, the street
lights barely illuminated the sidewalk. I walked past the local bistro, though it had already closed. I used
to take my son here every 4th of July, before he was too embarrassed to be seen with his father. Maybe
William ate here too. Ahead of me, I saw a homeless man. I called out to him.
“Excuse me, do you know a William Casey?”
He looked at me blankly.
“I’m William Casey.”
“No sir, you don’t understand. I’m asking if you knew a teenager about this tall, by the name of William
Casey.”
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It was no use motioning with my hands or even trying to communicate with the guy, he must have been
mentally ill. I left him alone.
I continued wandering down the street. It was getting cold, and for a moment I considered calling my
wife for a ride home. But I had neither the humility nor phone for that. I edged closer to the abyss. I
could feel myself being absorbed by the callous night. Where was I? Where was I going?
I remember a long time ago. It was just as dark. My mother shook me awake and told me we were
leaving my father. I was too young to comprehend the betrayal, but too old not to recognize the alcohol
she wreaked of. I drowsily packed some clothes and toys, and went to meet my mother at the front
door, but instead I saw my father sitting there quietly. His hands were holding the ground, as if
anticipating another earthquake. My mother had already left. It was the last time I saw her.
The whole street was swallowed by the darkness of the night. But I saw a light beyond the horizon. The
lights flashed ahead of me. When I was finally close enough, I saw it was the only bar open in town.
Alcohol had ruined my life. Now it was saving it. The bar was called “Last Call”.
The insides of the bar were blinding. At least, compared to the morbid conditions of outside. The
wooden walls were decorated with vibrant paintings of various landscapes, the floor was stained with
various kinds of alcohol that made each floorboard distinct. Tables of different shapes filled the room.
Some were small, humble huts easily overshadowed by the large estates that could fit quite a few
patrons. All of these tables seemed to be centralized around the bartender, as he stood behind the
counter. There were quite a few people in here already. I walked over to the bartender. He wore a black
vest that identified him from the crowd.
“Good evening, what will it be tonight?”
“I’ll just have a water. Do you know a William Casey?”
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“Can’t say I do. Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”
I shook my head and left him a five. Of course nobody would know William. At least nobody in here.
When I went to my father’s funeral, my family was more than half the entire gathering. My wife took my
son back to the car to change him while I talked with my father’s friends. There wasn’t much to talk
about, but I couldn’t help feeling that the few people who had showed up were the only ones who cared
about his death. Of course, my mother didn’t show up.
“Excuse me, do you know a William Casey?”
I found myself questioning an old man. He wore a large gray coat, and was sitting alone at a rather large
table. The light above his table illuminated some of the rougher areas of his aged face.
“Sorry, can’t say I do. Is he a friend of yours?”
“No, not really.”
“Well I hope you find him. Care for a drink?”
I hesitated for a moment. My wife would probably divorce me if she knew I was drinking again. But the
man was already pouring a bottle into a second glass. As he poured, his hand quivered and he knocked
the glass over leaving rum dripping off the table. He called out for a towel, but the bartender was
engaged in conversation with a woman by the counter. The old man fumbled around his coat pockets
for something to clean the table, but could find nothing. He resigned to sitting in silence, staring at the
spilled rum with his hands firmly gripping the wooden table. I had seen that look before.
I left him alone to talk to the woman at the counter. The bartender was busy addressing another patron.
The woman sat alone, taking a sip of her drink. She was stunning. Long, light, wavy hair. Mid-twenties
and not too conservative. Buxom. I sat next to her.
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“Excuse me, do you know a William Casey?”
“No.”
And just like that, she was gone. Her boyfriend had just left the bathroom and she went over to him. She
almost fell as she walked over to him but he caught her, as they both laughed about it all. They seemed
very happy together. I was jealous.
“Broads huh?”
I hadn’t noticed another man at the counter as he spoke to me.
“A fine one.”
The man wore a navy blue suit and pants. The light made his watch a second sun as I winced from the
golden light. He was probably a few years older than me, yet I had the feeling we were worlds apart
economically.
“I’ll say this, a girl like that you’d better have enough money to keep her around.”
“Hey, do you know someone by the name of William Casey?”
“Who’s that supposed to be?”
“Just a friend.”
“Sorry pal, can’t help you. Hey bartender I need a refill! Like I was saying, you’d better hope your friend
Willy isn’t screwing your wife or you’ll really have trouble. I threw mine out in the street when I caught
her. She’s probably homeless now. She had it coming right? The sex was alright but I really couldn’t
stand the nagging. Just shut your damn whore mouth! You know what I mean? Good thing they’re a
dime a dozen. Sometimes they’re a buy one, get one free!”
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He laughed obnoxiously, smacking the counter as if the aggravating melody was lacking a percussion
section. I landed one right on his mouth and he fell to the ground, hitting another bar stool on his way
down. He seemed unable to get back up. People looked around but nobody seemed to want to help
him. The bartender himself looked over, only to attend to other matters.
I walked over to another patron. This one was younger. Dressed in a red jacket and jeans. In fact, I
doubted he was even of age to be drinking in here. He stood by a wooden table, hovering over a few
beer bottles.
“Are you friends with a William Casey?”
He looked confused, almost frightened.
“No, sorry.”
“Well, have you ever heard of someone named William Casey?”
At this point he seemed less rattled and more irritated. He was sweating a lot for someone who had
nothing to hide.
“No, what do you want?”
“You seem awfully young to be in a bar. How old are you?”
“I’m 22. Now beat it.”
“Listen kid, that’s an amateur mistake. Kids always say 22. In fact, I’d probably believe you if you said 21.
I’m off duty right now but if you comply, you won’t be in any trouble. Got that?”
He nodded.
“Do you know a William Casey?”
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He shook his head.
“What’s in your pocket, kid?”
“Nothing.”
I grabbed him by his jacket.
“I didn’t do anything!”
“What are you hiding?”
I started shaking him and some M-80’s and sparklers fell out of his pocket.
“They’re just fireworks!”
“Were you trying to blow up the bar or something? You think that’s funny?”
“It’s almost New Years! I was lighting fireworks with my family.”
I realized I was still holding onto his jacket. I let go. I picked up the fireworks to hand to him but he
refused and left me behind.
Watching the whole thing, was an older woman. She was drunk, but perhaps she would have found the
situation humorous anyway. She sat at an old, wooden table that was dimly lit.
“Excuse me, do you know a William Casey?”
“William Casey? I had a son named William. He was probably about your age.”
She squinted a bit at me as if she could ascertain my exact age with clearer vision.
“I’m sorry to waste your time.”
“No wait, would you like a drink?”
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“I can’t. I promised my wife I wouldn’t.”
“Something tells me your wife no longer cares. She left you didn’t she?”
I couldn’t find the words to answer her.
“I—“
“I left my husband ages ago too. Every day we would argue, and he always had to have the last word.
Well, I doubt he could have the last word with me slamming the door on him.”
“Your son?”
“What?”
“You left your son?”
“Well, I couldn’t really take him with me now, could I?”
“How could you leave him all alone?”
She slammed her glass onto the table.
“Listen. You don’t know anything about me. And the fact is, my husband was stronger than I was. I was
lost. You can’t raise a child when you don’t even know what you’re doing yourself.”
“Well what were you doing all of those years when I needed you?!”
“What in the world are you going on about?”
I froze. She wasn’t the person I was angry with. Neither was my mother. I sat up and walked back over
to the counter, leaving the drunken mother.
It was now the last call for alcohol. But the bar was empty.
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“Did you find William Casey?”
“Do you have anything strong?”
He pointed towards an aged, black bottle on a high shelf.
I couldn’t help myself.
One shot.