It feels pretty good.
The problem is that I need to call my mom, but I don’t know what to tell Mason when I get off the phone. There’s always the chance it’s something else, maybe dad’s finally topped $100,000,000. That has been his white whale ever since he found he and mom could make all sorts of money if they were ethically flexible.
Still, Mason just got done telling his brother to take responsibility for his own crimes. If I tell him this same day that my parents are in trouble, but not to worry because they already own the judge and the prosecutor… I don’t think Mason would blame me, but I don’t think it would do any favors for our relationship.
Finally, I have an idea.
“I want you to get prepared for something,” I tell him.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Earlier you asked me about Neptune, and I gave you a positive review of their Irish car bombs,” I start.
“Yeah,” he answers.
He’s swaying a little. Maybe he’s already drunk enough that I don’t have to do this.
“Have you ever had one?” I ask.
Better to be on the safe side.
“No,” he says. “I can’t drink that often, doing what I do. Getting sloshed isn’t exactly the path toward staying cut.”
“I think you should try one at Neptune,” I tell him. “It’s one of those things like a beer bong that everyone’s got to try at least once.”
“Oh, I plan on getting blotto tonight,” he says.
“I’ll have to ask you what that means later,” I tell him as I start growing impatient. “I think it might be a good idea to do a test run with you and that particular drink before we get to the club.”
“Is it one of those things that involves like twenty steps and doesn’t end up being any different than just pouring two drinks together?” he asks.
That’s almost exactly what an Irish car bomb is, but I don’t think that’s going to help me sell this.
“It has a few steps,” I tell him, “but the process is actually pretty necessary for what you’re getting. Are you up for giving it the old college try?”
“You talk funny,” he says with a sloppy laugh. “Yeah, I’ll give it a try.”
He really doesn’t hold his liquor as well as I’d expected, but if there’s any chance I’m going to end up telling him the family secret, I don’t want him buzzed. I want him drunk.
I motion for the bartender and, when she’s arrived, I place the order. Every time I’ve ever gotten one of these, even when I’m just ordering for someone else, I always expect the bartender and everyone in the immediate proximity to stop and marvel at my bravery.
It’s not the harshest drink you can order in a bar, and it’s not the one with the highest alcohol content, but this is by no means a casual drink. Still, it seems I’m going to just go on waiting for the reverence and high regard I still think should accompany an order like this.
“’kay,” the bartender says and sets about the preparations.
While we’re waiting, I glance around the bar. It won’t be a whole lot longer before Neptune’s open and we can start throwing our money away there instead of here, but even as we cruise through prime drinking time, the bar sits mostly empty.
There are a couple of older guys playing pool and a few people scattered around in booths, but Mason and I are the only ones sitting at the bar itself.
“Here you go,” the bartender says, setting the shot glass and the beer glass in front of me.
I slide both in front of Mason and give him the simple instructions. “What you want to do is drop the shot into the beer and then chug until it’s all gone,” I tell him.
“Why not just take the shot and drink the beer afterward?” he asks.
“It gives it a better flavor,” I answer, though I’m not sure that’s necessarily accurate.
“What’s goes into all of this?” he asks.