My lips quivered as I fought to hold back a mocking grin. Jona, you magnificent bastard! I clenched my jaw, suppressing the laughter bubbling in my chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish,” Nelson said with an exasperated sigh, then chugged his beer in one go. “It was chaos at the funeral. My cousins were trying to hold back their laughter, my aunts kept looking at my mom with pity—and she didn’t take it well.”

  Nelson grabbed another beer, set it on the table, and stared at the tiny bubbles rising inside before continuing. “She was a mess of anger, grief, and humiliation. Then Grandpa said, ‘Gayest death in the family history,’ and she fainted.”

  He snorted. “He just walked away afterward, mumbling.”

  The waitress set down a bowl of fried cheese bits. Nelson bit into one as he added, “He’s probably enjoying a new life in Isekailand.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “I bet he got turned into a lab rat by the isekai crusaders.”

  We kept drinking, and soon the waitress returned with our second bucket.

  “Thanks, lass,” I said, as Nelson—ever the gentleman—gave her a playful butt tap, earning a giggle.

  Nelson exhaled deeply after emptying another bottle, then visibly forced his grief shut. “Enough about my brother. Let’s discuss why we’re here.”

  “Another business?” I asked. “I can’t invest this time—I’m still in debt from our last entrepreneurial adventure. And by the way, you still owe me.”

  “Come on, Frank, when have I ever asked for mo—”

  “Enough to lose count.”

  “Shut up and hear me out! I finally got the hush money from that politician who hit me with his car,” Nelson said smugly.

  I remembered the spectacle vividly—how he screamed and convulsed at the sight of his twisted arm, drawing a crowd to milk the poor bastard. His acting could’ve put pro soccer players to shame. And somehow, his recovery came with a revolving door of nurses warming his bed at night.

  “I invested it all in a strip club,” Nelson declared, puffing out his chest. “I’m the sole owner now.”

  “My dearest friend,” I said, feigning refined judgment, “I trust you’ve hired damsels of scarce bosom?”

  “But of course!” he said, twisting an imaginary mustache. “Sure, those girls won’t be as popular, but they’re there just for you. My humble compensation for bailing me out of jail, good sir.”

  “I expected no less from such a thoughtful gentleman. Hohoho!”

  Nelson raised his beer triumphantly. “I’ll make it the best strip club in the country. HAHAHA!”

  “Just don’t end up as one of the performers.”

  Our joyful business talk dragged in bad company, like sharks sensing blood in the water.

  “Hey, friends!”

  The rough voice rang out in a painfully fake falsetto.

  I froze as four gangsters closed in around us. One clamped a hand on my shoulder; another did the same to Nelson. ‘SHIT SHIT SHIT!’

  “Hey, what’s up?” Nelson replied, his voice steady, his eyes betraying the calm he tried to project.

  The guy gripping my shoulder dug his fingers in harder, making me wince. “My homies and I want to enjoy some booze, but I forgot my wallet,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

  The bastard jabbed a finger into my shoulder again, harder this time. ‘I get it, I get it. Stop. Jesus Christ.’

  “Lend me some cash, and there won’t be a problem.” As he spoke, he tugged at his loose shirt, revealing the unmistakable outline of a gun tucked into his waistband.

  “Sure thing!” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “We’re paying with a card. I’ll tell the girl to charge us for your drinks. Go wild.” I silently prayed it would be enough to keep us alive.

  “Thanks, friend. I’ll make sure to remember you.”

  ‘No, please don’t. Drink enough to forget I exist.’

  His gaze lingered on me a moment too long before he signaled his pals to back off.

  They moved to a table near the entrance, taking seats with a perfect line of sight to ours. My stomach churned as I realized they were still watching us. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  “Sorry, man—I froze,” Nelson muttered, his breath shaky.

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  “It’s alright,” I sighed, feeling my sphincter relax a little. “I nearly pissed myself.”

  “I’ll pay you back half of whatever they drink,” he added, avoiding my gaze.

  “Just lift the vodka ban,” I replied with a weak grin.

  “Let’s drink enough to be a non-threat to them—or get killed and not notice until we wake up in heaven,” Nelson said, finally getting his shit together.

  “Your soul is too black to enter.”

  Nelson called his new girlfriend—the waitress. A few minutes later, vodka and tequila arrived at our table. It was very stupid to get wasted under the circumstances, but I just wanted to forget we were being watched.

  “Расцветали яблони и груши,” I began singing with the most horrendous pronunciation, slamming my glass down in rhythm.

  “Nice. Your inner communist is taking over,” Nelson said, his face spinning before my eyes.

  “Come on, comrade, sing with me!” I waved him over.

  “I’ll pass. I’m still too sober,” Nelson replied, throwing back another tequila shot before standing up. “I’m gonna piss and queue up a song in the jukebox.”

  “Thank you, comrade!” I called after him, raising my glass in mock salute.

  As time passed and the bottles emptied, the pub’s clientele began to shift. More and more gangsters trickled in. The sober and quick-witted quietly slipped out, leaving empty chairs that were soon filled by menacing arrivals.

  The gangsters didn’t bother us again, seemingly happy with the free drinks. Or at least, that’s what my ethanol-soaked brain thought.

  The owner, visibly uneasy, kept glancing toward the door. The influx of “protectors” didn’t sit right with him. After a while, he pulled out his phone, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into the bathroom with a grim expression.

  “What are you staring at?” Nelson asked, pouring himself another shot of tequila.

  “The owner. He looked spooked and bolted to the bathroom.”

  Nelson shrugged, tipping his glass back. “Must’ve been those damn enchiladas.”

  “May God help him,” I muttered, taking another swig of vodka as Nelson poured himself yet another tequila shot.

  “My throat is sore, and my bladder’s about to burst. I’ll go take a piss,” I announced as I got up.

  Nelson didn’t respond—he seemed fully engaged in a deep conversation with the table.

  I staggered toward the bathroom. ‘Left foot, right foot, hold onto the empty chairs, don’t piss off the ugly cunts.’

  After a titanic struggle, I finally arrived, nearly wetting myself in the process.

  “Made it,” I muttered, unleashing the stream and basking in sweet relief. My thoughts drifted back to the owner bolting into the bathroom earlier “Poor bastard. Hehe…” I chuckled, ignoring the fact that, in my stupor, he still hadn’t come back.

  I swayed so hard I missed half my stream. “Ugh. I’ll pretend it was like this before I came.”

  Moving to the sink, I washed my hands, staring at my drunken reflection. “Warm hands. Heh.”

  My happy-idiot drunk time was interrupted when two waitresses rushed into the bathroom, swinging the door open.

  “Lorena, sit on the toilet tank—don’t let your shoes show—and whatever you hear, don’t make a sound! Th-they may come in!”

  My smirk faded. ‘Wait, that ain’t right. This is the men’s bathroom.’

  The one hiding her coworker was Nelson’s newest girlfriend.

  “Lass, wrong b—”

  She recognized me and spoke in a cracked, hurried voice, tears threatening to spill.

  “Go drag your friend in here. Now!”

  “What, wanna bang him?”

  “NOW—go bring him before—” She cut herself off and dove into the empty stall.

  Confused, I staggered back toward the table. My eyes locked onto a young gangster near the entrance—pale, jittery, his gaze darting to the door, one hand clutching his concealed gun.

  I finally began to put the pieces together.

  WAIT. Shit. I scanned the pub. He wasn’t the only one gripping a gun.

  My muscle memory kicked in, my arm twitching toward my decoy phone, but I was too drunk to get it out of my jeans pocket.

  Must get out.

  It was the only command my lizard brain gave. I could’ve gone back to the bathroom and saved my own ass—but I couldn’t ditch my friend.

  Staggering, I managed to reach our table, only to find Nelson utterly wasted, the tequila bottle empty. He might as well have been dead to the world.

  I sat down and nudged his arm as discreetly as drunk me could, desperation creeping into my voice.

  “Jesus Christ, Nelson—up. We gotta run,” I whispered.

  “Huh? Relax, e-everything’s fiii—”

  Before he could finish, a blinding light and a deafening blast obliterated my already limited senses. My vision erupted into static; my ears rang with piercing white noise.

  Splinters rained down, stabbing into my left side like shrapnel, but the alcohol anesthesia dulled the pain.

  I couldn’t see or hear, and I had no idea if my meat suit was even responding to my input. Panic threatened to spiral, yet I held firm, forcing myself down to the floor, trying not to get pincushioned.

  My head felt ready to explode. The ringing in my ears refused to fade, my vision still gone.

  ‘Did I even make it to the floor?’

  Slowly, my senses returned. The ringing resolved into gunfire and shrieks. Bullets whistled past my ears. The jukebox blasted cheerful tunes, a twisted soundtrack to the massacre. Bottles shattered, glass rained, and splinters exploded from tables and chairs as rounds tore through them.

  I hadn’t made it to the floor. I was sprawled flat against the table, my back facing the incoming gunfire. I gritted my teeth and blamed my drunkenness.

  The gangsters fired wildly, not giving a damn who got holed in the crossfire. We’re screwed, I muttered, expecting some kind of response from Nelson.

  But none came.

  I turned to him, expecting him to be quivering in fear. Instead, I froze.

  Slumped forward, still gripping the base of a shattered bottle.

  He was still smiling.

  A bullet had destroyed his right eye. Two more had torn through his forehead, crimson streams running down his face.

  Goosebumps crawled up my arms. My throat tightened, threatening to choke me. I stared at him, my chest aching as the realization sank in.

  Nelson was dead.