The Ninth Caller Ch. 07

"Yeah...," Ricky said. "And, I don't mind telling you, sir, but..., it was kind of cold and creepy down there."

"It is. And you are going to help me fix that."

For the next several hours Ricky sweated his ass off hauling the rent skippers furniture from his truck, through the monster house and down those narrow steps into the "panic" room. It was hard work, but, he hoped, the appreciation from Tim would pay dividends. As the last few pieces were set in place, Tim walked down the stairs into the room and smiled. His oddly gleeful and off-putting smile sent a shiver up Ricky's spine. It was more of a smirk, and, given the skull-like look of Tim's face, and the fact his lips looked as if they were to tear into bits as they stretched over his bony jaw, that old unease from earlier returned. It was doused when Tim spoke.

"Excellent job, Ricky," Tim said. "Well done! Should two thousand cover your expenses?"

"Two thousand! Holy fu..., yeah, that is great, boss!"

"Well, I like a go-getter, boy, and it is obvious to me you are a go getter," Tim continued as he wandered through the room and inspected the contents. Lifting up the Teddy Bear from the freshly made bed, he grinned. "Yesssssss... This will just work out perfectly." He turned to Ricky his eyes boring into Ricky's with an intensity that set him back on his heels, and said, "I see you have definitely proven to me to be a man I can trust," Tim said. "That is important. We are both in the..., brotherhood, so to speak."

"Yes, I suppose we are."

"So, I have one more favor to ask, but first, I want you to join me in a drink upstairs."

"OK, sir," Ricky said as he felt his mouth water. "But..., if you don't mind, I am trying to..."

"I know what you are trying to do, Ricky," Tim said. "And that is admirable. I am not going to scuttle your efforts, but, help them."

"OK, sir," Ricky said.

They both walked into Tim's kitchen, and Ricky felt sweat starting to form on his neck when the bottle of Wild Turkey was placed on the counter before him.

"Boy," Tim said as he poured himself a glass, "have you ever heard the phrase, that which does not kill me makes me stronger?"

"Of course."

"Good..., I am glad to hear it. That phrase has been the central theme of my life, and a philosophy I take to heart." Pushing a glass of Wild Turkey over in front of Ricky, he added, "now..., I know you have a problem with the sauce."

"Uh..., yes sir," Ricky said as he looked down.

"We all have our own demons, son," Tim said. "It is nothing to be ashamed of. But..., you have to tame your demons. You have to make them work for you, and not the other way around."

"Yes, sir," Ricky said as his eyes kept darting down to the glass of bourbon. He could smell it. Those warm scents of aged oak wafting up into his nostrils, that familiar metallic burn starting to smolder in the back of his throat.

"Those clicks can be quite loud, you know."

"Clicks?"

"That clickity click click click that fires up when you want a drink."

Ricky's face flushed, but he nodded. He knew exactly what Tim was talking about. Yes..., those infernal clicks, the ones always telling him just one drink never hurt anyone, were deafening sometimes. Obviously, Tim was an addict too, but..., an addict to what? That, Ricky could not guess.

"Now see," Tim said as he watched Ricky's hand start to tremble and his tongue begin to slither over his lips as he pushed the shot glass into his reach. He was resisting hard. It was obvious. The sweat beading on his forehead told him all he needed to know.

"I am proud of you, boy," Tim said. "You are sitting here, right now, face to face with your own demon, and, you are whipping it. The closer it is to you, and you not giving in, the stronger you become and the weaker its hold is on your soul."

"Yes...," Ricky said as he closed his eyes. "But, at AA they told us to—,"

"Fuck them!" Tim said. "They do some good work, but, they are wrong on this issue."

"Yes, sir."

"Are the clicks louder, or softer now?"

Ricky paused, and then said, "Well, softer I think."

"See! And you aren't going off the wagon, you are taming it."

"Yeah, it does make it easier. Thank you, sir."

"And now, you are going to help me with my demons, deal?"

"Sure, sir. I would be honored to help you."

"Great. So, after I finish my drink, and you resist yours, we are going to go back into my bedroom and reset the access code to my panic room. I want you to come up with the code, all on your own."

"I, uh, I don't understand. What does this have to do with—"

"—Trust me. This is very important," Tim interrupted. "You, and you alone, will have this code. I trust you to keep it, and..., no matter what I say, or what I do, you are never, ever, ever to give it to me. Capiche?"

"Yes, I understand. But—"

"—And for this tremendous favor to me, Ricky, I am going to compensate you very well. You would like that, wouldn't you? Another five? Would that suffice?"

"Five thousand! Absolutely! I cannot possibly thank you enough."

"Just knowing you are going to help me battle my own demons, is going to be the greatest service anyone has ever rendered to me, so it is a small price to pay. Ricky, this is a great favor you are doing for me and I will never forget it."