Chapter 13 – Two Bourbons

West India

31 Hours Later

Nicholas Howard sat nursing a killer migraine on a wooden bar stool inside a local Indian tavern. They had arrived only an hour or so before, and he was sick as a dog. Traveling across time zones always did that to him. Gave him a nasty headache and nervous jitters, the kind you could only get rid of with heavy drinking. So, his first course of action was to head to the street markets, searching for the cheapest booze and lowest lighting. He had found this one off of a main street corner, nearly sunken into the ground, shifting a little when anyone came walking in. But there were no lights, and the drinks were deep and nearly free. He figured it would work as well as anything else… if not better. The floor was made of old bamboo planked with water wood. The walls were mud, covered in cultural décor and drying banyan tree leaves. They gave the entire hut a smoky smell, and the only light came from an opening in the west wall being passed off as a window. The air was still and stuffy, hanging like mist in low pockets. The market smelled of Indian spices and sweet perfumes, and the scents drifted into the tiny, one-room hut like invisible fingers. Nicholas took them in, his stomach churning a little when he caught a whiff of old cow shit. He opened his eyes, peering at the finger of bourbon left in the cloudy snifter before him. An old Indian man with gray eyebrows and a dark red turban stood hunched behind the rickety bar stand, gazing off into space. Nicholas rubbed a hand over his scruffy face as he considered another bourbon. He needed to shave, that was for sure. He was still wearing the same getup he had been wearing when the research group took off from London a day and a half ago. He felt like an old towel.

The others had gone straight to the local inn, a shanty place with rat holes and greasy food. But it was spacious enough for all of Mason's personnel, and it was dirt cheap. Plus, the beds were big and soft, as was Indian tradition. Mason, Alex West, and Lara Croft had been escorted personally to the temple by one of their liaisons. The three of them were to be guests of the temple monks, treated like royalty during their stay. Mason said it was because he wanted Lady Croft to have the opportunity to go straight to work in the morning, but Nicholas knew better. Mason just couldn't stand the thought of resting his pampered ass in anything less opulent than his own bedroom. He shut his eyes again, certain he was going to die from the pain pulsing behind his left eye. He was beginning to think that coming along for the ride wasn't such a good idea after all. But Mason wouldn't have heard of it. Nicholas was sickened at the thought of someone being so dependent on him. He was only 33 fucking years old. Thirty-three! And yet he felt 133. He took the glass, knocked back the rest of the bourbon. It slid down his throat like liquid fire, burning a trail as it went. It settled in his gut like a handful of embers, and he let himself slide on the rush of alcohol.

The glass beads covering the crooked doorway rattled as someone came walking in. The ancient floor creaked and heaved beneath footsteps. Nicholas glanced up to see Alex West take a seat on the stool next to him, covered in the perspiration that accompanies a long walk. He smelled like the market, and his white cotton over-shirt hung limply around his chiseled body, damp with sweat. Nicholas groaned, wanting nothing less than to talk to anyone remotely connected to his job. Alex ran a hand through his matted hair, nodding.

"I hear you, buddy." Nicholas only raised a brow, the alcohol in his gut turning quickly into a brick.

"West, what the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were supposed to be at the temple with Mason and Lady Croft." Alex threw off his over-shirt, exposing incredibly toned arms and a thick chest. His tanned pecks were accentuated by a talisman dangling on a strand of leather. It was ornate, patterns everywhere. It was shaped like a Tibetan half-moon, with some symbol etched into the center. Nicholas had to admire the man. He may be a loser, but he was a buff loser.

"Mason and Lara went to speak with the temple elder about the river. They thought it would be best if they went alone. The elder is a very aged man, very quiet and introverted. They said it was greatly disrespectful to enter his chambers with too many people in tow. Mason himself will stay off to one side, just listening to what is said. Lara is the one asking questions. Apparently, she knows him."

"So what? You had to find the one place I was hiding in from the rest of the world to order a drink?" Alex stared him squarely in the eyes, glowing bright blue in the hazy barroom.

"Personally, I thought you could use the company. You weren't looking too good back there, Nick."

Nicholas was taken aback. It had been many years since anyone had called him that. Nick… His mother used to call him that when he was growing up. And when he was in high school, only his best friends had called him Nick. The guys he would hang out with behind the school dumpsters, sneaking cigarettes. Those had been the last of the good times. He stared at the dirty glass he had in his hands. He started rolling it around, watching the last drop of bourbon swirling around at the bottom.

"Yeah, well… I don't really dig the traveling. Gives me a fucking headache." Alex nodded again, as if he understood everything.

"You too, huh?" Nicholas watched as he pulled out a discreet white bottle from his back pocket. "Here," he said, shaking two small red pills into his palm. "Take these. Best damn thing for a headache on planet earth." Nicholas looked at them, then turned to goggle strangely at Alex.

"You're kidding, right? It looks like Advil."

"No way, man. This shit will fix anything short of a brain tumor." He handed the pills to Nicholas. He turned to the barkeep, waving and greeting him in Hindu. The barkeep smiled a nearly toothless smile, nodding and jabbering something at top speed. Alex motioned toward Nicholas' empty glass.

"Two bourbons!" The barkeep smiled that wide, toothless grin again, disappearing beneath the bar to hunt for more booze.

"You speak Hindu?" Alex smirked.

"You have to know a lot more languages than Hindu to keep a job like mine in the red." The barkeep placed two dirty glasses of bourbon in front of them, bowing slightly two or three times as Alex handed him a small wad of Indian notes. Nicholas knocked the two little red pills back with a swig of bourbon, his stomach lurching in drunken protest.

"I never really saw tomb raiding as an actual career path."

"Neither did I, until I realized how much work it took."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you first hear about something like tomb raiding, you picture it being this piece of cake, walk-in-the-park type of thing where you get paid to find antique shit. And then, when you're introduced to the reality of it, the wool is removed and you discover what real work is all about. It's a thankless job, and most of us get paid shit for what we do. In the long run, it can't end up being about money or glory. Only the thrill of the hunt." Nicholas nodded slowly in understanding. He drank more bourbon, trying to drown the dull aching all over his face. The two men sat silently for a while, the sounds of the street market whispering in and out of the tavern on hot breezes.

"The way they talked about you, I figured you'd be some cutthroat sellout with an insatiable desire for fame and fortune," Nicholas finally said, breaking the silence. He noticed that his headache was beginning to subside, the waves of pounding pain lessening.

"I am that way most of the time. I have this thing about money. I grew up without a lot of it, and I saw first hand what poverty does to people. I've practically sold my soul to keep the same thing from happening to me." Nicholas looked at him sadly, then turned back to his bourbon.

"Yeah. I know how that feels. I was the same way."

"Was?"

"Well, I have no soul anymore. It belongs to Edmond Mason and his monster of an acquisitions corporation. I sold my soul to get bread and water, and in exchange I got everything my little heart could desire. For a while I enjoyed it, the freedom and the money and the feeling that comes from driving an expensive car while wearing an expensive suit. It was great. But as time went on, I came to realize the price that I paid to have all the material goods this world could offer. It's a bitch, that's for sure." The two went silent again. The sun was setting red and gold in the horizon, and local merchants outside were packing up their wares for the evening. A cooler breeze had picked up, filling the tavern with a rustle of fresh air. The barkeep was asleep in a dilapidated old chair in the far right corner, snoring loudly. Alex West and Nicholas Howard sat side by side, their shirts ruffling in the cool evening breeze. Their bourbon glasses sat empty in front of them, reflecting the sunset behind them. For a moment, it was absolutely quiet, and Nicholas felt a crawling sense of fear. He didn't know why, but he felt like this expedition was bad news. There was just something about all that was going on. It was a feeling he had, something that disquieted him. Here, in this humid shack, a foot away from the chaos of dirt streets and impoverished families. Something made his skin crawl like tiny spiders. God, he needed a hit…

"Well Nick, it was good chatting with you," Alex said as he stood. Nicholas shook his head, shocked back to reality.

"You heading out?" Alex rubbed his chin, gazing out toward the street.

"Yeah. I should be getting back. The temple is a good four miles from here, and I don't want to get caught in the dark. The streets can get kind of rough around here when the sun goes down. Keep your head on when you head home, Nick." Nicholas waved as Alex left the tavern, the glass door-beads clinking behind him. He stared at the sleeping barkeep, shaking his head as he snorted in his sleep.

And as the sun went down, it cast golden slivers over everything inside the bar, illuminating it with an almost supernatural glow. He tossed a few crumpled notes to the bar's surface, taking a last look at his and Alex's bourbon glasses. It had been too long since he had been able to call someone his friend. He certainly didn't consider Alex his friend as of yet, but the thought that someone else on this miserable planet knew where he was coming from was an incredible comfort. And for a moment, Nicholas Howard smiled.