The Long Dark by Billy Farmer (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📗

Titouan pointed to one of the small supply rooms. “Locked in there,” he said.

“If you two have something on your minds, why don’t you to just cut to it. I’m too damn sore and exhausted to be playing games with you two.”

“Sam asked me to check on Tish, but the door was locked. Sounded like they were arguing in there, but they hushed up when I called to them, acted like nothing was wrong,” Titouan said.

“Well, maybe nothing was wrong. I have to talk to Miley. I don’t have time for this,” I said.

Titouan flashed me a look that I recognized from the old Titouan. “Tell him I said hello.”

“I’d rather not talk to him at all, or at least not all cloak and dagger like he apparently wants. I’ll gladly trade you places.”

Titouan shook his head and walked away. That was the Titouan I knew and loved.

I heard a door open down the hall. Tish exited the room and walked over to where Avery and I stood. “Remember, Miley wanted to talk to you.”

I nodded, and then said, “Everything okay with Kelley and baby?”

“Yeah, I was just checking over her and the baby.” She gave Avery a quick glance before settling her gaze on me. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering, that’s all. The baby was in the cold a long time.”

“She’ll be okay.”

I was relieved to hear that. “Good.”

“How is Miley?”

Tish smirked. “Drunk.”

                        ***

Miley sat at his desk, looking much more haggard than I’d ever seen him. “Mr. Miley,” I said and nodded hello. Miley always preferred to be called Mr. Miley. I'm pretty sure his friends, if he had any, were kept at the same arms-length decorum. He waved me over to have a seat across from him at his oversized desk.

“Hello, William.”

There was a long and awkward pause where neither of us said anything. He took several long drafts from a bottle I recognized. A bottle I couldn’t believe he was drinking from. He must’ve noticed me looking at it.

“When the world goes to shit, you can drink the good stuff. You want a swig?”

“I stopped drinking a while back.”

“Prohibition is so cliché, William. Drink with me.”

“What’s going on here, Mr. Miley?”

He pounded the gaudy decanter on the desk. “I’m getting drunker. That’s what’s going on.”

“In Barrow?”

“Do you know this was my brother’s favorite? He was much more sophisticated and refined than I’ll ever be. Take this bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII Cognac. Seven thousand dollars I’m holding right here. Even the long name is pretentious as hell. Makes no sense, really, but it makes me think of him. You remember him, right?”

“Yes… I liked your brother a great deal. It was a tragedy what happened to him.”

“Too great of a loss to bear, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry about your brother, but there’s some shit going on. What the hell do you know?”

“I don’t know what’s happening…” He took another drink. “Well, I might know some of what’s happening. I just don’t know exactly how.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter if I tell you or not. What are you going to do, call the FBI or CIA?” He laughed and took yet another drink.

“I don’t understand.”

“Did you happen to see the front door to my office?”

“Hard to miss. It’s gone.”

“Exactly. I was attacked.”

“The Grays did that?”

“Grays?” he asked, beginning to laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what we’re calling them, I guess.”

“I prefer monsters.”

“Please, Mr. Miley, can you tell me what you know.”

He took a giant mouthful of the cognac; so much so that it trickled out of the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt and desk. He wiped his face and then pointed to a weapon that I hadn’t noticed in the dimly lit room. I wasn’t an expert on such things, but I believed it was an AR-15. I remember the magazine more than the actual rifle. It was one of the high capacity jobs that were popular with the wingnuts who shot up public places. Anyway, it was one of the drum-type magazines – maybe a hundred rounds. “No, the damn Grays, as you call them, didn’t pull the door out of the frame. No, the people who did that were fully thinking, non-monster son of a bitches. I took care of them. Except one of them, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I fucked up, William. I got caught up in the wrong things…”

I knew he was drunk, but he was making no sense whatsoever. “I’m exhausted, Mr. Miley.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to explain to you what the fuck is going on. So how about listening to me.”

I nodded.

“Everything was going my way. I had a friendly administration – one I helped get elected, I might add,” he said, his head tilting heavy to one side as he spoke. “I just needed money. Capital, you know. I mean the bastards were going to open huge swaths of the Arctic, and I can’t take advantage of it. I’m tapped out. I have no liquidity, at all. That’s why I sold East Texas. I needed fucking money!”

I was getting ready to say something when he put his hand up, letting me know to be quiet. He then stood up, turned the bottle up, and nearly fell backward in the process. He walked over to the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. Deciding that standing wasn’t a good idea, he fell back down in his chair, swigged another long drink before continuing.

"That’s why I closed down and sold almost everything that was onshore. The Arctic was the way to the future. I was ahead of all the big boys. I just needed the money. I have contacts in Russia and places worse than Russia. Lots of them. I called in a favor or two, and I was pointed to a group of investors who could help. They offered a deal I couldn’t turn down.”

All I could muster was,