Free Sea Creature by Victor Methos Page B

chuckling. “How about you pull your tampons out before I get those for you? Everyone found this amusing and laughed. “Just joshing ya mates. Well known fact that Americans can’t hold their liquor. Beer and wine it is.”
    “Who said Americans can’t hold their liquor?” Patrick said.
    “Just a well known fact. You sound like you want a chance to challenge that fact, mate.”
    Christopher said they didn’t but Patrick didn’t notice him.
    “All right, how?”
    “Tequila shots. First one to give or pass out loses.”
    “Fine.”
    The men cheered and Christopher mumbled something about how childish this was. Mitch ordered and the waitress brought out twenty tequila shots. The tequila was thick, like syrup, and the bottles behind the bar had worms in them.
    “Cheers, mate.”
    They took their first shot. The tequila went down smooth but had a strong aftertaste. It warmed Patrick’s belly and they took another. They would wait almost a full minute in between shots and then hold up their shot glasses at the same time and down the liquid. After five shots, the warmth Patrick felt in his stomach began to turn to nausea. After ten shots, he didn’t feel it anymore.
    They ordered another twenty drinks. Christopher tried to stop them, but Patrick was too into the game now. Mitch sat across from him with a smile on his face; there was no way he was going to let him win.
    Two more shots, back-to-back this time. They waited another thirty seconds and then took two more. The aftertaste was coming back and Patrick ordered a Coke to clear the taste from his mouth.
    “How ya doing, mate?” Mitch said, his words slurring.
    “Fine. Hey Mitch, why wasn’t Jesus born in Australia? Cause they couldn’t find three virgins and a wise man. Wait, Chris is that how it goes?”
    Mitch laughed so hard one of the men had to grab him so he wouldn’t fall out of his chair. Patrick began to laugh too but tasted vomit in his mouth and stopped.
    The room was spinning but Patrick picked up another glass and swallowed as Mitch did the same. Three more shots, one right after the other. Patrick couldn’t see clearly and his stomach and bowels burned. Whenever he drank too much he needed to have a bowel movement and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold it. Mitch leaned back in his chair and appeared calm, but Patrick saw the strand of drool that was hanging down from his mouth.
    Two more shots, and then a thirty second wait. Patrick felt vomit in his throat. Before he could take a swallow of Coke to keep it down it shot out of his mouth and over the table. The men cheered and laughed as Patrick slid off the table and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
    Christopher helped him up and out of the bar.
    The night air was cool and some of the shops were still open, a few tourists browsing clothing stores. Chris carried him back to the jeep and Patrick was singing a Phil Collins song. He fell back in the seat, vomit over his shirt and pants, and sang louder as the jeep roared to life and Christopher pulled away from the bar.
    They drove through the winding streets and then left Viña and headed for their hostel in Valparaiso. It always amazed Christopher how the two could be so close and completely different from one another. He had been told by some of the locals that if one wanted to get lost and never found, Valparaiso was the place to go. The address system there didn’t work and even the police couldn’t find most addresses unless they grew up there and knew where everything was by heart.
    There were some neighborhoods that were known for such violence no policemen would dare enter them, even during the day. Christopher filed this information away; you never knew when you would have to get lost and never found.
    He parked the jeep in front of their hostel and Patrick was still singing. He pulled him down and put his arm over his neck and carried him in. He laid him on the bed and collapsed next to him. Christopher was not known for