Maverick approached the front counter of the Burger King, and I stood behind him. “I’ll just have a glass of water please.” He told the cashier.

“Make that two, please.” I chimed in, as the cashier scurried to fulfil the order.

Once we both had the small plastic cups in our hands; Maverick moved around the corner towards the soft drink machine.

Now hidden from the front counter he tipped his cold water into the machine's drip tray, meanwhile, I savoured my ice-cold beverage.

Mav filled his cup from the soda machine; a drink mixture that he had dubbed The Dragon. Which was a mixture of Coke and Raspberry. He then took a decent gulp, sloshed the drink around in his mouth, and swallowed.

“I don’t know how you do it aye,” I spoke, watching him.

“Do what?” asked Mav, finishing off the last of it. And making another.

“How you can go without water for several days, down a bunch of liquor, then run back to more sugar water. It’s horrendous.” I answered, taking a sip from my cool cup of water.

Mav snickered, “This new generation is fuckin soft.” He replied, sipping from his cup as he made his way towards the curb out front.

“Says the guy drinking Lolly water.” I scoffed, following after him.

Out front of the store, we waited for a fair while longer. Dad surely was not far behind.

“How long did he say he was gonna be?” asked Mav, finishing his cup and sloshing the drink in his mouth.

“I don’t know. Not much longer,” I replied, taking another sip.

“How much liquor do you reckon we coulda swiped from that pallet?” He asked me, throwing his cup to the pavement.

“Oi! Litterer!” I cursed. But Maverick paid it zero mind. So I answered his previous question, “The one at the supermarket?” I asked curiously.

“Obviously.” Maverick clarified, scratching at his arms. “Those shrooms have worn off fully now as well. Not having a great time right now. Need a pick me up.”

“Looks like you need rehab, man.” I corrected, as Maverick cast dirty eyes at me, looking all deranged and looney.

“Fuck rehab. I’m not that bad. Just need to get back home. Hopefully, Dad doesn’t hold us for too long.” Mav spoke, his eyes lost in the changing lights in the intersection nearby in all of its luminescent wonder.

A few moments later, Our Father arrived in his old school truck. The same one he’d given me driving lessons in. The same truck that needed a new gearbox after I was done with it.

Maverick and I rose and took seats in the truck, but this time I sat on the front.

“Hey Dad, how are ya?” I greeted him.

“Obviously doing a bit better than both of you right now.” He said coldly in a dragging slur.

I recited my response, “Yeah. I mean we did get attacked, we were just defending ourselves.” I responded, fastening my seatbelt.

“Defending yourself? The cops wouldn’t have arrested ya’s if it was self-defence. Sounds like to me that you two just got yourself into a bit of mischief…and now you need me to get you out.” Dad ranted on in a mess of words, concluding it with a belch.

Suddenly the smell of spilt liquor perforated the car, and then I noticed the wet patch on Dad's lap. His dark yellow eyes glazed over and sleepy. His eyelids were heavy and his mouth was borderline drooling.

“Do you want me to drive Dad, I’m sober?” I asked him.

Dad shook his head and weathered his hand, “Nah, nah, I’d like to keep my gearbox intact. And anyway, it’s not far to go from here.” He replied, engaging the clutch.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dad, c’mon just let me drive.” I pleaded.

“Shut up, Hunter. I’ll do what I like.” He finished and began to drift off onto the main road.

We pulled out of the Burger King car park and moved to a stop at a set of lights. Dad quickly noticed Maverick sitting in the back looking out the window, “How’ve you been Maverick? Living the dream?” he asked.

“Yeah, man. Standard,” replied Maverick, clearing his throat. “Do you have a smoke, Dad?”

“Nah, nah, gave that up like ten years ago son, where the fuck have you been?” ranted Dad, stroking his goatee, “You wanna know why I gave smoking up?” He asked rhetorically, casting his dreary eyes at both of us. “I did that for both of you. Because you two are worth it. I love you, my Sons.”

“The lights are Green, Dad,” I replied.

“Shit, fuck,…there we go.” He replied, pulling off from his stop.

It wasn’t meant to be a long drive, but sadly, after a few minutes of shaky steering and poorly executed turns, we ended up getting pulled over.

“Shit!” Dad screeched, clawing at the glovebox.

“Shit Dad, you should let me drive,” I stated.

“Shut up, you.” Dad hissed. He then grabbed a 30-gram packet from inside the glovebox, its labelling and branding still present on the packet. Signalling that It was at least 6 years old.

Dad began to chomp through the tobacco, eating the entire thing. One ruthless mouthful after the last. As the Cop began to make his way towards Dad's window.

Dad then shoved the Packet away and began to gag as the aftertaste hit. A row of knuckles knocked on Dad's window, so he lowered it a fraction.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Who am I speaking with?” The cop asked my father.

“Marty Sullivan.” replied my Father.

“Where abouts do you live, Marty?” asked the cop, entering my father's details into his cellphone.

“I just live on the Spinella Crescent. Round the corner.” He replied.

“What's your date of birth?” the cop prodded further.

“31st of October 1957.” replied my Dad.

The cop paused after reading my dad's file. Then came the moment of truth; the breathalyzer. “Just breathe into that for me for 10 seconds.

My dad did as he wished, there was no way in hell this was going to work. Maverick seemed pretty cruisey about it all, not a care in the world, while I knew that if Dad got another DUI his partner would probably leave him and he’d be even more depressed.

The breathalyzer made a loud noise, the cop checked it and nodded his head. “Alright, stay safe, there’s a lot of bad drivers out there, sir.” the cop finished, tucking away the breathalyzer and making his way back towards his squad car.

“Uuugh, haven’t done that in years.” groaned my Dad, as he turned the truck back on.

“What was that?” I asked in bewilderment.

“If you ever get pulled over after you’ve been on the piss, just chomp back an entire thirty gram. It’ll scrub the alcohol from your mouth.” He replied as we set back on the road.

I let that information sink in, but to my deepest core, I was flabbergasted at what I had just witnessed. Absolute buffoonery.

After a gruelling Ten Minute drive, we eventually got back home to Dad's humble abode. A house that he had jointly purchased with our Stepmother many years ago.

He struggled to get up the steep driveway, stalled the car and began to drift back when he slammed on the brakes and pulled the handbrake up, “Think you could do this last little bit for me son?” He asked me.

“Yeah, sure thing,” I replied as I undid my belt and walked around to the driver's seat. Dad and Maverick made their way towards the front door, I waited for them to go inside before I attempted to hill start a manual, it had been many years.

But like learning a bike, some things can’t be forgotten, only weakened. I managed to get it on my first attempt and glided into the carport at the top of the steep drive. I then hopped out, locked the car, and tried the front door. Then tried the door again, then Began thumping upon it; it had been locked.

I could hear Dad stumbling down the stairs inside, he unlocked the door, and gave a surprised look as if he wasn’t expecting me, then remembered, and showed me the way inside.

I found a seat next to Maverick in the lounge. Dad sat in a LAY-Z Boy chair that he had inherited from his deceased father. A bottle of Chardonnay laying on its side empty, and a second bottle damn near close.

It was known to us that Dad drank every day. He drank two bottles of wine a night. It seemed as though he would lose an extra tooth upon every meeting. And his hair had gone from Salt and Pepper to a consistent White.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Dad asked us both, as he poured himself another glass of wine.

“We were up north in Korē Korē, having a few beers and the cops decided to arrest us. But they were brutal Dad, look what they did to Mav!” I exclaimed.

Dad looked at Maverick, his swollen bruise not only covered his left eye but also the top of his left cheek and almost bridged to his nose. The cop had done a real number on him.

“What’d you say to him to piss him off so much?” Dad asked, taking a sip from his glass.

“Fuck all,” replied Maverick.

“That doesn’t look like fuck all, you must’ve said something…anyway, I have a camera, I’ll take a few photos of it. Try to get that fleabag thrown outta the force.” Dad stated, gaining his feet and stumbling down the hall to his office.

Maverick and I remained where we were. We could hear Dad rummaging through some boxes, and then we heard him do a couple of strums on his acoustic guitar, before returning to the lounge.

He leant his acoustic guitar against his LAY-Z boy. While he unzipped his Digital Camera from its case. I was surprised he didn’t drop the damn thing; with the degree that he was sloshed.

He found trouble in turning it on, but he managed to sort it out. He then got close to Maverick's face and took the second mugshot of the day. “I’ll email those to you son, we’ll get that fucker fired. Do you know his name?”

Maverick shook his head, “Nah, he’s from up north.” he replied.

“Well if he made the arrest all his details will be in the system,” replied Dad, putting his camera away. He then picked up his guitar and began strumming away.

He gave a quick tune to it and then began to sing us a rendition of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire. I was heavily surprised he could continue to play even after being so maggot. His voice had always been a monotonous hum, but Mav and I sat back and kept our lips zipped.

Once he was done with his performance he leant it against his seat, grabbed his glass of wine from the coffee table and dipped his moustache into it. “There’s some beer in the fridge if you boys feel like it.” He offered.

Maverick's head perked up, “I might take you up on that.”

“Help yourself.” Dad insisted, topping up his glass. Maverick moved off the couch and into the kitchen, as he grabbed himself a beer. Dad moved his attention to me, “You don’t want one?” He asked.

“No, that’s fine,” I replied, bouncing my leg.

Dad looked at me with an expression that seemed to be that of a man trying to solve a complicated math equation, “Are you sure?” He asked again, sipping away.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I replied.

Maverick moved back into the room with a beer held in either hand and another held by his teeth. He moved towards me and held one out for me to grab.

“I’m all good.” I insisted, holding my hand up to fend it off.

Maverick mouthed words between his bottled mouth, and I struggled to make out a single word. But overall, I caved, and Dad passed me his keys, which had a retro bottle opener on them. “Can’t get those anymore.” He stated as I opened my bottle.

I read the engraving on the side, it was printed with the title of a boat club from a certain Bay in Auckland. “Is this from that old boatyard where we had that launch?” I asked, taking my first short sip.

“Yep. That’s the one.” Dad Noted.

Maverick cracked into his bottle with his lighter and gave a shallow glug for a change. We then cheered bottles and tapped Dad's glass. A decent gulp for the first one.

“It’s good to have you two around here. It’s been a while.” Dad stated.

“Yeah, it has been.” I agreed, placing my bottle on a coffee table coaster.

“Are you still Roofing, Hunter?” Dad asked me.

“Well, I think I’ll be between jobs pretty soon. The company is going through a bit. My boss has a bit of a gambling problem.” I explained.

“Does he pay you right?” Dad asked narrowly.

“Yeah, he pays us right. I just don’t see how all this is going to play out. Seems like a bit of a tea leaf, a guy that left our company didn’t get his annual leave, and another guy ended up suing him for underpaying.” I explained further, taking my second sip.

“Shit. Sounds like it might be best to just cut ties with that fellah and do your apprenticeship with someone a bit more stable. If he’s done it to others, it means he can do it to you as well, in fact, he probably will.” Dad ranted, taking a sip from his wine. He then switched his gaze towards Maverick, “What about you Maverick, what’s been happening with you?” Dad asked.

“I’m off work at the moment, I’m on ACC,” replied Maverick, hiding behind his beer bottle.

“Still in Scaffolding?” Dad asked further.

“Yeah, still scaffolding,” Maverick said shortly.

“Oh yeah. What about your ticket, you got that yet?” asked Dad.

“Nah, not yet. I need to find a decent employer that’s willing to put me through,” replied Maverick.

“How many employers have you had?” asked Dad, picking up his wine glass again and having a sip.

“In scaffolding? I’ve had a few,” answered Maverick, taking a solid glug from his bottle.

“You’ve had a few. And none of them have managed to last long enough to get your ticket?” Dad stated.

Maverick paused and gritted his teeth, “That’s one way to look at him.”

“What other way is there to look at it?” Dad asked sarcastically.

“We’ll there’s—Nah, I won’t bite,” said Maverick, as his hands began to twitch.

“Bite what? I’m just giving you the harsh truth, if you were gonna get your ticket you woulda got it by now? You’re not young anymore Maverick, need to hurry up and get that ticket yesterday unless you wanna stay on the tools forever.” Dad ranted, finishing off his glass of wine, “By The time I was your age I was running my own Landscaping company, had my own clients, I’d travelled the world, with a ‘72 Valiant with dual headlights waiting for me in my garage back home.”

“Oh yeah? And where’s all that stuff now?” asked Maverick.

“I had to make sacrifices because of you, Mate,” Dad pointed at Maverick.

“Don’t you blame this on me, mate? You’ve eaten, smoked and drank your pay packet away every week until you got a phat inheritance from your Dad!” scoffed Maverick.

“Well unlike you, I didn’t have a Dad in my life trying to steer me in the right direction. I didn’t see him from 5 years old until I already had you!” Dad spat at Maverick.

“You barely even raised me, Mate! You palmed me off to boys' homes and when I wasn’t there I stayed at My Mum's place, you didn’t do shit for me, mate!” Mav cursed, rubbing his forehead.

“Oi, Oi, guys, calm it a bit c’mon.” I tried.

“If I never do anything for you…then why don’t you just leave? you’ve off my will, you little Bastard.” Dad spoke with cold promise.

Maverick laughed in sarcastic spite, grabbed his spare bottle and made way for the front door.

I followed after Maverick.

“See ya Dad,” I said in farewell.

“Watch out for that one, Son. He’s a waster.” Dad stated, without turning his head.

I dismissed what Dad said and hurried after Mav, down the staircase and out the front door.