Beers in the Alley

Hank never quite knew how deeply Dale's denial of Nancy and John's illicit relationship sunk, remaining quite content to think his friend honestly believed he had been abducted by Marfa aliens and that had resulted in Joseph.  After all, Dale was the kind of man who kept a well-stocked fall-out shelter in his basement.  He was the kind of man who obsessively cared for guns as though they were children.  

A few weeks before what would inevitably be the end of the affair, Hank had been haunting the alley late at night.  Peggy was... to put it bluntly, having her lady time, and after all these years, Hank still didn't know how to handle his wife.  It was bad enough when she had a legitimate reason to get upset, but it was downright unbearable when she openly wept for no reason at all.

"I knew I'd find you out here," Dale drawled, cigarette perpetually hanging between his lips.

Hank startled at being caught.  It was always sort of an unspoken rule that no one hung out in the alley well after dark unless they had a legitimate reason.  Peggy's menstruation was his reason just like John Redcorn's healing sessions were Dale's.

"Yup," Hank let slip after a long moment of silence filled with too much beer drinking.

Down the street, the sound of a window sliding open echoed into the alley, and Hank froze up, keeping his eyes trained on the road and the texture of the asphalt, and dangit, it looked like the asphalt was cracking from the daily heat, and he'd have to call road services to alert them of this imperfection sometime soon.

Hank could sense Dale's tremors which made him finish off his beer unnaturally fast, wanting a Long Island Iced Tea more than anything in the world at that moment.  Too bad all he had was the cheap beer they stocked in their alley cooler.  Still, he'd had enough throughout the day for him to likely be just where he wants to be from drinking.

They listened for a long time, ears strained, until John Redcorn's Jeep roared to life and he sped off into the distance.  Then there was nothing but silence, and the reality of the situation rested heavier and heavier on Hank's shoulders the more he thought about what just transpired.

"Damnit, Dale!"  An outburst only made possible by the alcohol, whether Hank was truly drunk or only using it as a cover to help resolve a wrong he'd watched happen for far too long.

"J-John Redcorn's healed my wife now, so I guess I can go home!" Dale blurted out seconds after.  He made to leave, but Hank caught him by the collar of his shirt, choking him for a second until he stopped struggling.

"Dale, it ain't right what Nancy does to ya!"

Dale flinched as though he'd been shot, and maybe that's what Hank had done verbally, but it was time the man understood.  The wound couldn't heal if it never bled, right?

"N-no, what do you mean, Hank, my wife is an angel," he chanted, voice monotone, face blank.

"With John Redcorn!" Hank emphasized, hands grasping the grimy shoulders of his worn-in shirt.  Hank felt day-old grease under his palms, but he put it behind him for the sake of his friend.

Dale's bottom lip trembled, causing him to drop his cigarette down the front of his shirt, leaving a skittering burn on the fabric.  "Nancy and John Redcorn?", Dale asked breathlessly.  "Are you crazy?  Nancy is my wife!  She's the father of my son!  Besides, I trust John Redcorn!  He wouldn't do anything to Nancy!"  But this was as bold-faced a lie as Dale's ever told.

But that's when Hank finally understood.  Dale's outlandish tale was only so because the man couldn't truly comprehend the situation.  It must have been so painful he had to lie to himself just to cope.

It was easier to swallow that they were both abducted by aliens rather than he accept that the love of his life was sleeping around behind his back.

It was then that Hank gingerly released his friend and fished a new beer from the cooler.

After a sip, Hank swooned the slightest bit.  "Yup."

Seconds later, "Yep."