"In wine is truth."
Ancient Roman proverb

“In Heaven, there is no beer
That’s why we drink it here
And when we’re gone from here
Our friends will be drinking all the beer.”
Brave Combo

I.
As hard as Jack Percks tried, he simply could not remember how many beers he’d had that evening. It was a normal Monday night out at the Billy Bubba’s Bar. Jack was with several of his co-workers from Kenneth Paper, the local paper mill in Frittersville. It was a tradition for as long as Jack could remember to get drunk on Monday and Friday nights. Why they did this, Jack couldn’t have told you even when he was sober. But he wasn’t complaining. They had arrived shortly after six that evening, and now it was almost eleven. Jack didn’t care, as he lived alone in a house outside Frittersville, and had no one waiting for him. As for the hangover, Jack had learned to live with that.

Frittersville, for those who have never been there, is a tiny town of about 4,500 people in extreme northern Michigan. It has the aforementioned paper plant, the Billy Bubba’s Bar, a suburb, a few gas stations, a store, and that’s about it. There was a steel plant there, but it shut down almost ten years ago. It was like many towns in that part of the country in its poverty and obsoleteness. This might also explain why so many people got drunk there.

Jack Percks had finally had enough beer, and told his friends good-bye. His house was a few miles away, and Jack would have to drive on the Crichton Parkway to get there. He was shit-faced drunk, but that rarely stopped him from driving home. Jack waddled to his car, started it, and pulled out of the parking lot.

On the side of a nearby road, a woman looked through a pair of cheap binoculars at Jack and his car from her SUV. This one was a red sedan, she thought. It was nice little car. Shame some drunk asshole might wreck it. She waited for Jack Percks to leave the bar, and get on the parkway before she pulled out of the field and stormed after him.

Jack Percks had a blood-alcohol content of .22, almost three times the legal limit. There were no cops out tonight, which was just fine by the woman in the SUV. She saw Jack drive, and he was doing terribly so far. He ran a stop sign, and had left his lights off. Yep, she thought, this son of a bitch is drunk. Time to go after him.

She started up the SUV, and started speeding after the red sedan. She had to do eighty-five just to get within aiming distance. The guy in the sedan must be really wasted, she thought. Well, she figured she was doing the world a favor by getting rid of this SOB.

Jack Percks didn’t even notice the little red dot in his rearview mirror. He continued driving, and for a second swerved into the oncoming lane. He noticed the SUV behind him, and slowed down.

The hell is this moron doing, the woman wondered. The sedan was slowing down, and the woman couldn’t keep aim. She flashed her brights at him, and he went onto the shoulder. So that’s it, she thought. This son of a bitch thinks I’m a cop. Well, he’ll get a bit of a surprise. She stopped and pulled over behind him, and took her idea of a Breathalyzer with her.

She walked up to the car, and the man rolled down his window. She got a look at him. He was about six feet tall, with brown hair and a bald spot at the top, not that attractive, unlike her husband taken from her by some piece of trash like this guy. She looked at him, and spoke.

“Hello.”

“Uhhh, hi officer.” Slurred speech even. Yep, this asshole was drunk. And on a Monday no less. Well, he won’t have to worry about a hangover in the morning.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“What business of it is yours? You don’t look like a cop!” He muttered.

“How do you know I’m not undercover?” She wasn’t undercover, but she decided to have some fun first.

“Okay, do I step out of the car?”

“No.”

“I’ve had a bunch of beers. I don’t remember. What’s the punishment for this?”

“It’s pretty harsh in this area.” And with that, the woman in the SUV pulled out her Breathalyzer, known in most parts as a .44 Magnum, and the loud roar could be heard for a mile around the car.

She looked in, and saw that the right half of his face was gone, blown to bits all over the passenger-side window. It felt good to see this, the woman thought. One less drunk driver. She got in her SUV, and drove home.

One less drunk driver. One step towards vengeance.