Vivian and Richard met in the most ordinary way, over a decade ago. He was out with a group of friends to drink and celebrate the success of his first case. They had this downtown bar they’d go to ever since they were teens, thus they chose that place for that special occasion. I know the story with every detail since he made sure I would listen to it whenever we were out or whenever Vivian was brought up in our frequent conversations outside the office.  He was drunk, dressed in his worst outfit and she was sitting on a table with someone that he never paid enough attention to. She wasn’t fitted for such joints.

“You should see her, Willy. For a second I thought that the scotch was giving me illusions, giving form to the woman of my dreams. And what a woman! She was a lady surrounded by a bunch of hounds, you understand what I'm saying, right? I had to seize the opportunity, and I did so. Her date had gone to piss or whatever, for all I cared she was alone and that was my chance. I gulped a shot of tequila and just sprinted to her side. You should see her face, Willy! Never before has a woman looked at me with such disgust! I knew at that moment I had to win her interest. She was not your typical girl that was easily wooed, hell no. She had more balls than you and me combined! I introduced myself, proud about my title as investigator, and told her that I found her remarkably beautiful. I didn’t waste my time with useless pick up lines and lies.” he scoffed, “She didn’t need those. She needed an honest man who wouldn’t hold back. And with all my honesty, I let her know that sooner or later I was going to marry her. Next thing you know, I am all drenched with Cuba Libre and Viv? She was staring at me with that sly smile of hers.”

“You deserved every drop of it.”

He punched my shoulder and then he laid back on his chair. “She told me that if I wanted to marry her, I should have first asked for her name and then proceeded with my intentions. She was not interested in empty and hollow promises. Gentlemen of her circle had a handful of them. She needed a true man. You should see her face while she was talking; there was no sign of emotion. She was serious and strict, but she was too damn beautiful. And then she simply left, leaving money on the table for her drink.”

His eyes were glimmering every time he’d talk about her. At times like this he seemed a different man; someone who had plans of truly settling down, having kids and just picking a less dangerous job. I doubt, though, that Viv would  ever allow him to change the course of his own plans. She married Richard for his wild and risky personality and she wouldn't settle for less. It wasn’t his rough and scruffy looks that made her heart beat , but his brutally  honest personality; the same thing that drove me close to him.

“We’ve been married for so long and I still find myself wondering why she accepted my proposal back then. When I return home, Willy, I feel like the dead and dark world we come across everyday is past behind me. When I look at her I see a brighter future, one that I'd follow with my eyes closed and without second thought.”

His words were always making me scared that at some point he’d resign from his position and I’d end up finding a new partner, a new friend, someone who is not Richard. I needed him in my own way and perhaps that’s why his loss cost me everything.

As for Vivian, the last time I saw her was at his funeral. We didn’t have much to say apart from those typical words of comfort. We were both grieving. But despite a typical wife that had just lost her husband, Vivian stood tall, shed no tears and accepted each wish with a steel shaped face; no grimace, no frown. She’d bow her head lightly, shake hands and move to the next guest. That was Richard’s wife, and that was why he was head over hills with her.

Her sudden appearance, though, left me with a thousand questions and freezing waves of guilt and fear; enough to spend the entire night lost in some other time and place while Alex Stevenson was trying hard to get a single word out of my mouth. He had opened up almost completely. He explained to me how hard it was to actually find someone who was interesting enough and kind enough to accept his invitation and that of all the boys in the office he was feeling more comfortable working with me. He was born and raised in New Orleans, his mother was a seamstress and his father was a salesman. He didn’t explain to me much about his relationship with them. I believe that he remained uninterested in such a topic and I was thankful we didn’t get to talk about parents and childhood. Then he told me about his wife and their lovely wedding as well as the plans for a honeymoon trip in the near future.

“What about you, sir?”

I blinked at his question and chuckled, taking a sip from my drink.

“No wife.” It was so simple. I was a wounded man, no woman deserved to spend her life treating my traumas.

“Allow me to doubt that. You are a very attractive man, with a job that would make many ladies fall to their feet.

 They’d see you as a hero; they see us as heroes.”

“Do you feel like a hero, Stevenson?” I asked him with my gaze fixated on that short glass and the ember liquid inside it. The boy had convinced me for once to change my usual order and taste a bit of New Orleans, since I was a newcomer . It was called sazerac and it had a bitter-sweet cognac taste that I don’t remember experiencing before. It was a beverage to drink slowly; you should take your time and reminisce instead of drowning in it and hiding away from your monsters like whiskey, for instance.