As we walked towards the shopping district, we had gotten carried away with a heated but decisive argument on which of the restaurants there are the lesser of the many evil (and also, three out of five people would probably end up with food poisoning if they tried takeout). About thirty minutes later, and that’s actually thirty minutes longer than I had originally intended on arguing with him on the finer aspects of not getting poisoned with all the shitty chiefs and ancient family restaurants here, we decided on go to this really suspicious Mexican food shop that seemed to ran by a group of drug dealers...or so the rumor goes, but it’s not really believable as I highly doubted the capabilities of the cooks there to ever cook anything that isn’t an insult to the word ’food’ since I have never seen them create anything else.

We ordered tacos (because that way we could actually see what they had put into said taco, and it’s cheap) and proceeded to sit in silence for a while as we tried to the get each other to start the conversation. It soon derailed into a mime involving many complicated gestures and even more awkward silences.

"Great," I thought, "We will be stuck here all night waiting for someone to start the conversation at this rate."  

Albest opened his mouth to say something, but words failed to come out of his mouth (and yes, he looked very awkward and have the same facial expression you would generally make when you’re trying to swallow an extremely large hot dog). I don’t know why, but it seems like whenever things become difficult to explain, he loses his ability to speak. So, with no options left, I decided to talk first.

"Look, we are not going anywhere. The only reason why I am not leaving you is because of the explanation you had promised thirty-five minutes ago and the fact that you paid for the tacos. Now say something before I leave you here with the chemical weapon know as a ’shitty taco’ and go to the nearest gun store to buy a gun that I could put under my pillow."

Albest then took a deep breath and started telling his story. "Okay, so this all started about seven months ago, when I got bored—I mean, when I found a job online." Hey, Albest, don’t start your story off with such an unreliable line. I seriously want to punch you now. "Well, when I was browsing conspiracy site—ahem, I mean, job-finding sites, that I had came across a strange request to investigate the legitimacy of a government cover-up of an UFO landing. Which totally isn’t suspicious at all and I totally didn’t do this because I’m bored."

Albest, if you’re going to lie about how much you hate work, please at least try and stop yourself from saying lazy lines like browsing conspiracy theory forums for shits and giggles. If I didn’t have better self-control, I might’ve actually said my inner monologue out loud. That was so close to slipping out.

"So, after a long investigation that actually requires me to get off my ass and meet other people (gasp, cue applause as an unemployed man found something to do with his time). Then after I had confirmed the legitimacy of the government coverup, I had started stalk—ahem, I mean, investing the personal background of my client (oh my god, it actually made me sound like a professional when I say the word ’client’). Don’t judge; it isn’t me being a creepy stalker as long as I have a good reason. " Albest reasoned unconvincingly, grinning like a discount jack-o-lantern you bought three Halloweens ago. Did I mention how fucking annoying that grin is? It’s the kind of smile that wordlessly promises a YouTube fail compilations of the things you did while drunk with a complementary ’ahahaha, get fucked!’ attached. That happened way too many times.  

"Albest, have you ever wondered why even not one company had ever offered you a position or job? Yeah, I haven’t either." I said, looking at Albest with my full attention. Personally, I really don’t want to believe that government conspiracy bullcrap, especially when it concerns aliens. But even the craziest of theories can sound convincing if just forty-nine minutes ago, one had just had a narrow encounter with death. A few minutes more, and I think I would’ve gotten Death’s phone number, too.

Having dodged a literal bullet can be quite healthy for your skepticism and definitely leave you more attentive when someone is explaining why said bullet is aimed at you. This information might save my life at some point too—nah, who am I kidding, that sound exactly like the kind of shit he would do.

Continuing with his story, Albest said,"Turns out that my client is a college studying politics that had an influential dad who apparently knows some freaky shit about the government. Aliens arrived in the equation shortly after as some...things happened." Albest said suspiciously, leaving me really curious about precisely what ’things’ happened that made the guy who would shamelessly send a bag of dildos to his best friend on a certain April fools using my credit card. To this day, I still don’t know how he did it, but I can tell you that afterwards his mother ’discovered’ Albest’s online porn stash that contained enough material to at least for four really awkward family meetings and create at least one extremely disillusioned mom. Oops, got sidetracked.

"And can you explain to me exactly what ’things’ happened to result in this situation?" I asked, gulping down the glass of water to distract myself from the current situation, and accidentally choked.

"Well, I don’t to talk about it, but it has to do with the fact that there’s actual aliens on Earth. And by aliens I’m not talking illegal immigrants either." Albest sneakily dodged the question yet again. With amazing ability to give only the vaguest answers, create bullshit seemingly out of thing air and change the topic in the blink of an eye...he could’ve become an excellent politician. "I was onto something big, and it’s so damned top secret that the secret service is in on it. So shortly after that, I became a big fat target. I think that’s about it."

I sensed that Albest was about to say something more, but Albest had suddenly stopped talking for a moment. His eyes focused on someone else. At first, I had naturally assumed he is simply checking out the waitress behind us serving table eight (because he’s that kind of guy). I was about to scold him for thinking about that during an important conversation, when I had suddenly realized that he looked absolutely terrified. There isn’t much that could scare him. I had suddenly decided out of nowhere to ask him what’s wrong and what in the seven hells is frightening him so much that he looked like he might wet his pants. "Is there something wrong? Albest? Hello? Earth to Albest, if there is something you need to tell me...tell me right the hell now or I’ll splash this small glass of cold water onto your face."

That brought him back to focus, but he still didn’t laugh, so I decided that it had nothing to do with the fact that the bored-looking waitress behind us had stopped serving table eight when she had arbitrarily decided that we (as a group) are ogling her and gave us a dirty look that probably is the waitress equivalent of giving the finger without actually doing anything to that effect.

"Well, do you know that the old man sitting behind us in table eight hadn’t ordered anything in the time we’ve been here and no, the waitress refilling his water bottle doesn’t count as ordering anything. He is reading a month-old newspaper with about as much interest as I would with a cars magazine. And he is —Oh Shit. Run."

Right on cue, everyone in the restaurant except us (which is about...seven people. It either says something about how ridiculously understaffed they are or how pathetically desperate they are for more customers) screamed and ducked behind or under whatever they had decided could offer them protection. The staff moved into the kitchen like this is something that has been covered in their training manual when they first joined (and I could totally imagine the restaurants in this neighborhood doing at least something to that effect given how shady the whole place is) and the mildly old man (middle age is closer to the mark than old age) that Albest was talking about stood up like someone had shoved a needle up his ass. Swiftly dropping the newspaper and simultaneously pulling out a gun from his trousers in one fluid motion like he had done this before. Wordlessly, he pulled the trigger.

In that one terrifying, confusing moment, I had simply stopped reacting just as Albest had deliberately fallen under the table and threw me outside through the door using the momentum from his fall.

Surprised at the sudden development of events, I tripped and landed on my knee outside. Numerous ways to verbally express my pain had popped into my mind in, but I simply gritted my teeth and got up to my feet and scrambled towards my house. Not looking back at all except to call for Albest. He is my best friend, I couldn’t just walk away. He was behind me running with just as much fervor, but looked way more exhausted. Panicked, I faced forward and continued to run as fast as I could towards my house.

...and that’s when my house exploded. 

Next Chapter: Chapter 3