Cocktail Talk: A Matter of Life and Death
Okay, honesty time. Raise your hand if you’ve had a broken, or even a fairly seriously cracked, heart. You, in the back, without your hand raised? Quit lying, we’re all friends (or at least boon bar companions) here. That’s what I thought. Turns out, even in short story collections from the 1950s, people have broken hearts. Even in mystery short story collections from the ‘50s, such as Murder by 14 (here and there called My Best Murder Story), which is a collection shading pretty seriously to the “want-to-be-Agatha” side of the mystery section (as opposed to the “want-to-be-Dashiell” section—both of which are sections I like). One of the stories that doesn’t shade too much is A Matter of Life and Death by John and Ward Hawkins, which is pretty much one long hangover for the main character, after a night of heartbreak (somewhat mitigated by the inducer of said heartbreak trying to help him out of what looks like a pretty murderous situation). Really, I know little about John and Ward, the authors, but the story was good enough that I’m gonna look for more. And I certainly understand the sentiment and set-up of the below quote, all about bourbon and heartbreak.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I got loaded in the bar across the street from the office. Straight bourbons. I got full of bourbon clean up to here. I rubbed it in my broken heart. I cashed my paycheck. And then I went riding in taxi-cabs. I went pub-crawling. I met this guy–this big guy with the crew hair-cut and the tough face and the little scar on his chin. We were a couple of ex-sergeants and that made us buddies. He bought some drinks and I bought some drinks, and we really pinned one on–the Giant size.’
— A Matter of Life and Death, John and Ward Hawkins
