Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (14 page)

“Oh
,
is that right?” Ear Ring said. “How you figure?”

“You caught a good break.
Every shot was almost straight in.”

Ear Ring wasn’t
accustomed
to having his skills on the table questioned.
He shot a pretty good stick and he knew it.
And who the hell was
this
guy anyhow? Obviously he was too stupid to know that it takes a good shot to leave the cue ball so the next shot
will
be straight in.
Ear Ring sensed easy money.

“What say we make it interesting? “How bout five bucks a game?”

“How about twenty for three games?”
Jason shot back, “Let the girl hold the money.”

Parakeet
smiled.
Ear Ring did not. He’d been suckered.
But to back down now would make him look bad to his buddy and the girl whom he was hoping to get drunk and frisky before the night was over. Ear Ring could smell whisky on the challenger.
Might be the liquor doin’ the talkin’ for him.

“You’re on Hot Shot.
Rack ‘em.”

Jason took three twenties from his wallet, folded them up, and pressed the bills into the redhead’s hand, giving it a little squeeze as he did.
She didn’t exactly squeeze back but he was encouraged by the sparkle in her eye.
She had
the look
.
Over the years, Jason had prided himself on the ability to see
the look
on a girl.
It was the way she carried herself, her body language, her smile, her laugh.
The way she moved and walked and caught your eye, all signs of a woman ready to play…or stray.
Jason was seldom wrong about such things.

Ear Ring made a come here motion to Pearl Stud.
“I’m a little short. Loan me forty bucks.
Don’t worry, it’ll only be for a few minutes.”
Pearl Stud wasn’t so sure about the longevity of the loan but added his contribution to the wad of cash on the table.

Jason arranged the balls in the triangular rack, the one ball at the point, then alternating ring balls with solid colors, and the eight ball in the center. Ear Ring placed the white cue ball to one side and made a practice stroke
,
but Jason spoke up.

“Hold on there.
This is our first game.
We lag for break.
Or do you local boys make your own rules in this jerkwater town.”

No doubt about it.
This rude son
of
a
bitch was getting under Ear Ring’s skin, big time.
“What? We only got one cue ball. Screw that.”

“Not a problem
,
Dude. We can mark the positions with a coin.”

Jason made the point about the lag shot for a couple reasons.
One, he wanted to get a feel for the rails and second, to see if the table was reasonably level.
Knowing how the table tilted, if there was a tilt, was a big advantage for the homeboy.

Ear Ring made his stroke, the white ball bouncing off the far rail, and coming to rest just past center table. “Aw shit, I can do better than that,” he said.
“Not used to doing this silly
lag
bullcrap.”

Jason said nothing and after carefully marking the previous spot with a dime, made his move.
The ball crept down the length of the table, gently touched the back rail, and came to a stop. Ear Ring laughed.

“Us local boys play it to how close the cue ball comes to the near rail, that’s the one your elbow is leaning on, not that one way down there.”

“Not used to the table,” Jason mumbled.

With a wide grin all over his face and getting wider, Ear Ring reared back with his stick and let her fly at the cue ball.
There was a resounding crack but very little movement as most of the balls remained in a loose circle with the exception of the one ball and a striped 13.
Ear Ring made the one ball in the corner pocket, an easy shot, but the other solids were huddled up like cattle in a corral waiting to be fed.
Hoping for some luck, he fired hard at the seven ball, scattering the pack all over the table, but nothing fell.

Jason suppressed his own grin and went to work. His opponent hadn’t noticed the loose rack he’d set. The lag shot for the break had been a ploy. Before joining the Army, Jason Woods had been well known around the bars of Corpus Christi, Texas.
His skill on the tables had kept him in decent money, far more than what he was making working as a stock boy at the H.E.B grocery.
Twenty-dollar games were common back then and Jason was hoping that cash like that would make old Ear Ring a little nervous.
There were a lot of tricks to a good pool hustle and Jason knew most of them.
Without showing anything fancy, he slowly worked his way around the table, a cut shot here, an easy bank there, until the eight rested directly in front of the side pocket.

“We’re playing
call the pocket
, right?” Jason asked, knowing damn well what the customary rules were.
Getting your opponent riled up was another hustler trick.

Without waiting for a reply, Jason tapped the cue ball, the eight barely rolling over the lip of the pocket before falling with a satisfying plop.

“Ma’am?” Jason called toward the bar.
“Could I get another beer over here?
Bring
a round for my new friends while you’re at it.”

Parakeet
put one hand over her mouth, trying to hide the grin.

“Just take the money out of that pile of twenties there,” Jason directed.

Jason missed his shot only twice during the following games, not that it mattered, as he was in complete control of the outcome. For the final shot, he smashed the black eight to the far corner pocket with authority, a little kiss-my-ass-and-pay-up slam dunk. Ear Ring
threw
his cue stick to the table
so hard that it caught the attention of the bartender, making her miss a few lines of the movie.

By now, Ear Ring had worked himself into a snit, his face red and quivering.
“
You’re a pro
.
You hustled me you ass hole.
”

“Maybe,
” Jason admitted, chalking the cue stick.
Hey, you want to go another three games?
You made a few balls that last time.”

“Maybe I’ll just
kick
some balls, yours, and whip some ass while I’m at it.”

Jason shook his head. “Not a good idea my friend, not good at all. See, right now, the only damage is to your pride and your wallet but take it any farther, it gets more serious and way more expensive.
I’m talking hospital bills here.”

“Hey, you jerks take it outside,” the
Spencer Tracy fan
behind the bar yelled. “I won’t put up with no fighting in here. One swing and I’m calling the cops.
I mean it now.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ear Ring snarled. “How about it hustler man, you ready?”

“No, not really.
It’s been kind of a long day and I’d like to finish my beer first if you don’t mind. You go on ahead, I’ll be along shortly.”

Jason gave
Parakeet
a wink and
scooped up
his winnings.
The
girl
playfully tugged back on the cash as she passed it to the victor.
She was still wearing
the look.

Ear Ring grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her from the chair. “We’re going.” Then to Jason, “I’ll see
you
later.” Pearl Stud dutifully followed the pair out the front door and the bar quickly grew quiet, the only sound being Spenser Tracy explaining something about monkeys.

Jason took a seat at the table,
drained his glass
,
and thought about his options.
T
here was little doubt in his mind that Ear Ring would be waiting somewhere on the street or in the first alley, his buddy ready to back him up.
But would he have a gun? Probably, hell everybody in Oklahoma owns a gun
…
or two
…
or three.

“Ma’am,” Jason called out. “I’m gonna have to take off, much as I hate to.
I’ll just put these pool cues back in the rack first.”

The woman glanced his way for a moment, but didn’t say a word and went back to the Monkey Trial on TV.

Jason picked up the two sticks, made sure the bartender wasn’t looking, and slipped one down his pants leg, the tip between his ankle and shoe
. He
covered the butt end with his shirt.

“Bye now,” he said over his shoulder and waved as he stepped outside, “Been good talking to ya.”

The streets of Boise City at midnight were as if civilization had been wiped from the face of the earth. Not one soul on the sidewalks, not a single vehicle traveled the street. Stores were dark, saving their electricity for livelier hours. A yellow cat, the only visible sign of life, strolled across Main taking his own sweet time.
There was no sign of the pool players, yet Jason had the sensation of being watched. Stepping into a darkened doorway, Jason removed the purloined pool cue from his jeans and bent it across his knee about two feet from the tip.
With a sharp tug and a snap of wood, he had a weapon.
He gave his palm a satisfying whack and liked the feel of it.
Again, he inserted the stick down his pants and along his leg, this time cinching his belt to hold the weapon secure.

Jason began the long walk to Mrs. Stapleton’s sleeping room noting that just two blocks down, the street lights were turned off—Boise City’s way of saving on electric bills. That’s where it would happen, if it did.
And it did.

He heard the tires roll up behind him, easy to do since it was the only sound on the street.
There were no headlights.
Ear Ring jumped from the passenger side while Pearl Stud slammed an old Ford Bronco II into park and then joined up with his pal. The girl looked on from the back seat, her face a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Did you really think I was gonna let you steal my money sum bitch?” Ear Ring growled.
“Now, hand it over.
We can do this hard or we can do it easy, your call.”

Jason breathed a sigh of relief, there were no guns in sight.

“Okay, I choose hard,” Jason said and grinned.

Ear Ring blinked his eyes, not believing the nerve of this jerk, and took a step forward.
Jason whipped out the broken cue stick and when Ear Ring raised his forearm in a defensive move, Jason shattered the man’s ulna with such force that the cracking bone could have been heard across the street, had there been anyone listening at that time of night.
The consequent scream of pain
was audible
two
blocks away but no one heard that either.
As Ear Ring writhed on the sidewalk clutching his splintered arm, Pearl S
tud, from somewhere deep inside
, mustered up the courage to make a lunge at the stranger.
It was yet another foolish move as Jason feigned a blow to the man’s family jewels, and when Pearl Stud dropped his hands, used the jagged end of the stick to slash the man’s cheek, splaying flesh and spraying blood. Then, just for good measure, Jason gave ol’ Pearl a bonk upside the head with the heavy end of the cue, dropping him to his knees where he slowly toppled over.

The girl, still watching from the Bronco II, had her mouth open and eyes wide.
Jason walked over to her and said, “Friends of yours?’

“I know ‘em.”

“Uh, listen, this might seem like an odd question considering…you know… that,” Jason said
,
indicating the carnage on the sidewalk, “but do you think you could give me a ride home?”

The girl panned between the brash young man with the grin and her two acquaintances
,
one of whom
was wiping the blood from his face with his Dallas Cowboys tee shirt while the other sat on the grass
with
his head down
,
making whimpering noises.

“
Okay
,”
Parakeet agreed.
“If you don’t hit me with that stick.”

“Deal.”

It was less than an hour later
, and to her
great
annoyance,
that Mrs. Stapleton
heard
the all to
o
familiar
moans of pleasure
emanating
from her rented sleeping room.
She made a mental note to
add
ear plugs
to
her shopping list.