Authors: Jennifer Foor
I walked up and shook hands with Tippy. It was actually good to see his scrawny ass. "Don't get all scared I'm not going to take all your money, I came back to see someone."
He patted me on the shoulder. "Did you knock someone up? Come back for a paternity test?"
I shook my head and scrunched up my face. "Fuck you, man, I keep my shit double wrapped. That's never going to happen. I came back here to see a guy I used to live with. The one that taught me everything I know."
"The one that taught you how to be gay?"
"Fuck you, I'm not like you. I like pussy."
"Touché." Tippy bent over and made a straight in bank shot. "You come here to lose some money, or run your mouth all night?"
"You can't hang at my level. Hell, you can't even make a kick shot. Who else is in town? Any big shooters?" I looked around the bar and didn't see anyone else that I recognized.
"Nah, I got a match lined up for ten tonight. You should hang out. You might learn something." I liked how he thought he was the world’s greatest player, but refused to play me for even a hundred.
"Yeah, I'd love to watch you get a beat down."
"Shit, I guarantee I am going to leave here with full pockets, bitch. I don't know why you keep doubting my skills."
I started walking away from his table. "I guess we'll find out if you've improved at ten tonight." I preferred the back table to every bar. It gave me the best vantage point of anyone coming in and always a little more privacy than being surrounded by tables. Nowadays, if I wasn't playing someone for money in my pocket, I was just shooting around for fun. It was important that you never show your real skill level when shooting around on a practice table. Doing that could be the death of the hustle. If the wrong person saw your ability then word would travel and nobody would be willing to play.
It made sense. I mean, who wants to play when they know they don't have a chance at winning?
I'd been shooting random shots for about a half hour when my mind went back to the girl that was running Joker's bar. She was clueless. I almost felt sorry for her and I knew those douchebags would be back to threaten her some more. If she was really that oblivious to what those thugs were about, then she could really be in danger of losing everything.
Joker never once mentioned having a daughter, in fact he didn't talk about his past very much at all. I wondered if he knew
he had a grandson, if the kid belonged to the girl. It wasn't like me to worry about anyone other than myself. I'd been on my own too long to be tied down to someone or anything. The fact that it was still on my mind was a new one for me.
Then there was the fact that she knew my real name. I had to know why she mentioned me.
After grabbing a quick bite to eat at a fast food joint, I headed back to the bar to watch Tippy's match. He was funny when he shot, because he was this little scrawny guy that had to take some shots on his tippy toes. That was how he got the nickname, Tippy.
Most players had some kind of nickname they went by. When I started shooting pool, I didn't want people knowing my real name. That was one of my rules. Keep my real life separate from what I did for a living.
Tippy was telling the truth when he said that he had improved. The guy he was shooting was pretty good. You could tell he didn't have any training and was just a straight shooter. When I started shooting, I didn't understand the difference. Straight shooters shoot pool for fun. They can make shots, but
have no skill about running out a rack. Half of what they do is luck and not skill. A professional pool player learns the ins out of making shots, learning angles, ball control, and positioning. It's strategic and takes concentration with every shot. You stand up too fast after your stroke and you miss. It's as simple as that.
The guy he was shooting was one hell of a shot maker, but he was also pulling shit out of his ass. They were playing nine ball in a race to seven. Tippy was up three with two break and runs, which meant after the break he ran out all of his balls without giving the guy a shot.
The following rack he broke and scratched, meaning his cue ball went into the pocket creating a foul. The dude he was playing ran out that next rack.
As the set continued, I noticed some little Sugars coming into the bar. The two of them were probably my age or younger. We didn't have to turn around to know they were there. They were drinking beers through straws and smelled like cotton candy. Tippy nodded at one of them, so I assumed he knew who they were. Since he lived locally, I wouldn't have been surprised if one of them was his real girlfriend. There were some guys that had a
problem with using women like I did. My feelings on the subject were if they were willing, then I was up for giving them a good time.
The guy playing Tippy missed a nine ball combination shot that would have tied up the match. He took his stick and banged it against another table. This was a common amateur move that most players did out of frustration. A real player wouldn't do that when his stick was well over a grand to replace, or repair.
As the guy checked for any dents that he had inflicted on his stick, Tippy bent over and made the straight in nine ball shot. I wanted to laugh as the guy cussed under his breath.
Now, a common experienced pool player had no problem talking shit, also known as shaking. When money was on the table, it caused the match to become stressful. In situations like that, you take a random smartass who makes sly comments when you miss a shot or are bending down to take one. Tippy was famous for his, and I had all but thought he'd stopped until he sunk that shot.
As he taunted the guy, he continued to miss shots, making him become hostile. His threats were increasing as Tippy kept his
game constant. After he'd won four, the set was over. The guy took the nine ball before Tippy could shoot it and threw it into the pocket. It was a common move when someone was giving their opponent the match, or game. Tippy had a big ole smile on his face as he went to shake the man’s hand and collect his money.
"Double or nothing, man?" The guy asked.
"I don't know, it's getting kind of late and I got shit to do." Tippy looked over at the Sugars when he said it. I saw them leaning into each other and giggling.
"Come on man, you gotta give me a chance to win my shit back. My wife's going to kill me for this."
This was also common. These guys came in here thinking they could double their money easily playing a scrawny little guy for money. Unfortunately, they almost always lost because they weren't as good as they thought they were.
"Sorry dude, I got two chicks waiting to have a good time. We will have to do this some other time." He went to slap him five, but the guy walked away and went into the bathroom. Tippy turned around to face me. "You learn something new tonight, son?” I hated when people from the city called each other 'son'.
"I learned that you still have a lot more to learn, SON." I said sarcastically.
"Whatever, dude. You going to come party with us? Rachel and I have a nice ass pad and her friend can be a little freak after she's had some drinks in her."
I put my arm around him as we approached the girls. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. As long as I don't have to see your ass naked, it's a fun time for me."
"Shit, you wish you were hung like me. Ladies love me, yo."
I rolled my eyes and followed them out of the bar. The way I lived made it easy to live day by day. I could party when I wanted to and go when I wanted to go. Why some of these guys wanted to be tied down to one person, I just didn't know. It made no damn sense. Not when there was pussy in every city, just waiting for attention.
We were driving down through the main part of town to get to where we were going and when we came up to where the tavern was located, I noticed two guys outside the door. All of the lights were off, and one guy had a crowbar in his hand. Now, I
realized that the chances of me being in the right place at the right time was slim, so this had to be some kind of divine intervention from Joker, forcing me to do the right damn thing whether I wanted to or not. I cussed him under my breath before telling Tippy to stop the car for me to get out.
I waited for them to pull away before walking up to the bar to confront the thugs. They had all been drinking and I didn't feel like owing someone for them getting arrested. The two guys had the crowbar in the door and were getting ready to pop it open. "Hey, dickheads, what do you think you're doing?"
The crowbar dropped and they both stood up to my attention. "Yeah, so my buddy just called the cops and they are in route. You might want to high tail out of here before they arrive."
"Who the fuck are you?" One of them asked.
"Let's just say I'm not someone you want to cross."
They looked at each other and started laughing. "Unless your last name is Thomas, we don't have to do shit."
This was it. This was exactly what I didn't want to do. Admitting who I was would for sure get back to my father and he would then know I was back in town. Still, I owed Joker and dead
or not, this was what he built. "Then I guess you better start running, because my last name is Thomas. In fact, I believe you might know my father, Vincent Thomas."
Their eyes got real big in the pale moonlight. "You're Vince's son?"
I held out my palms. "Yep. So, I suggest you get your asses out of here and don't come back."
"Well, that might be a problem, since your dad is the one who ordered us to do this."
I held my composure but both of my hands went into a fist. My fucking father had ordered this break in and probably the thugs that came to threaten Joker's daughter. "You tell my father to back the fuck off. Now, get the hell out of here, before the police arrive."
I watched them walk around the corner, before I started walking back to the other bar. I wasn't sure why they were there, but one thing I did know was that they were going to keep coming back and I was the only person that could do something to prevent it.
Chapter 7
Charlie
I went from being in college and starting my new independent life, to raising a four year old and running a bar. I was in so far over my head I didn’t know what to do.
I had to admit that the kid was easy to fall in love with. I was shocked when I first met him and realized how much he resembled me. Now, whenever we went somewhere he was always mistaken for being my son instead of my little brother.
It was still hard for me to call him that sometimes. For so long I never had family and then all of the sudden I found out that I had a real half sibling out there.
Ryan was smart and, aside from losing both of his parents, he always seemed to be brave and happy. Some of my greatest memories were being his age and being with my mom and dad. Sure, he hadn’t been my biological father, but the man loved me and protected me. I still wasn’t totally over the whole secret thing, but my mother was dead and couldn’t explain herself to me. Besides, I knew why she did it, even if I didn’t agree with her. I
wouldn’t want my child thinking she was crazy in the head and imagining a man that didn’t exist, when he really did.
Running a bar wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. My hours sucked and I barely made enough to pay my vendors. Mr. Bo, the old man who still worked occasionally, said that times were tough for people and eventually it would pick back up. Without a cook to fill short orders, I relied mostly on the weekly pool leaguers to come in and run up high bar tabs while they played. Of course, it wasn’t exactly a great place to raise a kid, but with no other options and not enough money to afford another place, we had to make due. The best thing was that I could check on him frequently and he went to preschool every day from twelve to three.
Once I dropped out of school, it was easier to start getting the hang of the bar, although I was still failing often.
After the two men came to collect the money that I knew nothing about, I closed up the bar early and made sure all the doors were secure. I’d lived in bad conditions, but I wasn’t about to bring Ryan up where he had to be afraid every day of his life. I wanted him to have the life I would have had, if my parents didn’t
die. Maybe I never would have known about my father, but meeting my brother made me happy, even if I couldn’t admit it out loud yet.
It was around one in the morning when I heard people talking. I cracked open the window and saw the two men, I ran toward the kitchen and started dialing the police. I knew they would never make it to us in time, not unless they were already somewhere close. Ryan was asleep, and I didn’t want to scare him.
They could break into the bar and bust it to hell, but getting into the upstairs wouldn’t be so easy. It had a metal door that happened to have three chain locks on the inside. I didn’t get the need for the protection, but seeing the goons outside of my window made me appreciate them being there.