Authors: G L Rockey
She glanced downward
and smiled but it was cold and awkward.
I said, “Hey Tex,
where’d ya get those shit kicker boots.”
Gillian moved away
quickly to the service bar
Tex scowled at me. I
scowled back. He left.
“See ya Tex,” I said
as he stepped away.
He turned back,
scowled again, then walked toward a corner booth.
I looked to Gillian
and felt myself moving off center, fantasizing about two plus two
possibilities.
Buoyed, I turned back
to the bar but before I could enjoy the buoyancy, I felt a dark presence,
somewhere behind and to my left. I smelled a cocktail of Old Spice aftershave
mixing with underarm BO.
Wurlitzer paused,
clicked, and Faith Hill sang “Better Days”.
The dark presence and
underarm cocktail, coming from behind, got stronger, and out of it came a thin
crawly voice: “Hey prick.”
I looked in the mirror
and was thrilled at the familiar image of Felix The Cat's albino owner, Mike
'Snakebite' Walker. His black wraparound sunglasses scanned me in a surreal
reflection.
I turned to his face.
His skin reminded me of a fluorescent lamp running low on mercury vapor.
Tonight it seemed below low. He had a long skinny nose, no lips, and his hair,
hanging to his scrawny shoulders, reminded me of corn stalks in the fall, around
Halloween.
His essence radiating
under a white cowboy hat with a sixteen inch brim, I thought, on a windy day,
holding onto that hat, he could star in a new flying nun TV sitcom. Shorter
than I thought him to be, around five six, as he stood next to me, we were eye
to eye. I said, “Hi there, Snakebite, how the hey are you? Haven't seen you in
a blue moon.”
Gasping a quick
hissss
of air, he parted his lips (first time I ever got a good look at his gum line,
mostly gum, much tartar, pointed little front teeth) and said, “Prick.”
I smiled to be polite
and took a closer look at his outfit—aforementioned white hat, long sleeve
silver shirt unbuttoned to his navel, silver leather vest, silver pants, and
white snake skin cowboy boots. The silver shirt, vest and pants hung on him
like a dry cleaner's thin polyester-covered clothes pickup. I guessed his
weight close to a hundred pounds.
He put a pack of
Marlboro 100s on the bar and I noted his bony fingers had rounded dirty nails.
A silver ring on his left pinkie held a rectangular turquoise stone about half
the size of his Marlboro pack. Purple crucifixion tattoos, on the curves
between thumb and index finger of both hands, seemed to twitch. Gold bracelets
hung from both wrists.
He hung a cigarette
between his no-lips, lit it with my Zippo, said again, “Prick,” and, fondling
my Zippo, eased his skinny frame onto the stool beside me.
“That seat's saved,” I
said, “and that's my Zippo.”
He said, “Hisssss,”
and I noticed his face skin take on a clammy yellow cast like his kidneys might
be exhausted from flushing gunk. That Old Spice aftershave and underarm cocktail
getting stronger, I figured the Old Spice was cover for a shower.
He put my Zippo back,
dragged his cigarette, and motioned to Angelo.
Angelo arrived and Snakebite
said, “Give this prick his last drink.”
“Yes, sir.” Angelo
poured a shot in my glass and asked Snakebite, “You whan your regular?”
Snakebite nodded yes
then blew smoke in my face. “Prick.”
I blew smoke in his face. “You talking to me?”
“What you do to my
number one hum?”
“Who's your number one
hum?”
“Yous know, prick,
Peggsie.”
Angelo put a tall rum
and Coke in front of Snakebite, glanced at me, and left quickly.
Snakebite took a drink
and said, “She told me yous two is in amour land, gonna get hooked up.”
“Who's yous two?” I
said.
“Prick, you and my
Peggsie.”
“She lied, lies a
lot.”
“Prick. I got a
message for your boss. The bank is, how do they say, foreclosed. He'll know
what I mean.”
I looked into his
sunglasses. Dark like little TV screens, turned off, I saw myself in the
reflection and said, “Try U.P.S. next time, they pick up shit most anytime.”
“Yeah, you tell him,
prick.” He stuck his left index finger in my right shoulder. “And you, you
might have less time, depends how I feel.”
I stuck my right index
finger in his left shoulder, “Go take a shower.”
“Prick. Enjoy your
drink, then get outta my joint.”
“Brush your teeth
while you're at it.”
“Prick.” He left and
joined his T-bone buddy just as Sago returned, said, “What'd Snakebite want?”
“His horse back.”
Sliding onto 2A, he
said, “What horse?”
“His Marlboro man
horse, somebody took it.”
“Who?”
“Don't ask.”
From Wurlitzer Patsy
Cline sang “I Fall To Pieces”.
I looked for Gillian,
saw her serve T-bone a drink and Snakebite smiling as he stroked her back.
“She's smiling the
same smile for that scum that she smiled for me,” I said.
“Who smile?”
“I think I'm in
trouble.”
Said Sago, shaking his
head: “Man oh man oh Chivats, you take the Pillsbury cake.”
Buoyed by another
quick smile from Gillian, I changed my mind about leaving for the tenth time
since around 6:30.
Sago said, “You know
what time it is?”
“Look at that.”
“What?”
“Her smile. Tall One.”
I nodded to Gillian.
“Oh, I see. That is a
very tall smile.”
“You're a connoisseur
of smiles. See anything different?”
“In what?”
“The way she smiles at
me and the way she smiles at that T-bone jerk in the red and silver.”
“Let me see it again.”
He looked. She smiled at T-bone. Sago said, “I see.”
“See what?”
“That's an egg roll
smile.”
“Egg roll smile?”
“Full of garbage.”
She went to another
table where three ladies smiled. Sago watched. “That's squaw to squaw smile. I
don't ever pretend to know, don't want to know, don't ever get into them
smiles.”
Gillian went to the
service bar and smiled at a new Kitten I didn't recognize.
Sago said, “That's a
Krystal hamburger smile.”
Watching her whisper
something to the Kitten, I said, “Krystal hamburger smile?”
“Four for a buck.”
Gillian looked at me
and smiled.
“Ah oh.” Sago said.
“What?”
“You're in trouble.”
“You think?”
“I gotta go meet
Whitney.” He studied my face, said, “It may be too late,” and sliding off 2A,
“If I should get a call, run into the TV12 weather department someplace, what
should I tell her?”
“You're the lawyer,
think of something.”
CHAPTER 12
Real Time
8:01:30 P.M. CDT
Peggy’s dinner plans
shot, frazzled, sitting at her TV12 weather desk, after two telephone calls to
Jack's apartment, pressed her home number. Stella answered. Peggy asked if
maybe Jack was doing a special surprise, maybe with his LIVE-EYE truck, going
to telecast from the party, a live cut-in. Stella could tell her, she would act
surprised.
Stella said, “You lost
your mind.” then said she hadn't seen hide nor hair of Jackson but guests were
starting to arrive.
Peggy hung up and
called Felix The Cat.
CHAPTER 13
Jack’s
Time
Shortly after Sago
departed, I watched Snakebite and his Houston pal walk toward the stairs that
led to The Haute Cuisine restaurant. Before going up, Snakebite stepped over
and whispered in my ear, “When I get back from dinner, be gone, prick.”
I raised my glass and
smiled. “Be sure to leave a nice tip.”
He hissed, went up the
stairs with his pal, and I noticed Angelo at the house phone. Listening, he
pointed to me then the phone. I shook my head, no. He talked for a few seconds
longer then hung up and walked my way. In my face he said like he was chewing
leather, “That was Moore again … you suppose to take her to dinner, some
party?”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Stronzo, you better
get out of here, now.”
I pushed my glass
forward, “Hit me.”
“No way.” Shaking his
head, he swaggered to the service bar.
I glanced at Gillian.
She smiled demurely and walked my way.
Arrived, she
whispered, “Having problems?”
“Me, never. Say,
later, let's go someplace.”
She looked at my
glass, “You'll never make it.”
A chill traversed my
spine like a bucket of crushed ice dumped down the winning coach's neck. I
dragged Salem deeply and exhaled, “That sounded like a maybe.”
She did a picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words
yes with her eyes, straightened 2A, seemed to be thinking, looking busy.
I didn't know what to
say. I never don't know what to say.
She looked in the
mirror at me.
I whispered to the
mirror, “When?”
“Okay.”
My elbow slipped and I
nearly hit my lip on the bar.
She leaned to pick up
a spent match from the floor and, back turned to Angelo, said again, “You'll
never make it.”
“Bet me.” I said to
her image in the mirror, “I'm gonna run home, pack a few things, so we can
catch that flight.”
She put the match in my ashtray, and looked
like she was going to say something when Angelo popped up and, through pressed
lips to Gillian, said, “Are you fucking crazy, get back to work.”
Turning, she brushed
my arm as she stepped away.
Watching her sway,
Wurlitzer featured Diamond Rio's “Sweet Summer”. I didn't know what to think. I
never knew what to think.
Angelo put his hands
on the bar and stared at me.
I said, “Angelo, you
know how many wives Solomon….”
“Save it, go home,
somewhere, anywhere, get out of here, we're all gonna get whacked.”
Nursing my drink, I saw a cockroach scurry
across the bar. I looked around. The lounge had become even more crowded. I
turned back to the bar and saw a rat scurry in a crack. I let it go. Rats,
cockroaches, red frogs just a shadow now … the past was in the past and what
future might be just around the corner I didn't believe.
CHAPTER 14
Real Time
10:22:03 P.M. CDT
Two minutes into her
weather show, after giving the national weather statistics, Peggy threw her
hands up, and bolted off the set.
In the TV control
room, producer Janet told the technical director to fade to black, and
instructed the audio person to kill all the microphones.
A minute later, Peggy,
in her office, the assignment editor called out, “Peggy, line one, Berry
Frazer.”
“Up yours and his
too!!!”
CHAPTER 15
Jack’s
Time
Time mixed up in the
smoky red air, din of country music, and the Felix The Cat crowd, absorbed in
goo gooing glances to and from Gillian, I noticed Snakebite and his buddy
prancing down The Haute Cuisine stairs.
Bottom step, Snakebite
paused and, seeming surprised to see me, motioned T-bone to a far booth where a
couple goons lounged. Then he signaled Angelo to the service bar and there,
whispered something in Angelo’s ear.
I figured, might be buying me another drink.
Then there she was, Gillian, back talking to that T-bone dip. She knows him,
you can tell by looking. Maybe he's somebody she worked with, a relative.
And I drink Chivas
Regal.
I noticed Snakebite
join T-bone and Angelo walked my way.
In front of me, Angelo
said, “Drink up, Snakebite whans you out, now.”
“Tell him I said he's
a
testa di merda
… his T-bone pal too.”
Angelo put his hand on
the bar and whispered. “You're playing with fire, stronzo.”
Over the noise the
house phone rang. Angelo shook his head and went to get it. He didn't look
happy. He stared at me, hung up then came to me and said. “If I was you I'd get
the fuck outta here as soon as yesterday.” He paused, “Oh shit, here comes
Snakebite.”