The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King

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The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King Page 5

by Sam Lee Jackson


  “Yes ma’am,” I said.

  When I got to the SanDunes, the place was mostly empty. The damage to the outside had already been covered up. Little Joe, Wally Chen and Peggy were sitting at the back. As I slid up on my stool, Little Joe nodded at me. I nodded back. Frank brought me a beer.

  “Where is everybody?” I said.

  “Most of them are at Ray’s Place. They’re having a dart tournament there tonight.”

  “Who could resist that? Where’s Ray’s Place?”

  “Down on Northern. You got a foot.” It was a statement, not a question

  “Yeah. Mr. Paz gave me a tip for putting the fire out, so I got my foot out of the pawn shop.”

  “Good deal. Yeah, I heard about the fire. You get around okay on that.”

  I took a drink of the beer, “Have to get used to it again, but yeah, it beats the crutch.”

  “You can actually pawn something like that?

  “You can pawn your grandmother.”

  Frank took his rag, and needlessly wiped the bar, “I’ll bet we’ll be closing early tonight. I heard Little Joe say they had someplace to be later.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Frank wiped the bar some more, then went down to the other end. A minute later he came back and wiped the same place again. Finally, he looked at me, “It’s those kind of questions that will get you in trouble.”

  “Got it,” I said, taking a drink of the beer.

  12

  I was in Nacho’s Jeep, parked across the street from Bono Pike’s place. I had an old Nikon D60 on my lap. It was fitted with a 200mm lens. Across the street, at the bus stop, Blackhawk and Nacho were waiting on the bus. Well, not really.

  Nacho was dressed pretty much like Nacho was always dressed, but Blackhawk had his red bandanna on his head. He had an open windbreaker over a ribbed tee shirt, and long jean shorts slung low, down to his pubic bone, showing his black boxer undies. According to Nacho, his attire was what rappers and gangbangers favored. Nacho assured him it was so. He still looked too elegant for a gangbanger, but it was close. He hated it.

  If we had timed it right, Mr. Pike should be along any minute. He liked to be dropped at the front. I don’t know why, but I was glad that he did. Usually he and the tattooed bicep guy, who Nacho said was called Pony Boy, would get out in front while the driver took the car to the back parking. Maybe the coffee pot was in the front. Or, the cocaine.

  We weren’t disappointed. Pike’s twenty-year-old Lincoln Continental turned the corner and came toward us. Twenty years old, but still looking spanky new. Pike obviously was a fan of Lincolns when they still looked like Lincolns.

  Blackhawk was leaning against the bus shelter on one side and Nacho was seated on the bench far enough away so they did not appear to be together. Two strangers catching the bus.

  Pike’s driver pulled to the curb where he always did, and Pike and Pony Boy slid out. Pony Boy first, then Pike. Pony Boy was looking at Blackhawk who was pulling a pack of cigarettes from his windbreaker. Nacho was looking the opposite direction down the street.

  Blackhawk shook a cigarette out of the pack. He approached Pony Boy. I was too far away to hear, but I could see him asking Pony Boy for a light. Pony Boy hesitated, and I didn’t really care if he gave Blackhawk a light or not. I had the Nikon up and had the shutter on rapid fire. It was clicking away.

  Pony Boy took a lighter out of his pocket. Blackhawk leaned in and lit his cigarette. Pike said something, and Pony Boy shrugged and turned to follow his boss to the front door of the building. As soon as they turned, Nacho stood and pulled the Glock he had kept in the small of his back. He kept it at his side and turned to look down the street, the Glock toward me.

  As soon as the two men had turned and stepped away from him, Blackhawk put his hand on his hip, sweeping the jacket back to reveal the shoulder holster he was wearing. I clicked away. Now, I had zoomed back so that Pike and Pony Boy were on one side of the frame and Pike’s two body guards, Blackhawk and Nacho, were on the other. Each was watching opposite directions of the street like bodyguards would be doing. If, by chance, Pike or Pony Boy had turned to look back, Nacho was out of their sight, behind the bus stop shelter, and Blackhawk had his back to them, as his jacket shielded the pistol under his arm.

  They stood like that until Pike and his guy were inside. A few minutes later the bus came and they both got on. I drove to the next stop and picked them up. We drove back to El Patron. Blackhawk insisted on changing clothes in the backseat. I thought it was funny he couldn’t wait. He found no humor in it.

  Nacho had bought a burner phone. Blackhawk and I intended to go up to his office to sort through the photos I’d taken, choose the right ones and download them onto the burner phone. We didn’t make it. As we stepped into the cavernous saloon we saw a handful of Hispanic men with ladders, stringing bunting and colorful streamers around the room.

  All three of us stopped.

  “What the hell,” Nacho said.

  “I forgot to tell you, Anita’s getting married,” Blackhawk said.

  “Thank God,” I said. Blackhawk smiled.

  Nacho laughed, “Shit, Superboy, you just dodged a bullet.”

  “Elena is hosting the reception here,” Blackhawk said.

  Elena’s voice rang across the room, “Hey, you boys, come here and give me a hand.”

  She was back by the door that lead to the large storage room. She had on jeans that seemed to be painted on, a white tee shirt that fit her very well, and a red bandanna wrapped around her head.

  “Hey, Dude,” I said. “She’s got your head gear.”

  Blackhawk looked at me. Disgusted.

  We walked around the three-sided bar to her. The storage room was open.

  “I need all those folding tables out and set up. Put the folding chairs around them. Wipe them off first.”

  “How many to a table?” I asked. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  Elena turned to look at me. Her eyes were scathing.

  “Anita has found a good man,” she said. This sounded like she was implying that I wasn’t a good man. At least, that was my first thought. “He has a job.” Now that was an accusation. She hadn’t been happy about my unemployed status for a while. Or, as long as she had known me. She didn’t know about my night time janitor work. I decided this wasn’t the time to tell her.

  “I’m very happy for her,” I said. Suppressing smiles, Blackhawk and Nacho hurried by me, and into the storage room.

  “You’re happy for her,” Elena said. I think this was sarcasm, I wasn’t sure, but I knew that somehow, I was in trouble. I was confused. But, that was normal. She looked past me, toward Blackhawk, “Set the tables around the room. Put eight chairs per table.”

  “That will make it crowded,” Nacho said.

  “Estupido,” she said. “Put one on each end, three on the sides. Three and three and two is eight.”

  Blackhawk had his back turned, but I knew he was laughing.

  I hurriedly stepped into the storage room, anxious to get busy. Luckily, something someone was doing caught her eye. “No, no, no,” she said loudly. “Not there!” She hurried away.

  I looked at Blackhawk, and he was laughing.

  I shook my head, “You’d carry me on your back in a fire fight, but Elena gets on a tear and you run like a scalded dog.”

  Nacho was picking up two tables, one in each hand, “Me too,” he said.

  13

  It was after the fire, and I was wearing my foot, when I realized I was being followed. The guy either wasn’t very good, or didn’t care if I knew. I had picked him up right away. After all, how hard is it to follow a one footed guy who walks everywhere? He was in a silver SUV and stayed far enough away that I couldn’t really make him out. There didn’t seem to be any purpose to it. At least, I couldn’t think of any.

  Walking to the bar meant I turned four corners, depending on which route I chose. I caught him tagging along behind. Five blocks into it I spotted
Boyce, and her shopping cart, on the far side of the street, going through a garbage container beside the Circle K. She had on the same filthy sweater, and ratty, full length dress she always had. I crossed over and walked by her. As I drew even, I bent down and adjusted my foot.

  “About a block behind me is a silver SUV,” I said. “I’m going in here to buy a fountain drink. When it goes by, see if you can tell who it is.”

  Boyce didn’t look at me. She was engrossed in finding supper. “Right,” she said.

  I went in, got the fountain drink, stopped to read the headlines in the tabloids then came back out.

  “Wally Chen,” she said as I moved by.

  I nodded, and kept walking. Chen. I tried to think of something I might have done to make him suspicious. It couldn’t be anything concrete or he would have shot me by now. I walked another block when two blocks ahead of me I saw his SUV parked at the side of the road. He had his foot on the brake, the brake lights bright. Now it was obvious he didn’t care if I saw him. Maybe he was doing something else. I sure couldn’t think of what it would be. What the hell did he want? A moment later he pulled away from the curb and drove away. We were only three or four blocks from the bar. I stood, thinking about it.

  I shifted my pocket knife from my front pocket to the back. Easier to get to in a hurry, and if I had to reach for it, the movement wouldn’t be so overt.

  I heard a screeching howl behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw three street punks rousting Boyce. One was blocking her while another was going through her shopping cart. She was screeching at them. I turned and looked for Chen. Nowhere in sight. I started back toward Boyce.

  One of the punks shoved her and she abruptly sat down. As she did, she raised a hand, holding it palm out. Toward me. They didn’t know what that meant, but I did. It meant to mind my own business. I stopped walking.

  Boyce came to her hands and knees, her back to the guy rummaging her cart. She shifted slightly then lashed her foot out, catching the guy on the side of his leg. He screamed and went sideways. He went down, holding his knee. This astounded the other two. They stood transfixed as Boyce came to her feet. She reached into her cart and came up with a short ax handle with a tape wrapped handle. One of the guys reached down to help his buddy, and in one motion she rapped him across the back of the head, then came back and slammed the club onto the third guy’s shoulder. He yelped and fell away from her.

  They both backed away from her. The guy with the bad knee was trying to stand and get away from her. The guy she’d wrapped on the head must have had a hard head. He lunged at her, she swung at him, but he blocked it with his forearm and got a grip on her coat. He drew his fist back and she kicked him in the shin. That one hurt. He tried clubbing her, but she pulled away and danced back. He leaned down and rubbed his shin. Dumb shit. With his head in the middle of the bullseye, Boyce spun and kicked him in the head, and he went down.

  Boyce backed up to the dumpster, holding the club in front of her. She pointed it at the one she had clubbed in the shoulder. He was the least damaged of the trio.

  I could hear her voice, “You want some more?”

  The guy helped both of his buddies up, “Fuck you, lady.”

  Eloquent.

  They limped away as quickly as they could. I turned and looked all around, looking to see who might have witnessed this. Chen was nowhere in sight, and no one else seemed to have noticed.

  I looked back at Boyce, and she was grinning. She blew me a kiss.

  14

  Tonight, the bar was busy. Really busy. So busy that Frank came down to the end of the bar where I was sitting and asked me to help him. I slid behind the bar and was soon busy refilling beers and pouring shots.

  Since Wally Chen had followed me, I was super sensitive, but even though I would still catch him looking at me, nothing seemed out of the norm. Little Joe and Peggy played Gin Rummy with little notice of the din of the crowd. I was never sure about what Paz did in the back room all this time. Busy running his evil empire, I suppose.

  I was happy to be behind the bar helping Frank. I got mighty bored sitting on the barstool sipping a beer, trying to make it last. This getting Paz comfortable with me was boring. Things started to lighten up around eleven o’clock. I was drawing a mug of beer for a tall, rangy looking guy when a little girl hiked her way up on the only vacant stool. I say little girl because she was small, and skinny. She was young, but not that young. There was a well-worn look to her. Her hair was cropped shoulder length and hung straight. No frills. She looked like she could use a shampoo. Probably more than that. Probably a whole bath. She had zero fat on her body, and had that smudged out-of-focus look addicts have. I had to lean across the bar to hear her.

  She said something, but I couldn’t make it out. I cupped a hand behind my ear. “Sloe gin fizz,” she said louder.

  “Slow gin fizz,” I repeated. She nodded.

  I nodded, as if I knew what she was talking about. I moved down to Frank. I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.

  “Girl down there wants a slow gin fizz,” I said.

  He looked down the bar. “That’s Reggie. Haven’t seen her for a while. You don’t know how to make it?” I shook my head. “I’ll do it,” he said. He reached behind the bar and took down a bottle. He deftly made the drink, then handed it to me.

  “How much?”

  He smiled, “Reggie will be lucky to have a buck. If she has a buck, take it.”

  “If she doesn’t?”

  “Just give her the drink, but no more.”

  I carried the drink back to the girl and sat it in front of her.

  “One dollar,” I said.

  She looked at me like I had just insulted her. After a moment, she began digging into her pocket. She fished out some coins and laid them on the bar. Pennies, nickels a couple of dimes, a quarter, a rubber band. Total of fifty-three cents. She stopped digging, leaned back and looked at me. All I was going to get. I had to smile as I gathered the change. I put the change in my pocket, took out a dollar and put it in the register. She didn’t seem to notice. She sipped her drink to make it last. I got busy and forgot about her.

  By midnight the place had pretty well cleared out. Paz and his crew were still there. Next time I thought of Reggie her stool was empty.

  “What’s Reggie’s story?” I asked Frank.

  He shrugged, wiping the bar. “Doesn’t come in much. When she does, she’s usually more strung out than tonight. Lot of people on the street like her. Don’t know much about her. She told me once her daddy is rich, but hell, you can’t believe any of these people. She’s hooked on opioids, like all of them. Went to heroin because it’s cheaper, does meth, krokodil, shit like that.”

  “What’s krokodil?”

  “Came from Russia. Homemade shit. Make it out of iodine, lighter fluid, industrial cleaning stuff. Bad stuff. Can rot the skin right off your bones.”

  “Why do they take it?”

  “Why is a doper a doper. If they were smart they wouldn’t be dopers.”

  “She get that here?”

  He turned and gave me a hard look. “Paz doesn’t allow any drugs in this place. She gets it on the street like everyone else.”

  I didn’t push it. I started cleaning up.

  About a half hour later a man and Paz came out of Paz’s office and walked through the bar. I hadn’t even known that Paz had company. The man was tall with graying hair. He wore a gray suit. It looked expensive. Paz followed him outside. I wished I smoked so I could have an excuse to follow them outside. I knew better than to ask about the guy.

  Finally, the last customer left followed by Frank. I finished swamping the bar. I took the trash out and locked up. I started back to the rooming house. Boyce was nowhere in sight. It was late, and the streets were deserted, only the occasional vehicle cruised by. There is something magically empty about big city streets late at night. You walk a little more quickly. There is a sense that somewhere, if someone threw the big switch th
e streets would immediately fill with people and cars. And noise. Late at night there is no noise. I reached the convenience store where Boyce had been rousted. Or, I should say where Boyce had rousted the punks.

  There was one car in the lot, and I could see the clerk behind the counter, looking terminally bored. I moved past. The next street light was a half block away. It was dark. Suddenly I sensed someone was out here with me. I casually looked behind me. I could see nothing. I crossed the street, glancing over my shoulder. Again, nothing. I took the next corner, went down to a row of hedges then moved into the shadows. I backed against the bushes then squatted to make myself a smaller dark shadow.

  I heard it. Small footsteps on the sidewalk. A moment later Reggie came around the corner. I waited until she went by me before I stepped out. She jumped five feet.

  “Jesus Christ!” she squealed.

  “It’s just me, Jack,” I said.

  “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry. Why are you following me?”

  “Who says I’m following you?”

  That didn’t require an answer. “What are you doing out here this time of night?”

  She shrugged. She avoided looking at me. The distant streetlight softened her features.

  “You have a place?” I asked. She still wouldn’t look at me. Then she did, and I could tell she was really strung out.

  “I’ll give you blow job for twenty bucks,” she said, the words rushing out of her.

  I shook my head.

  She took hold of my shirtsleeve. “Come on, Jack, just twenty bucks. Every guy wants a blow job.”

  “What do you need twenty bucks for?”

  This made her mad. “Ain’t none of your goddamn business.” She stepped into me, trying to rub my crotch. “Come on Jack, just twenty bucks. I know you got it.”

  I caught her hand and held it away from me. “You need a fix?” I said. “Even if you had the money, where you going to get a fix this time of night?”

  “I ain’t no doper,” she said, mad again.

  “You have a place to stay? You have a place to sleep tonight?”

 

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