“You could be right, Mr. Levin,” she replied. “You could be right.”
CHAPTER 21
AT 5:00 A.M. THE SERVICE STATION TRUCK ARRIVED in the laneway. The attendant had brought an extra tire. He put on the new tire as well as the spare from Pelzic’s trunk, and threw the two blown tires into his trunk. It was unlikely that they could be repaired, he explained to Pelzic.
It cost Pelzic $22.00 for the new tire, $5.00 for the service call, and $5.00 for the tire change. Pelzic charged it on his credit card and, knowing that he would soon be crying if he stayed awake much longer, he stretched on the front seat and fell into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 22
LEVIN AWOKE. He found himself lying on his side, staring at what appeared to be the steering wheel of his car.
In a moment he recalled where he was. He sat up and looked at his watch. It was 6:45. He was stiff and his bones ached. He looked down the lane. The taxi was still there but it appeared empty. Levin assumed that the driver was asleep on the seat. He stretched. His stomach was rumbling. He was hungry. He decided to go into the Carmen Restaurant just around the corner. He took the keys out of the ignition, got out and locked the car. Why didn’t he leave? They were both nuts. Both he and the taxi driver. Who ever heard of such a thing? Well, maybe he was crazy, but if he’d lasted this long he might as well try to stick it out.
Levin tiptoed by the taxi, eyes averted. He turned onto Stanley Street, feeling a slight pang of guilt. It was almost as though somehow during the night-wait both he and the taxi driver had established a kind of unwritten rule, that it wasn’t fair for either of them to leave their respective cars. Screw it, he thought and headed for the Carmen.
The city was just beginning to move again. The odd truck was on the street. The bakers were already out making their deliveries to the restaurants. He walked down the stairs into the Carmen. Aside from a dishevelled man drinking a coffee at the bar and a solitary waitress, the place was empty. He sat down a few seats over from the lone customer.
He sat there for several minutes unattended. He could see the waitress bent over a table at the back, busy filling sugar containers. “How about a coffee,” he half shouted.
“Right away, please. I come in one minute,” she said raising an index finger.
“You wait all day if you wait for her,” the man sitting near Levin said, looking up from his Gazette. “I get you coffee.” He got up and walked around behind the bar to where the coffee machines were located. “You’re taking regler or expresso?”
“Just a plain black regular, thanks,” Levin replied.
“Please. . . thank you,” the man replied, shrugging and gesturing with his hands as he came back around to his seat.
Levin sipped his coffee. “It’s good coffee,” he said smacking his lips.
“Very good,” the man agreed, nodding his head and smiling.
What a pleasure to talk to someone outside of the confines of the car, Levin thought. He turned to the waitress again. “Can I have some eggs sunnyside up?” he shouted.
“Yes, please, I come right away. Please.” She hurried over to the kitchen door and shouted in Hungarian to someone there.
“Eggs are not very good for you,” the man said to Levin.
“You’re right, but I’m hungry.”
“No good.” The man grimaced and shook his head disapprovingly.
“You’re right,” Levin agreed and sipped his coffee.
“You like to see the paper?” The man shoved it towards Levin.
“I wouldn’t mind, thank you very much.”
“I’m finished it.”
“Thanks,” Levin replied. He looked down at the front page. The headlines announced an up-and-coming trip to Canada by the Soviet prime minister.
“How do you like dat?” the man asked, pointing over at the newspaper headline.
Levin shrugged politely, not knowing what to answer.
“Who needs him to come here?” the man said. “I know dose damn communists. Believe me, I know.”
Levin nodded and smiled. There was a likeable earnestness about the man.
“They say one thing and do another.”
Levin continued to nod.
“Ah.” The man threw up his hands in a gesture of disgust. “These Canadian politicians. They’re like babies, they trust everyone.”
“You might be right,” Levin said, not wanting to sound disagreeable.
The man turned away and lifted his coffee cup.
Levin let his eyes skim over the front page of the paper. More crap, he thought. Another assortment of the day’s shit. Of course he had to admit he enjoyed reading it. He looked forward to the crazy articles. The odd time when the Gazette didn’t have its normal complement of stories dealing with vice, corruption or some kind of crime, Levin felt slightly robbed. However, now as he flipped over the pages, he noted with satisfaction that this particular morning edition was a good one. There was a story concerning a paraplegic who shot a man in a bar and made his escape in a wheelchair pushed by another man. On page six there was an article about a man who went shoplifting with an artificial arm. Levin began to chuckle.
“Ah?” The man beside him leaned over. “Something funny, yes?”
“Yes,” Levin replied. “It’s just about some guy who uses a fake arm for shoplifting.”
“Oh yes,” the man replied. “It’s crazy, eh?” He made a gesture with his hand.
Levin nodded in solemn agreement. The waitress arrived with Levin’s eggs. He folded up the newspaper and handed it back to the man. “Thank you,” Levin said.
“Please, please, no trouble, a pleasure.” The man smiled. “It looks like it might be a nice day, no?”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I think so, it will be.”
“Looks like you might be right,” Levin said.
“I hope I am right.”
“I hope you’re right too.”
“I hope so,” the man said.
Levin nodded and bit off a piece of toast. “Could I have some more coffee, please,” he asked.
The waitress poured him another cup.
“I drink ten cups of coffee a day,” the man said.
“That’s quite a bit.”
“Too much.” He patted his belly with a heavy hand. “Not good for the stomach.” He shook his head disapprovingly.
Levin nodded as he swallowed his food. “You’re right. I drink two cups a day at the most.”
“Poison,” the man said. “No good; but I cannot stop drinking it.”
Levin nodded understandingly and continued eating his food.
“Well, I must go now,” the man said suddenly.
“Thanks again for letting me read your paper,” Levin said smiling.
“Please, anytime,” the man replied and returned the smile. He stood up, threw some coins on the counter, waved goodbye to the waitress and went out.
Levin signalled for his check and gulped down the last of his food. The waitress brought the bill. Levin checked it, threw a dollar bill onto the counter and finished his coffee. He realized that he had to urinate badly. He headed to the washroom. Above the urinal someone had scribbled in pencil, “The Queen Socks.”
Levin relieved himself and walked out of the Carmen. He headed up the street and turned into the alley. As he approached the taxi he saw that the driver was up and sitting behind the wheel. As Levin drew nearer to the taxi, the driver turned as though to look into the back seat. Levin’s stomach sank as he recognized the driver to be the man with whom he had been conversing a few moments before in the Carmen. Levin kept walking, trying to look away from the taxi, hoping that the driver wouldn’t notice him. He realized he was walking on his toes as he progressed up the lane. He reached his car but continued on past it, heading for Peel Street. It was all too embarrassing. He felt like an utter fool. Levin reached Peel Street and stopped. He turned and looked back down the lane not knowing what to do. He knew he was too ashamed to go back and get
into his car. Maybe if he waited there for a little while the taxi would leave. What kind of a shmuck am I? he wondered. He winced as though in pain. A feeling of humiliation seemed to be draining what little energy he had left at that moment. Levin leaned against the wall of the M.A.A. Building, lit a cigarette and waited.
CHAPTER 23
AFTER PELZIC WALKED OUT OF THE CARMEN, he headed back to his car. As he entered the lane he saw that the other car was empty. He assumed that the driver was probably asleep on the seat or maybe he had gone somewhere for a quick bite also. In any case, Pelzic didn’t care. Somehow he felt better. The few hours of sleep in the car seemed to have taken away his anger. The food had helped too, and the talk with the young man in the Carmen had been enjoyable. It was nice to see that there were still some pleasant people around.
Pelzic got into his car. It was amazing how quickly the last twenty-four hours had passed. What a fool he had been to sit there all night just to get the better of some madman. He felt slightly ashamed and suddenly realized he hadn’t even contacted his wife. He switched on his radio and asked the dispatcher to phone his wife. He wanted her to know that he was alright, and that he would be home within the hour.
Just as he finished talking, he heard a shuffling sound coming from the back seat. His passenger picked himself off the floor and pulled himself onto the seat. There was a dazed look on the man’s face. “What in God’s name am I doing here?” he asked in astonishment.
“You don’t remember?” Pelzic asked.
“No, I don’t,” Dunsmore replied.
“You came into my taxi last night. You were not feeling well.”
“You mean I was drunk, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think you were drunk.”
“Yes it’s coming back to me now. Yes I do remember having quite a bit to drink.” He paused for a moment, and squinted out the window. “Where exactly are we?”
“That’s Stanley Street,” Pelzic said pointing.
“I see,” Dunsmore nodded. “How long have I been here?”
“Since maybe two o’clock last night.”
“Good Lord!” The man put a trembling hand to his forehead. “Why didn’t you take me home? Why did we stay here all night?”
Pelzic hesitated before answering. He wondered if the man would recall the events of the past night. Probably not.
“My car was broken and also my radio. You asked if you could sleep in my cab. You said I should keep the meter on. While you were asleep the garage man came and fixed my car. He just left.”
Dunsmore nodded his head slowly, as though not quite believing what Pelzic was saying. He leaned forward and studied the meter.
“Twenty-three dollars and twenty-five cents!” he exclaimed “My God, that’s a steep bill, my friend.”
Pelzic shrugged.
“Well, don’t worry, I’ll pay it.”
Pelzic shrugged again.
“I’m just wondering what I can tell my wife. She’ll probably figure I was out whoring unless I can come up with a good excuse.”
He rested his head in his hands for a moment, then said “Perhaps you can take me home now and vouch for me. You can have five extra dollars for that.”
“It will be a pleasure, sir,” Pelzic replied.
“Well then, let’s get the bloody hell out of here.” Dunsmore began coughing heavily. A moment later he leaned over towards the window and spat.
Pelzic turned back slowly and said in a controlled voice, “You should open the window, please, before spitting, sir.”
“Yes, you’re right, my apologies. I’ll clean it up.”
Dunsmore pulled out a handkerchief and made a few half-hearted swipes at the mess on the window.
Pelzic started the motor. As he grabbed the steering wheel, a section of it came off in his hands. He remembered how he had struck and splintered it some hours back. He picked the broken piece up and was trying to wedge it back into place when he heard a loud knocking on the car hood. A policeman was standing near the front of the car. He was motioning for Pelzic to back out of the lane.
Pelzic raised a hesitant finger as though indicating he needed a moment before he could comply.
“Hey, tabernac, move your car fass or I kick your harse, my friend.”
Pelzic threw down the piece of steering wheel. Why? Why? he wondered, why did they always say that to him? What was it about his arse that always made policemen want to kick it?
He was about to put the gear into reverse, when a tremendous shock flung Pelzic’s car forward and snapped his body back against the seat. He could hear a voice somewhere in his head yelling at him as though in slow motion. “Scream, scream!” the voice was saying. “Scream and trow yourself!”
Pelzic let out a high, piercing scream. As the sound came out of his throat, Pelzic could see the stunned face of the policeman through his window.
As though in a dream, Pelzic heaved the door open and hurled himself to the pavement. As he was falling, his eye took in the sight of the white Lincoln which was now wedged hard against the rear of his taxi. An ashen-faced woman sat behind the wheel. He also caught a glimpse of Dunsmore in the back seat of the taxi holding his neck as though in great agony.
Pelzic crumpled to the pavement, the scream fading from his throat. He lay on his stomach. He lifted his eyes up slightly towards the sky. A muffled sob stuck in his throat as he whispered, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Then he let his head down on the pavement and lay very still while he waited for the ambulance to come.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SEYMOUR BLICKER is the author of Blues Chased a Rabbit, Shmucks, and The Last Collection. He lives in Canada.
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ALSO BY SEYMOUR BLICKER
Blues Chased a Rabbit
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book was originally published in 1972 by William Morrow, an Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers LLC.
SHMUCKS. Copyright © 1972 by Seymour Blicker. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition November 2014 ISBN: 9780062379252
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