Stumbling Through

by Steve Shadow

  “Jesus Christ man, when’s the last time you ate anything. Aw shit, come on with us.”

  We took her next door to a candy store and I bought her some popcorn and candy bars. She leaned against the wall and ate everything we gave her. We had no time to get her anything better and left her there stuffing her sad little face. It was almost time for the show. We ran across the street so as to not miss the start.

  The place was packed. Everyone was buzzed. The theater was electric in stoned anticipation. The curtain rose to loud cheers and screams. Cheech and Chong sauntered out on stage and the place went twice as crazy. They began the show with “Dave’s Not Here” and “Sister Mary Elephant”. The whole place was shouting out the lines along with them. Oh, man, it was so cool. I made it through most of the show but then I had to take a leak real bad and told Tom I would be right back. I hated to miss the end of the show but I was ready to burst a kidney and ran to the john. I went inside and was pissing at the urinal when I heard a commotion coming from one of the stalls. I zipped up and went to see what was happening. I opened the door to the stall and inside were 3 dudes and Chloe. She was seated on the toilet and the three guys had their dicks out. She was taking turns sucking them off. One of them, a guy I knew slightly from Hueys, a bar we hung out at, said, “Hey, man, come on in. This bitch will do anything for a line of coke. Every time one of us gets off, we let her do some.”

  Chloe looked dazed and pitiful. It was none of my business but I acted without thinking.

  “You guys are a bunch of sick shits. Look at her; she is so fucked up she don’t know what she’s doing.”

  I reached in, grabbed her arm and pulled her out. One of the guys stepped forward and I slammed the stall door in his face. He fell backwards as the other two came out after me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the switchblade I always carried. When I flicked it open they stepped back in a hurry. “Just cool it, dudes. We’re leaving. I know her and she’s underage.”

  Chloe was completely out of it and I almost had to carry her to keep her on her feet. The show had ended and people were streaming out, laughing and shouting. I spotted Tom and called to him. He turned and came to us.

  “Whoa dude, where you been,” he said. “And what’s she doing here?”

  “Three guys were getting head off her in the john. Man, look at her. She is a mess and what is she, 16, maybe? Fuck, what am I going to do with her?”

  “Maybe you should have just got some head and left.”

  “You know, Tom, I love ya’ but sometimes you are a real asshole.”

  “Yeah, well I may be an asshole, but what’s the plan?”

  “Fuck if I know. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to have to deal with those jagoff’s if they come after us.”

  We left the theatre and followed the crowd to the El platform. I paid the fare for all of us and we dragged Chloe upstairs to the train. We got off at Bryn Mawr, my stop, and half carried her to my studio apartment. We had to carry her up the three flights of stairs. When we got inside I laid her down on my bed and she fell asleep immediately. Tom and I sat looking at her.

  “Shit, dude, if she’s a minor, what we doin’ with her. We could get in deep shit.”

  “Let me think,” I said. “Maybe we can call CPS and ask them what to do. Or I guess we could call the cops but those pigs will probably just toss her in Juvie with a bunch of dykes and other fucked up kids.”

  “Yeah, well, what else can we do? This is your problem, dude, I don’t want no part of it. If it was me I woulda’ just left her in the john. Shit, she’s just a runaway street kid.”

  “Come on, Tom. Have a little heart, she’s just a kid. You were the one who wanted to give her our dope.”

  “Boy, for a guy who comes on so hard all the time, you do some strange things. What, you becoming some hippie do-gooder?”

  “Fuck, Tom, go home. I’ll figure this out. You’re a useless piece of shit. Go home and beat your meat and leave me alone.”

  “OK, man, whatever you say. Call me in the morning; let me know what the deal is. Ciao, man.”

  Tom left and I sat staring at Chloe wondering just what the hell I was going to do. Eventually I fell asleep.

  The morning light hit me and I woke up. I never could stay in bed once the sun came out. In the summer I had to block out all the light in my place just to get some sleep. Chloe was still nodded out. I went over to her. She had left a small puddle of drool on the cover and was snoring softly. I made some coffee and toast and I guess the smell woke her up. She looked like hell. She was maybe 16 but looked like she was going on 50.

  She sat up and blinked her eyes. “Hey, where am I? Who are you?”

  “I pulled you out of that stall in the theater last night. How the hell did you get in, anyway? Don’t you remember? You were blowing guys in the john for lines of coke.”

  “Oh, yeah, I think so. So what am I doing here?”

  “I brought you to my place. I thought those guys would end up doing you wrong and I figured you could use some sleep and a little decent food. I was just trying to help out. You can go anytime, but as long as you’re here how about some breakfast and maybe a bath? Oh, in case you were wondering, my names Mick. Can you remember before the show, I bought you some food?”

  She looked at me warily. “Do I gotta’ fuck you, blow you or what?”

  I laughed. “Nothing, man, nothing, I know how tough it is on the streets. Just being kind. Ain’t anyone just been kind to you? What’s your story kid, you runaway from home?”

  “Yeah, something like that, I don’t wanna’ talk about it.”

  “Sure, that’s cool. Here come and sit down. I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  I made her a couple of fried eggs to go with the toast and jam. She devoured it all and asked if she could take a shower. I gave her an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. She came out of the bathroom all pink and fresh looking. Now I figured her for 14.

  “Chloe, how old are you?”

  “21.” she said. “Hey, could I use your comb?”

  “You ain’t 21. Just tell me the truth.”

  “I’m almost 16. You got any conditioner? My hair is messed up.”

  “Just go in the bathroom and use whatever you find. I think one of my girlfriends left some shit in there.”

  She went back to the bathroom and I sat wondering where a kid like her was headed.

  She fixed her hair and we sat and talked about music and dope and all the bands she liked. She would not tell me much about herself and was not interested in getting any help or going home. She was just all about getting high and having fun. She asked if she had to leave and just where she was in the city. I told her to hang around if she wanted. She started yawning and asked if she could sleep some more. It was Sunday and all I had planned to do was to watch a Bear game on TV and drink beer. She went back to bed and I watched football all day. It started to get dark and I must have dozed off. Something woke me about 2 in the morning and I saw that she had gone. I had left a ten dollar bill on the table for her. I found a scrap of paper on which she had scrawled the following:

  Thanx Mick. You was real nice. You are a good

  person and you helped me. Thanx for the shower and the money. Don’t worry about me. I am strong and will be OK.

  Love from Chloe XXXXXXXXXX

  

  The television was on in the background showing some late night evangelist selling Jesus. I sat there with my head in my hands.

  Karl/Michael

  It’s funny how things come to pass in life. It’s like when you need something and you bust your balls trying to make it happen and then 9 times out of 10 you get bupkus, nada, zilch. But then sometimes you ain’t looking and stuff falls in your lap. And then sometimes, like in my case, they both happen at the same time. I mean, go figure. Like I said, life is a funny thing, I mean if there is a plan, well it’s a mystery to me as to just what that plan is. Like last month; I mean it was a nothing special day. I had
the rent paid and I was waiting for Corky to drop off some Black Beauty’s which I hoped to dispose of at the clubs on the week-end. I was hanging around my shitty pad trying to read Herman Hesse and listening to the Australian Jazz Quintet when I got the thirst for a cold one. Seeing as the Corkster still hadn’t shown up with the goods, I headed out to my local bar, the Dew Drop Inn. During the day it was quiet with just a few old rummies stewing in their juices and Jocko the barkeep reading the Sun-Times sport section. I rolled in and marched up to the bar. As crummy as the place looked at night, during the day it was a vision from hell. All the chipped paint, peeling tile and scarred wood stood out in grimy, depressing splendor. The bar smelled like piss and stale beer. It was a familiar smell and matched the joint’s vibe. Winter, summer; rain or snow, once I was inside it didn’t matter. I loved it.

  “Yo, Jocko,” I said as I slid onto my favorite stool. “Gimme a beer.”

  He looked up at me with his glasses hanging on the end of his fat blob of a nose and grunted. “Hey Sticky, what the fuck you doin’ here at this hour? I thought you punks don’t get up before 3 in the PM.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, “Just gimme a beer and a couple of them Slim-Jims and save the bullshit for some other asshole.”

  He dropped the newspaper and pulled me an Old Milwaukee and threw a couple of meat sticks my way. He waddled his fat ass over and set the beer down. That small effort set him to wheezing. He was a fat, out of shape Polack who never had a good word for anyone. His conversation consisted of insults and ethnic slurs. Nobody gave a shit because everyone knew that at heart he was a soft touch and a neighborhood institution. “Those damn Cubs are pissing away another season. I doubt if I’ll live long enough to see them in a world series. Every year just gets worse. ‘Course what would a lazy no-good hippie asshole like you give a shit. Gimme a fuckin’ buck for the beer, ya’ skinny jamoke.”

  “Hey, shove another perogi in your pie hole and shut the fuck up about the fuckin’ Cubs.” I had no interest in sports and could never understand this fixation on a bunch of overgrown children making big bucks and still playing kids games. I took a long pull on my beer and was chomping on the Slim-Jim when I looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw a young couple going at it hot and heavy in a back booth.

  I motioned to Jocko. “Hey Jocko, what the fuck is going on back there? You see that shit?”

  He looked over my shoulder. He smiled, which was something rare for Jocko. Showing me his brown teeth, he said. “Young love; ain’t it beautiful? What do I care, let ‘em have some fun. I checked ID’s; legal enough for this joint.”

  I shrugged and drank my beer. I had a hard time keeping my eyes off the couple smootching away and began to wonder how long they could keep swapping spit like that before they had to come up for air. Finally they broke apart and the guy came up to the bar tugging on his pants.

  “Can I get a couple more beers?” he asked.

  I turned to look at him. He was a dark, black haired skinny guy and looked barely legal. He had short hair and looked like the boy next door from some TV sitcom. He sure did not look like he belonged in this joint. “Hey, dude,” I said with a big grin on my face. “You guys ought to find a room somewhere before we all get busted.”

  He gave me a sheepish look and nodded at me. He chuckled and held his arms out, palms up. “She sure is something, ain’t she?” He said, as he gazed back at his girlfriend. “She drives me crazy but she is soooo hot.”

  He stuck out his hand. “I’m Michael.”

  I took his hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Sticky. The fat man is Jocko; he’s cool but you got to watch he don’t stick his fingers in your beer. He’s a slob like that.”

  Jocko swung his dirty bar towel at me. “Shut up, you ass hole. Nice ta’ meet you, Michael.”

  “Yeah, me and Judy just moved in around the block. It seems nice and quiet around here.”

  “Michael,” I said. “You in the 1212 Catalpa building? You said just around the corner.”

  “That’s us.”

  “Well man, us is neighbors. I live there too. I’m on the third floor; 326, how about you?”

  “Uh, we got 214. Cool, come by anytime.” He turned and waved to the back booth, “Hey Judy, come on up here. We got a new neighbor.”

  She squirmed out of the booth while pushing her long hair off her face. She was small, slender and had a friendly face with a pug nose, full lips and a sprinkling of freckles. She walked up and held out her tiny hand to me. “Pleased to meet you; I’m Judy.”

  We all introduced ourselves and they asked me if I wanted to come see their place and play some cards. We sat around and finished our drinks. On the way out I told Jocko to try clipping his nose hairs and he just gave me the two-finger salute. On the way home we stopped off at the liquor store under the El and departed with a couple of six packs and some chips.

  We got up to their place. When we entered I saw they only had a mattress on the floor of the bedroom and one in the living room. Other than that the place was empty.

  “Kind of sparsely furnished.” I said.

  “Well, we ain’t got much.” Michael said. “We got to get a stake up and buy some things. We move around a lot so it don’t pay to have too much stuff. Anyway Judy got a couple of amateur nights set up and I got to hit Sportsmans tonight.”

  “You want to run that by me again, man? I ain’t to clear on what you’re talking about.”

  Michael popped the top on the beers and passed them out. We sat on the mattress as he explained.

  “Judy, she dances topless at these different clubs around Chicago and Milwaukee. They have what they call amateur nights where the crowd gets girls they think are just customers to get up and dance. Then they vote on a winner for cash. I got to go with her for protection and all but sometimes the club owners will provide transportation. It pays pretty good and it’s only for a few hours a night. Ain’t you ever been to the topless bars?”

  I shook my head and looked at Judy. She hardly looked to have breasts big enough to shake around. “You like this work, Judy?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I get a lot of downtime for us to hang out and I can work when I want. The club owners look out for us and so far I ain’t had no trouble.”

  “Well, I’d love to see you dance. Bet you got some nice moves.”

  Michael poked Judy. “Get up, babe, and show Sticky some of them moves.”

  They both laughed as she got up and did a little dance which wasn’t much but we both applauded. She fell on the mattress, laughing and giggling.

  I asked Michael about Sportsman’s. I assumed he meant the race track where the trotters ran. He nodded in agreement.

  “I do real good at the races. I know how to handicap and I study the racing form real close. We follow the races around the country and do pretty well. There’s always clubs for Judy to dance in, so we move around a lot. I guess we’ll be here for the next four months or so while the races are on.”

  “Shit, Michael; you mind if I come with you? I’d like to see how you do this.”

  I was skeptical about winning at the track. I had heard these stories before about gamblers with systems and how they never lose. We whiled away the afternoon drinking and playing cards until the door bell rang and a dancer that Judy knew came by to take her to the club. The girl, Millie, had her husband with her so Judy would have someone to look after her and bring her home. She kissed Michael good-bye and said she would wait for us at Millie’s place. I asked Michael if he wanted me to drive to the track. He asked me what kind of car I had. I told him a Pontiac convertible and he shook his head.

  “Wrong car for this, dude; we’ll take mine. Meet me out front in a few.”

  I went up to my place and got some more money and a jacket. It was early spring and still a little chilly at night. I took the elevator downstairs and met Michael in front of the building.

  “See that?” he said, pointing to an old Ford station wagon. “That’s the right kind of car. Alwa
ys pays to drive a family car, not too new. Cops never give them a second glance. It’s the safest kind of car to drive around in.”

  “Wait a minute, man: We going to play the horses or rob the ticket booth? What difference is it what kind of car we drive? You on the ten most wanted list?” He grinned at me. “Could be, Sticky. Come on, get in and let’s go. I feel good about tonight’s ponies.”

  We headed west to the Chicago suburbs and arrived at the track in plenty of time to find a good parking spot and buy tickets. Michael bought a racing form and we sat down as he studied it and made circles.

  He pointed the pencil at the two horses he had circled. “These are the two races we bet. You only bet to win, never mind anything else. In the third race we bet Locoweed and in the seventh we bet Joyboy.”

  “You mean we ignore all the other races? That ain’t much fun.”

  “Dude, I ain’t here for fun. This is a job. I know those two horses and I know the owners and the jockeys. Loco is going out at seven to one and Joyboy is eight to one. This is going to be sweet.”

  I usually just put two bucks on whatever horse took my fancy and thought of it all as cheap entertainment. I only came to the races once in awhile and never took it seriously. Michael dragged me up to the clubhouse. You had to have a jacket to get in so they gave us these cheesy green sport coats to wear. We got a couple of drinks and waited for the races to start. I asked Michael how much he bet. He said he was going to put $200 on each race.

  “Jesus Christ, are you kidding? That’s a lot of money. Are you crazy?”

  He was looking at the racing form again. “No man, I ain’t crazy. I know what I’m doing. You want to make some bread, then follow my lead.”

  “Shit; I ain’t got that kind of money. I’m going to put a couple of bucks on the first race. Which horse looks good to you?”

  “Got me, man, I don’t know these horses. I only bet on horses I know. You pick one.”

  By now the clubhouse had filled up. I saw a lot of grubby looking middle-aged guys sucking on cigars and glancing furtively at the board showing the changing odds on the first race. A lot of them had flashy blondes at their tables and they all were talking loudly. It was noisy and smoky and the intensity level was rising as the first race approached. I got up and went to the betting window and put two bucks down on a horse called By the Book. We all stood in front of the big glass window cheering our horses on. My horse broke gait right at the start. Oh well, I thought, what do I know? I figured that I better just stick with what Michael picks. He sat calmly sipping his beer until right before the third race and then went up to the window and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and put his money down on Locoweed. I was right behind him and put down ten to win.