Chuck Freadhoff - Free Booze Tonight

by Chuck Freadhoff

  Delilah went to the center of the room, an expanse of gold carpet and peach colored walls, and turned a pirouette, arms stretched out. “Straight into the lions’ den. Very clever,” she said and smiled at me.

  I shook my head. “The Christians tried that. It didn’t work out so well.”

  “Oh, where’s your sense of adventure?” She pulled a black leather chair from a desk set against the wall, dropped onto it and spun in a circle, her legs out straight, her head back.

  “Do I look like Indiana Jones?” I asked.

  She stopped the chair, gave me the elevator eyes, then shook her head. “No, more like Bruce from Boise, if you must know.”

  I moved past her to the balcony and took in the pool below, deserted at this time of night – dozens of empty chaise lounges lined the edge of the giant, aqua blue pond. Even the Jacuzzi/hot tub was vacant, the jets still, the water tranquil.

  I spotted the cabana where Royal Rob had been hanging out. I glanced at the floor above us. If I had my bearings right, we were directly below his suite. A vague thump, thump came from the ceiling, and I figured someone big was wandering around up there. I stepped away from the balcony and took in the room.

  I had to admit the place was a step up from the motel room I’d shared with Jimmy and James — flat screen TV, minibar, nice pastoral prints on the wall, and … . I noticed the one flaw. Actually it wasn’t a flaw I noticed, it was the bed.

  There was only one. True, it was a California king, the bed modeled after an aircraft carrier. The thing was big enough for two zip codes, but I figured probably not big enough for three people. One guy and two women — even I could do that math. Plus Toughie was big enough for a guy and half anyway.

  On the plus side, there was no double anchovy/pineapple pizza in the room. But on the minus side, I was going to be sleeping on the floor again, just on the other side of a cottage cheese ceiling from a love-sick man who wanted to feed me to God’s garbage men, the vultures.

  When I was growing up I had a friend named Pee Wee Poles who was always telling me what to do in an emergency — like if I ever got caught in the middle of a buffalo stampede, I should stand perfectly still and let the brutes run right by me like a river flowing past a bolder. Sure, I knew even as a kid that it was pure BS, but I figured Pee Wee had one thing right — the best time to be thinking about a survival plan was before the stampede starts.

  I glanced at the door, the bed, the carpet, then up to the ceiling. I listened to Royal Rob stomping back and forth, or maybe he was playing hop scotch with bricks, and asked myself, where the hell did all these buffalo in my life come from?

  Toughie slid into the room and eased the door closed behind her.

  “Okay, we’re clear,” she said.

  “What happens next?” I asked.

  “We get some shuteye.” She took two quick steps, jumped, and landed on her back on the bed. It didn’t move — a seagull flopping down on a carrier.

  I raised my hands, palms up, almost pleading. “We can’t stay here forever. We gotta get Delilah back to L.A. so she can sing.” I turned to Delilah still in the desk chair and nodded, hoping she’d back me up on this one.

  “And keep you alive for another day, too, right?” she said.

  “I’d consider it a friendly gesture, sure.”

  Delilah stood and smiled. “Well, nothing we can do about that right now,” she said, took a couple of steps, and jumped on the bed herself.

  “Hey, Spare Parts, you’ve got to trust me,” Toughie said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  I know what I’m doing. I think that’s what Evel Knievel said when he was lobbying to jump that canyon. Toughie must have read my mind. She raised up on one elbow.

  “Stop worrying and grab a patch of carpet, but not on my side. I get up a couple of times a night and I don’t want to be stepping on you. You’d squish between my toes and it would be a hell of a mess to clean up.”

  I lowered myself to the floor next to the bed and tried to get comfortable. I had to admit I’d spent more than a few nights asleep on a pool table, which is good practice for the floor. But it’s like those duck and cover earthquake drills we used to do in elementary school — just because you’ve practiced a lot, doesn’t mean you’re ever really ready to slide into the Pacific.

  I rolled onto my side and my eyes rested on the small refrigerator in the mini bar across the room. There had be to booze of some kind in there, right? Maybe a pop of Jack Daniel’s would help. I’d pretty much made up my mind to slip to the fridge and grab whatever alcohol was available when I spotted a Gideon’s Bible on the bottom shelf of the nightstand next to the bed.

  I considered the dilemma. Jack always left me a little fuzzy and I should probably keep my wits sharp. On the other hand, I was pretty sure God had me on caller ID and tended to shuffle me to the back of the line behind hurricanes, wars, and pestilence.

  Before I could choose, a pillow landed with a soft splat on my face. I jerked it aside and sat up. Toughie had killed the lights but there was enough ambient illumination that I could see Delilah leaning over the edge of the bed, inches away. She smiled. Maybe it was the light, but her eyes looked like Elizabeth Taylor’s, amethyst. Something inside me screamed, Kiss her you fool! But kissing her could get me killed. I swallowed hard.

  “There must be half a dozen pillows on this bed,” she said. “I figured you could use one. It’s not exactly a hearty meal, but it’s better than nothing.” She rolled away and disappeared under a vast comforter that looked like Scarlett O’Hara’s drapes.

  It wasn’t until the pillow was under my head and I’d almost drifted away that I realized exactly what Delilah had said — a hearty meal, as in “the condemned man ate a hearty meal.” She was kidding me, right? Like she did when she pretended she’d forgotten to lock up Timmy the Tiger. Or did she know something that I didn’t?

  I sat up and tried to peer over the edge of the bed, but it was one of those extra thick mattresses and I couldn’t see anything. I dropped back to the floor, stared at the ceiling, and listened. The pacing had stopped. The room was quiet. I fell asleep.

  It was still dark out when I heard someone in the bathroom and assumed it was Toughie. My eyes were half open and I saw a shadow move across the wall and then a foot hit my leg. I stiffened. A weight hit me square in the chest.

  “Oh,” Delilah said, “I’m sorry. I tripped.”

  She lay atop me, her face almost touching mine. I could feel her body pressing against me. I breathed in a vague hint of something — soap, shampoo, perfume, I couldn’t tell, but I liked it — and didn’t move.

  “No problem,” I said. “I am sort of in the way.”

  She pushed an elbow into my chest, rested her chin in the palm of her hand, and smiled. “Maybe I should call you Door Stop after all?”

  I started to speak, but this time neither my brain nor my mouth came to my rescue. Plus, my throat was suddenly very dry. I couldn’t say a word. I tried to smile.

  Delilah giggled, hesitated a nanosecond longer, then slid off me and climbed back into bed. “Sleep tight, Door Stop.”

  I put my head back on the pillow, stared at the ceiling, and breathed in Delilah’s soap/shampoo/perfume. For a second I wondered if Pee Wee had actually been on to something.

  Maybe if I played my cards just right, the buffalo would slip right past me and I’d still be breathing.

  “Good night, Delilah,” I said under my breath and rolled onto my side. I’m pretty sure I was smiling when I fell asleep.

  Chapter 45

  My good mood lasted all the way to my pancakes the next morning. Toughie’s friend, Bennie, had arranged room service about midmorning and I was sitting at the desk, pouring syrup when someone knocked on the door.

  I’d figured it was Bennie with more coffee, but when Delilah opened the door, Shaq and Bow Tie stood there, guns drawn. A couple more dwarfs lingered in the hallway behind them. Toughie was on the balcony and stepped back into the room.


  Shaq was beaming as he swaggered in. He was wearing a lightweight gray suit, blue shirt and yellow tie. The fedora was still pulled low. The guy had a sense of style and a great tailor, no question about it.

  He gestured to Delilah with the barrel of the gun. “As Jerry Lewis said, ‘you can run but you can’t hide.’ We’re taking the girl to Royal Rob.”

  “Joe Louis, not Jerry Lewis,” Delilah said and shook her head. “Great, I’m being kidnapped by the cultural equivalent of bread mold.” She crossed to the bed, sat and curled her legs under her. She studied Shaq.

  “Funny, you looked taller when I was riding the elephant,” she said.

  Shaq frowned. Toughie moved next to the desk. I was still sitting and she rested a hand on my shoulder. “Well, Door Stop, looks like the jig is up. Hope it was a hearty meal. I’d have gone for the eggs, bacon, and hash browns myself, but … .”

  I lowered my fork. Did she really say ‘hearty meal?’ I looked at Toughie, she wasn’t exactly smiling, but she didn’t seem particularly surprised by the turn of events, either. My gaze shifted from her to Shaq and back. And, as they say, the penny dropped, although in this case it felt like a whole wallet.

  “Damn it, Toughie, you sold us out.”

  Toughie smiled. “You know, Door Stop, you’re awfully old to be so late smart.”

  Shaq seemed to focus on me for the first time. His frown disappeared, replaced by a maniacal grin. He took a quick step toward me like a five-year-old toward a new bike under the tree on Christmas morning. Toughie waved him away.

  “Oh, put the gun away, Shaq. We’re on the same side here. Who the hell do you think told Bennie to call and give you the room number?”

  Shaq holstered his gun. He looked like a lottery player who’d just learned that he’d have to share a gazillion dollar jackpot. The smile disappeared, but was back half a second later as if he’d figured out he was still a big winner.

  “Okay, you and the girl go up to see Royal Rob. Me and the paper weight here … .

  “Door Stop,” Delilah interrupted. “That’s what I’ve been calling him, although he responds to Spare Parts, too.”

  “Whatever,” Shaq said. “Me and him, we’re going for a ride. I’ve got a saguaro that needs fertilizing.”

  “I use Miracle-Gro myself,” Delilah said. “I’ve got a dwarf lemon tree that, oh, hey, no offense, but the tree is doing great. You might consider it.”

  Toughie patted me on the shoulder. “Let’s go see Royal Rob.”

  Shaq reached for the gun he’d holstered. “The Door Parts stays.”

  “Door Stop, Spare Parts, either way Royal Rob wants to see him first,” Toughie said.

  I glanced toward the door and found myself praying the Roo boys would burst through. It was like hoping a pair of pit bulls would show up and rescue you from a pack of feral cats. I think that’s when I finally understood that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.

  I turned to Delilah. “Hey, I’m sorry. I really did want to hear you sing.”

  “Do you think I’m fat?”

  “Fat, what? No, I ah … .”

  “Well, then … .” she said, looked at Toughie, shrugged and shook her head. “He is kind of cute in a Bad News Bears sort of way but … .

  Toughie nodded. “Yeah, half a step behind, but loveable just the same.”

  Shaq gestured to the door. “Enough talking. Come on, Royal Rob is waiting.”

  Toughie nudged me. “Let’s do this,” she said.

  I faced Delilah. Had she really said I was sort of cute? Not exactly famous last words and, in fact, they weren’t even my last words but with Shaq eyeing me as just so much plant food, I figured a semi-complement from Delilah was about as good as it was going to get.

  Chapter 46

  Royal Rob stepped in from the balcony, grinned, and threw his arms wide. The hula girls on his Hawaiian shirt danced. The lace curtains across the sliding doors behind him flapped in the breeze. In the far distance, the desert shimmered and almost looked inviting.

  Delilah and I were side by side, half a step behind Toughie. Shaq and Bow Tie brought up the rear of our little procession like clowns with wheelbarrows and shovels at the end of the circus elephant parade.

  Royal Rob came around the end of the semi-circular couch that faced the window and strode toward us. He stared at Delilah the whole time like a miser eyeing a gold ingot. A five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot.

  The suite was a mess. An empty champagne bottle was in a silver bucket in front of the couch, a cart with room service leftovers was pushed against one wall and a woman’s lingerie was draped across the top of the couch. I got the impression she’d left in a hurry.

  “Delilah, I’m so glad you’re safe. I’ve been worried sick,” he said.

  I wanted to puke. You’d think we’d just been rescued from Somali pirates the way he was gushing. He reached a hand toward Delilah. She took half a step back. I took half a step forward, not even conscious of my movement until Toughie put her fingers on my shoulder.

  “Easy does it, Door Stop.”

  Yeah, what was I thinking? The guy had the physique of a beer truck. Besides, the last time I was in a real honest-to-God fight was in second grade when, ready to establish myself as a force on the playground, I’d called out a chubby kid named Marvin Marvins. But Marvin Marvins moved pretty fast for a fat kid. He hit me with his Star Wars lunch bucket on the side of my head before I could swing. Fight over. To this day, the sight of Yoda makes me flinch.

  I had to accept the fact that life’s path had been set for me at a very young age.

  Maybe I could run for it. Sure, Royal Rob had the build of a beer truck, but I figured at that moment he had the mobility of a broken cement mixer. I glanced behind me. Shaq and Bow Tie, hands resting on their guns, blocked the door.

  Toughie leaned close to me. “Accept what is,” she said.

  Terrific, I was spending my last moments on earth in some kind of new age gathering with a bunch of dwarves, a Roller Derby queen, and a mobster who had the class of a Neanderthal.

  “Delilah, you’re so beautiful,” Royal Rob oozed. “Ever since we met, I’ve thought of you constantly. You have no idea how much I care for you.” He edged closer.

  Delilah held up her hand, palm out. “Cool your jets, buster. The Cubs have a better shot at the series than you have with me.”

  That seemed to take the edge off Royal Rob’s ardor. He frowned and appeared to see me for the first time.

  “Ah, it’s Joey the Door Stop,” he said and chuckled the way a pest control guy would if he’d just spotted the last cockroach on earth. The hula girls on Royal Rob’s shirt shimmied. Their grass skirts swayed. The snake tattooed on his left arm appeared to slither and the dagger on his right bicep seemed especially pointed. I glanced at the door again.

  “You know, I really appreciate you bringing Delilah to me,” Royal Rob said. “Let’s talk about what’s next.” He gestured to the balcony. “Come on, just a personal conversation. You and me.”

  I stepped past Toughie and followed him out. I glanced at the pool area. Dozens of people were in the water, a few more were in the Jacuzzi/hot tub and about half the chaise lounges were covered with towels. I studied the water. We were above the deep end. Maybe I could jump. I was pretty sure I’d survive.

  Royal Rob put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Okay, jumping was out of the question. Not that I really minded. I’d always been afraid of heights.

  “I really want to thank you for bringing Delilah to me,” he said.

  “So I can go?”

  “Well, here’s the thing. I owe Shaq a few favors and he really hates you.”

  “I think it was the elephant.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, I’m going to have to let him kill you. It’s nothing personal, of course. Just business, that’s all. Here’s what I can do, though.” He gestured to the horizon. “Pick out a yucca tree. Lots of them out there. Your choice. Shaq will plant
you right next to it. You’ll have a view of the Alcatraz for eternity.”

  “What’s second prize?”

  “Oh well, I offered.” Rob gestured and I went back into the suite. Toughie had moved to the edge of the couch, but Delilah had wandered near a flat screen TV on a console against the wall. Shaq came past her, his eyes fixed on me.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Shaq said. He holstered his gun and grinned. For a second I thought he was going to run up and kick me in the shins. Instead he turned to Bow Tie.

  “Got the handcuffs?” Bow Tie nodded. Shaq giggled.

  “Hold on,” Toughie said. She moved past Royal Rob to the double doors that led to the balcony. “I need to chat with you in private for a second,” she said and nodded to the balcony.

  Royal Rob shrugged and stepped onto the balcony.

  Things happened really fast then.

  The door flew open and the Roo brothers burst in. Toughie stuck out her foot and tripped Royal Rob, sending him stumbling headfirst toward the balcony’s short wall.

  As he went by, Toughie grabbed him by his shirt collar and belt. He was big, but Toughie was amazingly strong. Plus, she had momentum going for her.

  She pitched Royal Rob off the balcony. I ran to her side and peered over the edge just in time to see him do a massive belly flop in the pool. He rolled onto his back, spit water, and shook his head apparently trying to figure out what had just happened.

  A high-pitched squeal came from behind me. I turned. Jimmy had picked Shaq up by an arm and a leg and was coming toward the balcony. Toughie nodded to the pool below and over Shaq went, his fedora floating on the breeze behind him. He landed a few feet from Royal Rob, a cannon ball next to a whale.

  Royal Rob struggled to the side of the pool and climbed out. When he looked up, Toughie yelled down to him.

  “Vincent the Hammer says you’re not in love with his daughter anymore. If you are, he’ll fit you with special shoes before your next swim.”