Blood, Guts, & Whiskey

by Todd Robinson

  He came into Carl’s, his right arm hanging off him like a purse. He clutched it with his left, but was stumbling and running into shit every few steps. When he used his left to steady himself, the right would swing free and he’d scream loud enough to stop traffic in other neighborhoods. Before he passed out, he pleaded for somebody to get him a fix and get him fixed, just don’t take him to no hospital, he had warrants.

  He should’ve been a little more cautious about the company he made an announcement like that in, because there’s a couple sick puppies in there just curious enough to try setting his arm without any idea of what they’re doing. And nobody was gonna give him any drugs without cash up front.

  When those dudes got tired of playing with his arm, I nodded at Herman, who took out a fifty this time. When I came to collect it, he grabbed me and whispered, “Take it easy tonight, huh?”

  I looked into Herman’s eyes and my asshole puckered. That guy looked scary. Maybe I’d just met the edge of where my hard ass turned to pussy, but he was like E. F. Hutton or some shit—I was listening.

  “No hospital. Get him a fix.”

  So, what do you think I did?

  I knew the arm needed to be set and secured, but shit, I mean, I didn’t know any better than those biker fucks what I was doing. At least I scored him some good shit. Some shit anyhow. I never trucked with that stuff, so I don’t really know from quality, but he slept through it all and I wandered alone in his apartment again. I think the place had been tossed, but it was hard to tell.

  I felt a bit responsible looking at the kid, laying there with his busted wing, bound with a fuckload of scotch tape. I stopped for just a moment and let the feelings match up to the thoughts about what exactly my role in this had been. It was a rare quiet moment of reflection for me.

  “Look. You fucked up. That’s who you are; the guy who fucks up. I’m just the guy who benefited this time. The way things go, man. No hard feelings.”

  He groaned through his opiate stupor and I continued.

  “If it makes you feel better, I ain’t blowing it on pussy anymore. I mean, yeah, a little bit, but I got bigger plans then that.” In truth, I felt a little guilty. In fact, I didn’t even get a dance that night.

  I was back the next night, though. Lil’ Debi was starting to get the bulk of my business. I’m not sure if it was her looks or style or what. She had big bangs that were stiff if you touched them and favored a very strong strawberry-scented perfume. It kinda smelled like she’d used a whole pack of ChapStick on her crotch, and maybe she had, but I suspect the real appeal was her name. There was something kinda kinky-sexy about thinking I was getting dry humped outta my money by a snack cake.

  Since Janis was there, I was playing my usual Mötley Crüe pick, “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away).” I liked to think it bugged the shit outta her. I closed my eyes at the moment and sought out Janis’s gaze with my mind. It pleased me to find it white-hot at the base of my skull, and I savored it a moment, knowing that the jealousy of a woman tasted sweet.

  So, it shocked me when I opened my eyes and saw Janis on the other side of the room, not paying me no nevermind. So surprised I was that I pushed Debi off my lap unceremoniously and spun around to see who was looking at me.

  Couple mopes dressed in nylon tracksuits and wearing jewelry, just bringing down the property value over in the corner, talking with Don the bartender. Following his pointing finger over in my direction. Didn’t stick around to find any shit out, didn’t help Debi up. Just left quick, before they could talk to me.

  Five in the morning, my phone woke me up.

  “Mmmm ...”

  Whispered: “Ethan?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Hey, I just got off. I need to see you.”

  “Janis?”

  “We need to talk. Meet me at Uncle Bill’s.”

  I found Janis at a booth, three Kools in the ashtray and one in her lips. She shoved the coffee she’d ordered for me into my hands. “Hope you like cream and sugar.”

  She let me finish the coffee in silence, watching me intently while the whites of her eyes swelled with deep drags of menthol. She held my empty hand and sent electric tickles up and down my arm with her touch. The look in her eyes was intense and expectant—if our song was playing, I’d probably have wet my pants. It should have scared me, but I was only flattered. When I set the empty cup down, she said, “So?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What did you do, Ethan?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why are those scary guys looking for you?”

  Immediately I half stood and looked around. “What guys?”

  “You know, the ones at the club? What do they want from you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”

  She smiled and grabbed both my hands in hers. “You can tell me, baby.”

  Apparently it was some kind of turn-on. Danger hung off me like ten inches. We got a room at the Motor Inn and danger threw a party. Afterwards, she slept and I watched TV till she got up about noon. Her makeup was a mess and her Tawny Kitaen hair bunched at odd angles from all the product and sweat and sleep. Her eyes worked hard at a twinkle when they met mine, but—and maybe it was the daylight and not insincerity—the effect was sexy as ... well not very. But when she dropped the sheet and walked to the bathroom, there was a pleasant tingle south of my navel.

  I’m not sure what she’d heard from loose talk at the club or what she’d managed to get out of me during our little romp. Could be she’s smart. Could be she’s wired with a sixth sense for money matters. Could be I’m transparent. Could be ... Because when she comes out of the shower a few minutes later, wrapped in a towel and looking sweet and fuck hungry simultaneously, she lets that little motel-issue napkin fall and in the same instant nails me with, “So, how much we got?”

  Nobody at the Beaver knew my last name. Janis had my phone number and that was it. She was the only one who could tell those scary guys in the sweatpants who I was. That made us partners, she figured. Partners in what?

  Dude. Spending, of course.

  Now, I’m not hypnotized over snatch so bad I can’t see what’s going on here. But come on ... I am just exactly what you think I am: horny, lonely, and a bit low on the old self-esteem. And if not this, then what the fuck is it money is supposed to buy for you?

  So?

  “Fifty.”

  “Fifty!” she says like I just won her a teddy bear popping balloons at the fair.

  “Fifty-thousand bucks, baby. All for us.”

  Being the meat in a fuck sandwich with Lynda Carter and Erin Gray? Flying copilot with Jan-Michael Vincent? The Hair Club for Men? These were things I had given serious thought to over the years. Life expectancy was not. Had I devoted some time in consideration of it, could be some things I’d have done different.

  Could be I’d not have started smoking at eight years old. Could be I’d never have told that loudmouth Brian Belisle about fingering Tanya Hopeck behind the Dumpsters in junior high. Could be I’d not’ve stuck around St. Louis after stealing fifty-thousand dollars.

  Might’ve turned out I’d not been such a sickly kid, gotten my ass kicked every day by Jeremy Hopeck or into some serious shit with an opportunistic stripper. But I’ll tell you what, nothing would’ve stopped me from smoking, fingering, or stealing in the first place.

  It was going to take a couple days for Janis to wrap up her affairs. Minor things like getting some money she was owed and finding somebody to take her cat. But the plan was to leave town together, go to Vegas or New Orleans, live fast and loose for a while. Forget my future working for Pee-Wee. Guess I could call him that again ... not to his face mind you, but he scared me too much to wanna be around. I was gonna see how much happiness, or at least pleasure, I could make the money good for.

  In the meantime, we agreed it would be best for us to continue our regular routines, so as not to call attention to ourselves. At least s
he should. I’d already got some attention. So, I gave her a thousand in walking around money. Enough, I figured, for her not to nag me for a bit, and too little for her to split on me with. She left me at the Motor Inn for work around six.

  I was too antsy to stay at the motel, so I jumped in my car for a drive. Flipped the radio to 94.7 and scored an omen. “Sweet Child O’ Mine” blasted from my shitty speakers and I rolled down the window, wishing my hair were still thick enough to wear long. It’d feel good to let it whip around in the breeze while driving. Crossed the Martin Luther King into Illinois and started cruising the east side, thinking long as she was playing this whole relationship mercenary style, might as well get some strange while the getting was good.

  The song ended and another GNR tune immediately kicked in—must be twofer Tuesday or some shit. Deciding to check out the Ten Foot Pole, I headed south. That’s when the omen took a darker turn.

  Normally, you can’t catch shit on the radio. Seems I always have to twist the dial immediately after one good song, so back-to-back ass-kicking tunes usually make my day—let alone Guns followed by AC/DC. But the thoughts I was beginning to have? Shit was dark. “Got You by the Balls” followed by “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” sunk my mood. For real.

  Would you be surprised to find out she’d told the six-million-dollar man and his butt-buddy exactly who I was and where I lived? Okay, she didn’t know herself, but she knew my name and I’m in the book. So, no, I wasn’t too surprised either, to come home to wash Ginger and Mary Ann off of me and find my apartment torn up.

  I smiled a little smile, knowing that they hadn’t found shit. I thought of zero sum nights, rooting around somebody’s home, going through drawers and closets and under rugs, behind paintings and coming up empty-handed. I thought of how frustrating that can be and the smile grew a little broader.

  “Fuck you, greasy fucks,” rolled off my tongue as cool and understated as Bruce Willis might ever accomplish. I grabbed some clean clothes and skipped the shower. Who knew if they were watching the place? I went out the back door and down the fire escape. Even if they saw that much, I knew I could lose them down the alley and I’d parked the car three blocks away in caution.

  I crossed the river again and ditched the car. I staked out the Beaver, waiting for Janis to get off. It was a long wait, but I didn’t mind. I was savoring the thrill of playing the game a step ahead of these yo-yo’s. Janis came out half past four, with three other girls and a big ape. The girls got to their cars, the bouncer went back inside, and I did a half crouched run up to Janis’s passenger side.

  “Judas Priest, Ethan! You scared me,” she exclaimed as I let myself in.

  “Hey, baby, I just couldn’t wait to see you.” I kissed her and felt the hesitation on her end. Could be she thought she’d never see me again. Could be she was afraid I knew about her betrayal. Could be she was scared of what I might do. Could be.

  She recovered quick, though. She smiled and grabbed my junk while she stuck her tongue down my throat. “You’re supposed to lay low, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Baby Doll, I hope you got paid, because I’ve decided. Fuck your cat, we’re leaving tonight.” See how she likes that.

  She didn’t. She looked concerned. Chewed on her bottom lip for a second, but just like the calculating cunt I knew she was, she improvised just swell. Switched gears and went with plan B. “You’re right. I don’t wanna come back to this shithole ever again. Let’s go now!” She kissed me quick and started the car, all smiles. The sincerity of the twinkle in her eye chilled me. Felt like a block of ice in my intestine.

  I sat back, a little unnerved, and said, “Airport.”

  At least, I’d taken the liberty of changing our plans. Miami never came up in our talks, so I figured I’d be safe enough there to do what I had to before disappearing for good. Now I needed to take the driver’s seat, be the man here.

  She played it through convincingly enough, if I hadn’t known better. She even liked my new assertive style. It was different for her, following the leader. At the Beaver, or any other place like that, the women control everything and tell you how it is.

  She slept against me in our first-class seats and I pretended it was sweet. I pretended we had a future and were a team. I pretended all the way to the hotel, all the way through room service and the lazy sleepy sex before the nap.

  I woke up an hour later and looked at her lying on her side, turned away from me. I let some light in through the window and took in the view. Really was something. I thought I should find another girl soon and come back here again. I turned around and looked at Janis. Looked clean and sweet and had that something—that definite something I still couldn’t put my finger on. I slipped back into pretend mode, and while I was there, thought about our future.

  Took a long hot shower. Scalding, really. Stood under the stream, walking through what I had to do. When I realized the hot water wasn’t going to run out, I turned it off and scrubbed myself completely pink with those big white towels. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Janis was sitting, the sheet pulled up to her armpits, talking on the phone. She was whispering into it while I looked at her from the doorway.

  Snapped me back. She never missed an opportunity. In truth, it made me love her just a little bit more. I thought: That’s my girl. You’re so smart. And capable. I want to be just like you someday.

  She quickly hung up when she saw me watching.

  “Who’d you call?”

  Beat. “Oh, just Trish at the club.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I told her I wasn’t coming back to work and where the spare key for my place was. She’s gonna take care of Angus for me.”

  “You tell her where we were?”

  She looked at me, confused. “’Course not. I didn’t say anything about a ‘we.’ Just said I wasn’t coming back to work, would be gone a while.” She was pretty smooth, I gave her that.

  I still had time for pretending, so I sauntered, yeah, sauntered over to the bed and dropped the towel dramatically. She responded by rising to her knees and dropping the sheet. She smashed her world-class knockers against me and put her head on my shoulder. A regular Chrissie Hynde. I tilted her chin up to look at me and said, “Let’s get married.”

  When I came back to St. Louis, six months later, I was tan. I was dressed smart, I even talked differently. I had come into my own. I had gone into business for myself, used the money to buy in bulk. That’s what they say: you gotta spend money to make money. And what do you know? They were right, this time. What ten thousand will buy wholesale will go for thirty, thirty-five retail.

  And I wasn’t out of my depth, like maybe you’re thinking. Certain things you experience really prepare you for down the road events so that you know when the shit comes down, you’re going to be ready. For me, it was killing Janis—when I drowned her that afternoon while she was talking about weddings and shit, like she was really into it. When we’d gone off to a private spot along the beach and she looked at me and said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” it was just the opening I was looking for.

  I said, “Honey, you’re going to,” and did it right then and there. Knocked the wind out of her with a stomach punch, then onto her back in two feet of water while I sat on her shoulders. She died looking into my face, knowing I knew all about her plans for me, and I was reborn looking into hers knowing I was all grown-up now and could take care of myself.

  We’d taken a trip out to Key West to celebrate our engagement and I left her without ID. She’d had a few drinks by that time and had drowned, not been strangled, so I wasn’t sure if they’d think she was a murder or an accident, but I didn’t care much. I didn’t think anybody’d try too hard to connect her to me, let alone find me across the country. I figured by the time anybody who gave a shit enough to put it together got around to my last known address, I’d have changed my identity and moved on.

  And I did all that. I became John Connor, which was r
espectable enough. I figured the only thing looking for me was a cybernetic assassin from the future, and if he looked anything like Arnold, I could see that coming a mile away.

  I came back to St. Louis for shits really. An odd feeling of destiny pulled me back just to look at the old stomping ground with my new eyes. I went to an afternoon ball game and drove through Soulard and Dutchtown just to see it again. I rolled up on Carl’s Bad Tavern and thought, What the hell? and went in for a taste.

  Nobody recognized me, which confirmed to me that I was one hundred percent changed. I casually sat at the bar and ordered a scotch, which I’d taken to recently. The bartender was new and I asked him where Pee-Wee was, used the name and everything.

  He looked around nervously, hoping nobody’d heard me and it tickled me to see the discomfort in his eyes. “Herman’s out right now. You wanna leave a message?”

  “Nah, just thought I’d say ‘hey’ if he were around.” I finished my drink and got up to leave when one of the regulars—I couldn’t remember his name—stopped me and said: “Hey, I know you, right?”

  I looked him right in the eye and gently clapped his shoulder. “Not even close,” I said, then took out a bill and put it on the bar in front of him. “Bartender, a drink for my new friend.” And I was gone.

  I spent the rest of the day sightseeing and stopped in for just a sec at the Beaver. What a shithole, I thought. Guess I’d come up in the world. Didn’t even stay for a whole minute. Went to PT’s, which was more my speed now. Had a couple drinks and was getting a private dance when “Sweet Child O’ Mine” came on the sound system.

  Shit.

  Wasn’t prepared for it. Hadn’t heard that song in months. Not ashamed to say, I got a little misty-eyed and sang along under my breath. Nah, fuck that, I got up and left in a hurry. The girl called me an asshole and I didn’t argue. I walked out and bumped into a couple unhappy patrons on the way to the door.

  Was pacing, trying to wash the song out of my system, walking along the riverfront, on the way to the car. I always liked looking at downtown from the east side at night. The river rolling under the bridge was soothing with the lights from the casinos reflected on its surface.