“What the hell are you drinking, water?” he asks.
“Vodka on the rocks,” David says.
“Shit,” Fred says, “that’s what the commies drink… you need a fucking beer… barkeep get this man a cold one!”
“No,” David says, “I’m fine; I have a twelve pack in the car that I’m going to drink when I get home.”
“Are you sure David?” Fred asks, “It’s on me.”
“I’m sure,” David says.
“How has your business been?” Fred asks.
“It was decent in the spring, but summer’s been rough,” David says.
“I feel you on that one,” Fred says as he takes a drink, “doesn’t seem like anyone wants anything built this year, luckily I saved some money here and there. I just hope shit picks back up soon.”
“I’m sure it will,” David says as he peeks back over at Hannah, who is now shooting pool with Tim and Steve. Steve catches him looking at her and he quickly turns back around to Fred.
“Them boys had better watch out,” Fred says to David, “because that girl looks like serious jailbait to me.”
David looks back at Hannah again and watches her bend over the table. He stares at her ass as she shoots. Steve, tired of the wandering eyes focusing on his daughter, makes his way over to David and smacks his glass of vodka out of his hand.
“Are you fucking deaf? Do you have a death wish motherfucker?” Steve asks.
“No,” David calmly says.
“Then why in the fuck do you keep staring at my daughter?” Steve asks, but is interrupted by Fred.
“What in the fuck are you doing letting your daughter hang out in a place like this?” Fred asks.
“You’d be wise to shut the hell up and stay out of this you stupid redneck before I shove this pool cue up your fat ass!” Steve says. Fred stands up from his barstool.
“What in the fuck did you just say to me you sunbitch?” Fred asks. Tim storms over to help in case hell breaks loose.
“I think you heard me,” Steve says. The bartender jumps over the bar and stands in between them. Hannah smiles at the chaos she has created.
“I’ll rip your fucking head off!” Fred yells.
“That’ll be hard to do with a bullet through your head!” Steve responds.
“No one is going to be fighting tonight,” the bartender says, “everyone stay cool.”
“I’ll just leave,” David says as he calmly steps away.
“Aw, come on man, I’ve got your back, it ain’t even ten o’ clock yet” Fred says.
“I know Fred,” David says as he walks towards the door, “but I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“You’d better be leaving,” Steve says to David as he walks back towards the pool table. David does not respond as he exits the bar and makes his way to his car. He takes off and pulls a beer from the backseat and takes a drink. He is furious over the fact that he doesn’t have Hannah. He aimlessly drives around looking for somewhere else to go, obsessing over her. He realizes that he has had too much to drink when he catches himself crossing the center-line of the road.
He pulls into a residential neighborhood where he plans on pulling over to the side of the road and sobering up a bit. Just as he is about to pull over, he spots a young, athletic looking girl walking by herself on the side of the road. He looks around to see if anyone is nearby. Once he is sure that there is nobody else around, he drives two streets ahead of her and turns onto an adjacent road, pulling over his car just feet from the intersection. He pulls a cloth from his glove box and wets the cloth with chloroform that he has hidden inside of an empty Mountain Dew bottle. He gets out of the car and walks to the intersection. The girl is rapidly approaching, now only feet away. David runs up to her.
“Excuse me,” David says with a panicked voice, “I’m looking for my little girl, have you seen her?”
“What?” the girl asks.
“I have a four year old little girl and she just wandered out of the house a couple of minutes ago, the police will be here any minute,” David says.
“Well, I would like to help, but I haven’t seen a little girl anywhere around here,” the girl says.
“Oh my God!” David cries, leaning over as if his worry has actually caused him that much pain. The girl touches him on the shoulder.
“Are you okay mister?” she asks, “I can help you look for her until the police get here; I know this neighborhood inside and out.”
“Thank you,” David says with relief, “you are so kind. What is your name?”
“Angie,” the girl says.
“Well thank you Angie,” David says, “you look this way,” as he points to the north, “and I’ll look that way,” as he points to the south. Angie turns around to start looking for the little girl as David lightly grabs her elbow, stopping her from going any further.
“Hold on a minute, you don’t know what she looks like… here… I have a picture in my pocket,” David says as he tries to pull the picture out of his pocket. Angie walks closer to look at the picture. What was supposed to be the picture that he was trying to dig of his pocket is actually the drugged cloth, which he quickly and forcefully puts over her mouth. She passes out before she even has the ability to realize that she is being attacked. She falls into his arms as he looks around to make sure that nobody is watching. He carries her to his Volvo and gently lays her in the trunk. He quickly and efficiently wraps duct tape around her wrists and ankles in case she wakes up earlier than expected. He covers her with a blanket and closes the trunk. He calmly strolls back to the front of his car, gets in and slowly vanishes into the night.
Chapter
20
Drake wakes up and finds Hiram and Kris lying next to him napping. He taps Kris on the shoulder, causing him to mumble something and then roll over. He taps him on the shoulder again, this time Kris wakes up.
“What man?” Kris asks, “I’m sleeping.”
“What time is it?” Drake asks. Kris looks down at his watch.
“It’s nine o’clock,” Kris says as he sits up and yawns, “I must have fallen asleep.”
“All of us did,” Drake says, pointing at Hiram. Kris taps Hiram on the shoulder.
“Ugh,” Hiram says as he rubs his eyes, “I must have passed out, it’s dark. What time is it?”
“It’s nine,” Kris says.
“Damn, it’s nine already” Hiram says, “We’d better get rolling.”
“So where are we going?” Kris asks.
“You’ll know soon enough,” Drake says, “as long as Hiram remembers how to get back to the place he went with Tyrone.”
“I remember,” Hiram says, “but I’m not too cool with going back there.”
“Are you nervous or something?” Drake asks.
“Hell yeah,” Hiram says, “we tore that place up and we’ll be driving the car we stole right past the dealership that we stole it from.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Drake says as he stands up, “if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll drive.”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better,” Hiram says, “but here are the keys.” Drake takes the keys and walks over to the Camaro, Kris and Hiram right behind him.
“Do you all want to finally smoke this joint?” Hiram asks as he pulls it out of his pocket.
“Sure,” Drake says, “but we don’t have a bowl or any papers or anything.”
“Leave that to me,” Hiram says as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He breaks open a cigarette and removes the butt and lays it on the hood of the car. He carefully breaks up the buds and gently places them in the torn cigarette paper. He finishes rolling the joint and shows the finished product to the group.
“Wow man,” Drake says, “nice job.” Hiram lights the joint and takes a long slow toke off it, watching the smoke roll out of his mouth and into the sky above. He then hands the joint to Kris. Kris takes a small puff and begins hacking. Hiram and Drake begin to laugh at him.
/> “Come on guys,” Kris says, “it’s been a while since I’ve jointed.”
“Jointed,” Drake laughs, “what the hell is that?”
“You know,” Kris says, “smoked a joint… that’s what they call it where I’m from.”
“Yeah,” Drake says, “I’m sure that’s what all of your bud smoking friends who have never smoked bud call it.”
“Fuck you Drake,” Kris says, “I have smoked it.”
“Where did you get it then?” Drake asks.
“At school,” Kris says, “from this dude that grew up in Amsterdam.”
“Okay then, how much do you pay for a quarter?” Drake asks.
“Like five grand,” Kris says. Drake falls on the ground laughing and Hiram shakes his head and crawls up and lies on the hood.
“What’s so funny?” Kris asks.
“That’s a lot of money for a bag of skunk Kris,” Drake says, still laughing.
“Its good shit,” Kris says, “it comes from Amsterdam.”
“Alright man… whatever,” Drake says with his last chuckle, “hit it one more time and pass the joint.” Kris takes another puff, but this time he doesn’t cough as badly. He hands the joint to Drake, who takes a really, really long hit.
“Jeez man,” Hiram says as he watches it burn, “you have some serious pot smoker’s lungs.”
“Damn,” Drake says as he exhales, “how in the world can this shit still not be legal in this state?” Drake hands the joint back to Hiram, who in turn takes another hit.
“Because then they would lose a ton of money off putting people away for smoking it,” Hiram answers, “sad too, because we are the best place in the world to be growing it.”
“It’s legal in Colorado and Washington and other places isn’t it?” Drake asks, “California too right.”
“I think so, but only if a doctor prescribes it to you in California,” Kris says.
“Oh, from the expert himself,” Drake says with sarcasm, “let me guess, you travel to California to get jointed.”
“No,” Kris says with a sharp tone, “I read about it.”
“Damn I wished I saved one of those burgers,” Hiram says as he stretches his arm out and passes the joint back to Kris, “I have a feeling that I am about to be really hungry here in a couple of minutes.” Kris tries to take a big hit, but begins coughing and surrenders the rest of his turn. Drake takes another long hit.
“It’s down to the cherry,” Drake says as he looks at what is left of the joint, “do you want to save the roach?”
“Sure,” Hiram says as Drake hands it to him. Hiram spits on the end of the roach, extinguishing the cherry and he puts it in the cellophane of his cigarette pack. He slowly gets off of the hood and the boys slowly pack into the car. Drake revs the engine, eyes reddened. He floors it and the car fishtails down the gravel pathway and onto the road.
“Take a right,” Hiram says as they reach the paved roadway. Drake turns and opens up the engine, careening around a corner.
“Slow down,” Kris says, paranoid once again, “you’re gonna get us pulled over.”
“Ah, you’re just paranoid man,” Drake says, “it’s just the weed kicking in.”
“I don’t know man,” Hiram says, “you are going pretty damn fast and if we pass a cop, we are toast.” Drake shakes his head and slows down.
“What a bunch of pussies,” he says, “how far away are we Hiram?” he asks.
“About five or ten minutes,” Hiram says. Drake sees a sign on the side of the road with an eight ball on it and an arrow pointing down the road; he slows down.
“Is there a pool hall back there?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” Hiram says, “why?” Drake says nothing as he pulls onto the side road. He drives about a mile and sees a large pool hall; he pulls into the parking lot. The boys get out of the car and can hear music blaring from within. Kris stops at the door.
“I want to go back,” Kris says, “I don’t like places like these.”
“We’re not going back,” Drake says.
“Why do you want to go back?” Hiram asks.
“Because I have a really bad feeling about this place,” Kris says, “if we go inside something really bad is going to happen. The last time I went to a pool hall me and a friend got beat up in the parking lot.”
“Okay dude,” Hiram says to Drake, “now I believe that he is getting paranoid.
“Well, we’re going in Kris,” Drake says, “you can go back to the car if you want.”
“No, I’ll go in,” Kris says. The boys open the door and see a series of pool tables. People of all ages are in the establishment. Drake strolls up to the cashier.
“Can I get four quarters?” he asks as he hands the cashier one of the only dollars left in his pocket.
“Sure,” the cashier says as he takes his dollar and hands him the quarters. Drake stands back and sizes up the place. He scans through everyone to find out where the action is. He sees a table that has a few spectators surrounding it; he makes his way directly towards that table.
“Alright Hiram,” Drake says, “Just back me up on whatever I say.”
“What are we doing?” Hiram asks.
“I’m about to win us some money shooting some nine ball,” Drake says, “and you are going to be my partner.”
“But I’ve never played nine ball before,” Hiram says.
“Don’t worry,” Drake says, “we’ll be fine, I told you that I was going to get us some money and that is what we are doing.”
“I wanna play,” Kris interjects.
“I’m sorry Kris,” Drake says, “but you are going to have to sit this one out… maybe you can be my partner later.” Kris walks away pouting and sits in a booth in the restaurant area of the pool hall. Drake and Hiram make their way to the table, where they see a red-headed round man with a beard sporting overalls making trick shots and a balding man wearing paint covered jeans standing behind him. Drake walks behind the redhead man as he fires the cue ball over three obstructing balls and sinking a ball into the corner pocket. The five or so observers surrounding him give him applause as he bows.
Drake gets within earshot and whispers just loudly enough so that he could be heard by the man, “I’d bet money that they couldn’t take us.” The man turns around and looks at Drake.
“You think you could take us kid?” he asks.
“I’d bet fifty dollars on it,” Drake says. Hiram’s eyes dilate and he doesn’t like the direction that this is heading.
“What’s your game?” the man asks.
“Let’s play some nine ball,” Drake says, “we’ll shoot to see who goes first.”
“Fifty bucks,” the man says as he lines up two balls with a confident smile.
“What is going on here?” Hiram asks.
“We hit the balls where he is lining them up at the same time;” Drake says, “you have to bounce it off of the back rail and whoever gets it closest to the other rail without the ball touching it wins.”
“Let’s go,” the redhead says. They line up and hit the balls, the red headed man’s bounces off of the back rail and it lands only an inch away from the rail. Drake’s ball passes his and stops just millimeters in front of the rail. The red headed man looks over the ball with a shocked look on his face.
“Damn that is close,” he says, “I don’t think you could stick a sheet of paper between the ball and the rail without moving it… your break.” Drake chalks his cue stick as the man racks the balls.
“Here we go,” Drake says as he lines up the cue ball. He breaks the balls with a mighty crack and sinks the nine ball on the break.
“That’ll be fifty bucks,” Drake says. The man stands over the table with a vexed look on his face.
“Double or nothing,” he confidently says.
“Fine,” Drake says, “rack em’ up.” The man racks the balls again and Drake breaks, this time without sinking any balls. Drake grows restless as the red headed man calmly sinks the first
six balls effortlessly. He misfires on the seven ball and Drake turns to Hiram.
“All you have to do is sink them in order or knock the nine ball in off of the ball you are on,” Drake says, “but the eight is trapped against the nine, so I don’t see that happening.” Hiram nervously walks up to the table and aims at the seven, which had landed in front of the corner pocket. “Just be sure to hit the seven or they can shoot from anywhere on the table,” Drake quietly instructs, “hit the ball low so you don’t scratch. If you do it right, the english that you put on it will bring it back towards you.” Hiram lines up his shot and sinks it; the bald man gives the red headed man a look of worry. “Now hit the eight as softly as you can,” Drake says.
“But if I barely hit the ball I won’t be able to get it to the pocket,” Hiram says.
“No” Drake says, “we don’t want the eight anywhere near the pocket, we are playing what is called a safety… you’ll be leaving him with a bad shot.”
“Okay,” Hiram says as he walks back to the table. He hits the cue ball softly and it bounces off of the eight ever so slightly.
“Nice,” Drake says as he pats Hiram on the shoulder. The bald man walks around the table, measuring his shot.
“Eight in the corner,” the bald man says as he shoots. He cuts the ball with skill and it slowly rolls to the pocket, stopping right in front of it.
“Damnit!” the bald man curses in frustration.
“Eight in the corner,” Drake says as he sinks the ball and moves to the nine, “and nine ball corner pocket,” he says as he quickly sinks it. “Alright, that’ll be a hundred bucks,” Drake says.
“Double or nothing again?” the red headed man asks.
“No,” Drake says, “I think that we need to be getting out of here.” The red headed man looks at the bald man and shakes his head. Hiram walks over to Kris to tell him the good news. Drake walks over to the red headed man to collect.
“I’m kind of embarrassed to say this,” the red headed man says, “but I don’t have any money on me.”
“What do you mean you don’t have any money on you?” Drake asks, “You made the bet.”
The Light In the Dark Page 17