“I just want to do it this way. There’s a reason, I guess.”
“You find out that reason, honey, you tell me…”
“Why should I tell you? Maybe I want to keep it to myself.”
“Sir, you know, we don’t have to serve you. We reserve the right to refuse service to anybody.”
“You mean, you won’t serve me because I’m ordering two Chinese beers and not telling you why?”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t serve you. I said we reserve the right not to.”
“Look, the reason is security, a subconscious need for security. I had a rotten childhood. Two bottles at once fills a void that needs filling. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Honey, I’m going to tell you something. You need a shrink.”
“All right. But until I get one, can I have two bottles of Chinese beer?”
A big guy in a dirty white apron walked up.
“What’s the trouble here, Betty?”
“This guy wants two bottles of Chinese beer. Without a glass.”
“Betty, he’s probably waiting for a friend.”
“He doesn’t have a friend, Blinky.”
Blinky looked at me. He was another big fat guy. He was two big fat guys.
“Don’t you have a friend?” he asked me.
“No,” I answered.
“Then what do you want with two bottles of Chinese beer?”
“I want to drink them.”
“Why don’t you order one, finish it, then order another?”
“I’d rather do it this way.”
“I never heard of that,” said Blinky.
“Why can’t I do it? Is it against the law?”
“No, it’s just strange, that’s all.”
“I told him he needs a shrink,” said Betty.
They both stood there looking at me. I took out a cigar and lit it up.
“That thing stinks,” said Blinky.
“So do your excreta,” I said.
“What?”
“Bring me,” I said, “three bottles of Chinese beer. No glass.”
“This guy is a nut,” said Blinky.
I looked at him and laughed.
Then I said, “Don’t talk to me again. And don’t do anything, anything at all to irritate me or I’ll blow your lips right off your fucking face, buddy boy.”
Blinky froze. He looked like he was going to have a bowel movement.
Betty stood there.
A minute passed. Then Betty said, “What’ll I do, Blinky?”
“Get him three bottles of Chinese beer. No glass.”
Betty left for the beers.
“Now you,” I said to Blinky, “you sit yourself down across from me. I want you to watch me drinking these three Chinese beers.”
“Sure,” he said, sliding himself, somehow, into the booth across from me.
He was sweating. All three of his chins were trembling.
“Blinky,” I asked him, “you haven’t seen the Red Sparrow, have you?”
“The Red Sparrow?”
“Yes, the Red Sparrow.”
“Haven’t seen it,” said Blinky.
Betty was arriving with the Chinese beers.
At last.
43
So there I was the next night, standing outside of the apartment complex. My shoes were shined and I’d only had 3 or 4 beers. A light, slightly ominous rain was falling. “God is pissing,” we used to say when it rained when I was a kid. I felt tired, I mean in body and mind. I wanted out of the game. I wanted to retire. Say to some place like Vegas. Hanging around the gaming tables, looking wise.
Watching fools blow fortunes. That was my idea of a good time.
Relaxing under the lights as the grave yawned open for me. But, hell, I didn’t have any money. And I had to find the Red Sparrow.
I pressed the buzzer to apartment 9. I waited. I pressed the buzzer again. Nothing. Oh my. Oh my my my. I didn’t want to think about it. Had they skipped? Deja and that motherfucker. I should have closed on them last night. Had I let them slip?
I lit my cigar with one hand, worked the door-jimmy with the other. It slid open and I entered the hall. I walked down to 9. Pressed my ear to the door. Nothing. Not even the rustle of a mouse.
Oh my. God damn it. I worked the door open and entered. Walked straight to the bedroom, opened the closet. Empty. Clothes gone.
Nothing but lonely hangers. What an awful sight. My first link to the Red Sparrow now turned into 32 empty hangers. I had lost it.
As a dick I was a fool. I thought faintly about suicide, dismissed that, reached into my coat, found the pint, had a hit of vodka, spit out my cigar.
Then I turned around, walked out of there, down the hall and along the hall until I found what I wanted. The door marked: MANAGER, M. TOHIL
I knocked.
“Yeah?” came this reply. Sounded like another big guy.
“Flowers, Mr. Tohil. Flower delivery for M. Tohil!”
“How’d you get in here?”
“The front door was open, Mr. Tohil.”
“Impossible!”
“Mr. Tohil, a lady was leaving and I walked in the door as she walked out.”
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I didn’t know that. What was I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to buzz me from outside and tell me who you are and what you want.”
“All right, Mr. Tohil. I’ll go outside and buzz you and tell you that I have a flower delivery for you. Will that be all right?”
“Never mind, boy. Here…”
The door swung open. I jumped inside, kicked the door closed and grabbed him by the belt. I had a handful. He was a big guy.
Needed a shave. Smelled a little like sulfur. Tipped the scales about 240.
“What the fuck you doing? Where are the flowers? Take your hand off my god-damned belt!”
“Easy, Tohil,” I let go of him, “I’m a private investigator, fully licensed. I want to know the whereabouts of Deja Fountain, apartment 9.”
“Kiss my ass, buddy, and get the hell out of here.”
I backed off.
“Easy, Mr. Tohil. I just want this information, then I’ll go.”
“The information is private and you’ll go without it. I’m moving you out of here now!”
“I’ve got a black belt, Tohil. That’s a lethal weapon. Don’t force me to use it!”
He laughed and moved a step toward me.
“Hold it right there!” I yelled.
He stopped.
“Tohil, I’ve got to locate the Red Sparrow, and Deja Fountain ties in with the solution. I’ve got to know where she and her boy have gone.”
“They didn’t leave a forwarding address,” he said. “Now get out of here before I fart in your face!”
I slipped the .32 out and leveled it at his belly.
“WHERE’S DEJA FOUNTAIN?” I yelled.
“Screw you,” he said, moving toward me.
“Stop right there!” I commanded.
He kept coming, he was a fool. I panicked, pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
Then he had his hands about my throat. They were the size of hams, hams with huge, dumb, strong, relentless fingers. I couldn’t breathe. Large flashes of light roared in my head behind my eyes. I pounded my knee into his groin. Nothing happened. He was a freak.
His sexual organs were some place else, maybe up under one of his arm pits. I was helpless. I could feel death in the air. But my past life didn’t flash before me. Just a voice in my head said, “You need a new tire on the right rear…” Stupid, stupid. And I was finished, done. It was over for me.
Then, suddenly I felt the hands let go. I staggered back, sucking in air from the stratosphere and everywhere else.
I looked at Tohil. He didn’t look good. He didn’t look good at all.
He was looking at me but he wasn’t looking at me. I saw him grab his left arm. He held his left arm and this awfull
y pained look crossed his face. He gasped, looked up and fell to the floor.
I went over, bent over him, felt his pulse. Nothing. He was gone.
Bye bye.
I walked over, sat in a chair. And there on the couch across from me, there she was: Lady Death. Never had she looked so good. What a babe. Never let you down. Better than gold. She smiled.
“How ya doin’, Belane?”
“Can’t complain, exactly, Lady.”
She was dressed completely in black. She looked good in black.
Also red.
“Better watch your weight, Belane. You’ve been eating too many french fries, mashed potatoes, desserts…you’ve been sucking at beer bottles…”
“Yeah. Well…yeah…”
She smiled again. Perfect strong teeth. She could bite through a plumber’s monkey wrench.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Some more business near at hand.”
“Anybody I know?”
“You know a Harry Dobbs?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you do, forget him.”
Then she was gone. Like that.
I walked over to Tohil, dug for his wallet. There was a 50, 2 twenties, a 5 and a one. I slipped them into my right pants pocket.
I walked to the door, opened it, closed it and walked down the hall.
Nobody around. I got to the front door, stepped outside. The light rain was still falling. It felt good against my face. I inhaled, sighed, moved toward my car. It was still there. I walked around to the rear of it and checked the right rear tire. Sure enough, it was bald. I needed new rubber.
44
So, there I was depressed again. I drove back to my place, got in and opened a bottle of scotch. I was back with my old friend, scotch and water. Scotch is a drink you don’t take to right off. But after you work with it a while it kind of works its magic on you. I find a special touch of warmth to it that whiskey doesn’t have. Anyhow, I had the glooms and I sat in a chair with the 5th at my side. I didn’t turn on the tv, I found that when you felt bad that son-of-a-bitch only made you feel worse. Just one vapid face after another, it was endless. An endless procession of idiots, some of them famous. The comedians weren’t funny and the drama was 4th grade. There wasn’t much to turn to for me, except the scotch.
The light rain had become a hard rain and I sat there listening to it belt against the roof.
I should never have let those fuckers slip away. And I knew I’d never find my original informant again. I was back at the beginning.
The Red Sparrow had vanished from my stupid grasp. Here I was 55 years old and still fumbling in the dark. How long could I stay in the game? Did the inept deserve anything but a kick in the ass?
My old man had told me, “Get into anything where they hand you the money first and then hope to get it back. That’s banking and insurance. Take the real thing and give them a piece of paper for it. Use their money, it will keep coming. Two things drive them: greed and fear. One thing drives you: opportunity.” Seemed like good advice. Only my father died broke.
I poured a new scotch.
Hell, I’d even failed with women. Three wives. Nothing really wrong each time. It all got destroyed by petty bickering. Railing about nothing. Getting pissed-off over anything and everything.
Day by day, year by year, grinding. Instead of helping each other you just sliced away, picked at this or that. Goading. Endless goad-ing. It became a cheap contest. And once you got into it, it became habitual. You couldn’t seem to get out. You almost didn’t want to get out. And then you did get out. All the way.
So, now, here I was. Sitting listening to the rain. If I died right now there wouldn’t be one tear dropped anywhere in the world. Not that I wanted that. But it was odd. How alone could a sucker get? But there was a world full of old farts like me. Sitting listening to the rain, wondering where it all went. That’s when you knew you were old, when you sat wondering where it went.
Well, it doesn’t go anywhere, it’s not supposed to. I was three quarters dead. I flicked on the tv. There was a commercial. LONELY? DEPRESSED? CHEER UP. PHONE ONE OF OUR BEAUTIFUL LADIES. THEY DESIRE TO SPEAK TO YOU. CHARGE IT TO YOUR MASTER OR VISA CARD. SPEAK TO KITTY OR FRANCI OR BIANCA. PHONE 800-435-8745.
They showed the girls. Kitty looked best. I took a hit of scotch and dialed the number.
“Yeah?” It was a man’s voice. Sounded mean.
“Kitty, please.”
“You 21 or over?”
“Over,” I said.
“Master or Visa?”
“Visa.”
“Gimme your number and expiration date. Also, address, phone number, social security and your driver’s license number.”
“Hey, how do I know you won’t use this information for your own good? I mean, like screwing me around? Using this info for your own gain?”
“Hey, buddy, you want to talk to Kitty?”
“I guess so…”
“We advertise on tv. We been in business for 2 years.”
“All right, let me dig this stuff out of my wallet.”
“Buddy, if you don’t want us, we don’t want you.”
“What’s Kitty going to talk to me about?”
“You’ll like it.”
“How do you know I’ll like it?”
“Hey, buddy…”
“All right, all right, wait a minute…”
I gave him the info. There was quite a pause while they cleared my credit. Then I heard a voice.
“Hi, baby, this is Kitty!”
“Hello, Kitty, my name is Nick.”
“Oooh, your voice is so sexy! I’m getting a little excited!”
“Nah, my voice isn’t sexy.”
“Oh, you’re just being modest!”
“No, Kitty, I’m not modest…”
“You know, I feel very close to you! I feel like I’m curled up in your lap, I’m looking up at you with my eyes. I have large blue eyes. You’re leaning close, like you’re about to kiss me!”
“That’s crap, Kitty, I’m sitting here alone sucking on a scotch and listening to the rain.”
“Listen, Nick, you have to use your imagination just a little. Let go and you’ll be surprised what we can do together. Don’t you like my voice? Don’t you find it a little…ah, sexy?”
“Yeah, a little but not too much. You sound like you got a cold.
You got a cold?”
“Nick, Nick, my dear boy, I’m too hot to have a cold!”
“What?”
“I said, I’m too hot to have a cold!”
“Well, you sound like you’ve got a cold. Maybe you smoke too many cigarettes.”
“I only smoke one thing, Nick!”
“What’s that, Kitty?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“Nah…”
“Look down at yourself, Nick.”
“O.k.”
“What do you see?”
“Drink. Telephone…”
“What else, Nicky?”
“My shoes…”
“Nick, what’s that big thing sticking out there as you talk to me?”
“Oh, that! That’s my gut!”
“Keep talking to me, Nick. Keep listening to my voice, think of me there in your lap, my dress slipped up a bit, my knees and thighs showing. I have long blond hair. It showers down over me. Think of all that, Nick, think of it…”
“All right…”
“O.k., now what do you see?”
“Same things: telephone, my shoes, my drink, my gut…”
“Nick, you’re bad! I’ve got a good mind to come over there and spank you! Or maybe I’ll let you spank me!”
“What?”
“Spanky, spanky, Nick!”
“Kitty…”
“Yes?”
“Will you pardon me for a minute? I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh Nick, I know what you’re going to do! But you don’t have to go to the bathroom to do it, you
can do it right over the phone while you’re talking to me!”
“No, I can’t, Kitty. I gotta take a piss.”
“Nick,” she said, “you can consider our conversation over!”
She hung up.
I went to the bathroom and urinated. As I did, I could still hear the rain going. Well, it had been a lousy conversation but at least it had taken my mind off of the Red Sparrow and other matters. I flushed, washed my hands, stared into the mirror, winked at myself and walked back out to the scotch.
45
So there I was, back at the office the next day. I was feeling unfulfilled and, frankly, rather crappy about everything. I wasn’t going anywhere and neither was the rest of the world. We were all just hanging around waiting to die and meanwhile doing little things to fill the space. Some of us weren’t even doing little things. We were vegetables. I was one of those. I don’t know what kind of vegetable I was.
I felt like a turnip. I lit a cigar, inhaled, and pretended that I knew what the hell.
The phone rang. I picked it up.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Belane, you have been selected as one of our prize winners.
Your prize can be a tv set, a trip to Somalia, $5,000 or a folding um-brella. We have a free room for you, a free breakfast. All you have to do is attend one of our seminars where we will offer you an un-limited real estate value…”
“Hey, buddy,” I said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Go hump a rabbit!”
I hung up. I stared at the phone. Deathly damned thing. But you needed it to call 911. You never knew.
I needed a vacation. I needed 5 women. I needed to get the wax out of my ears. My car needed an oil change. I’d failed to file my damned income tax. One of the stems had broken off of my reading glasses. There were ants in my apartment. I needed to get my teeth cleaned. My shoes were run down at the heels. I had insomnia. My auto insurance had expired. I cut myself every time I shaved. I hadn’t laughed in 6 years. I tended to worry when there was nothing to worry about. And when there was something to worry about, I got drunk.
The phone rang again. I picked it up.
“Belane?” this voice asked.
“Maybe,” I answered.
Pulp Page 12