Pulp

by Charles Bukowski

  “Maybe my ass,” the voice went on, “either you’re Belane or you’re not Belane.”

  “All right, you got me. I’m Belane.”

  “All right, Belane, we hear you’re looking for the Red Sparrow.”

  “Yeah? What’s your source?”

  “Our source is private.”

  “So are your parts but you can expose them.”

  “We choose not to.”

  “All right,” I said, “so what’s the play?”

  “$10,000 and we’ll put the Red Sparrow into your hand.”

  “I don’t have the ten.”

  “We can put you in touch with someone who can let you have it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really, Belane. Only 15% interest. A month.”

  “But I don’t have any collateral.”

  “Sure you have.”

  “What?”

  “Your life.”

  “That all? Let’s talk.”

  “Sure, Belane. We’ll be at your office. Ten minutes.”

  “How’ll I know it’s you?”

  “We’ll tell you.”

  I hung up.

  Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. A loud knock. The whole door rattled and shook. I checked my desk drawer for the luger. It was there, pretty as a picture. A nude one.

  “It’s open, for Christ’s sake, come on in!”

  The door swung open. A huge body blocked the light. An ape with a cigar and a light pink suit. He was with two smaller apes.

  I motioned him to a chair. He sat in it, completely filling it. The chair legs gave a bit. One ape flanked him on each side.

  The main ape belched, leaned forward a bit toward me.

  “I’m Sanderson,” he said, “Harry Sanderson. These,” he nodded toward his cohorts, “are my boys.”

  “Your sons?” I asked.

  “Boys, boys,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You need us,” said Sanderson.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “The Red Sparrow,” said Sanderson.

  “Are you connected with that babe and her mongrel boy who skipped their apartment the other night?”

  “I ain’t tied to no babe,” he said. “I just use them for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “To mop my poop deck.”

  Each of his apes giggled. They had thought that cute.

  “I don’t think that’s cute,” I said.

  “We don’t care,” said Sanderson, “what you think.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Now, let’s talk about the Red Sparrow.”

  “$10,000,” said Sanderson.

  “Like I said, I don’t have it.”

  “And like I said, we get a Loaner to give it to you, easy terms, 15% a month.”

  “O.k., get me the Loaner.”

  “We’re the Loaner.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah, Belane. We give it to you, you then hand it back. Then you pay 15% often grand each month until the loan is fully repaid. All you do is sign this piece of paper. No money really changes hands.

  We just keep it, to save you from handing it back.”

  “And for this, you’ll…”

  “Put the Red Sparrow right in your hand.”

  “How do I know this?”

  “Know what?”

  “That you’ll put the Sparrow in my hand.”

  “You gotta trust us.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  “You don’t, Belane?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t trust us.”

  “Sure but it’s better you trust me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Put the Sparrow in my hand first.”

  “What? What do we look like to you, a bunch of wooden dum-mies?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “Don’t get wise, Belane. You’ve got to trust us if you want to see the Red Sparrow. It’s your only chance. Think about it. You’ve got 24 hours.”

  “All right, let me think.”

  “Think, Belane,” the big ape in the pink suit stood up. “Think real good. And let us know. You’ve got 24 hours. After that, the deal is off. Forever.”

  “O.k.,” I said.

  He turned around and one of his apes ran ahead and opened the door for him. The other one stood there looking at me. Then they all left. And I sat there. I had no idea. The ballgame was in my lap.

  And the clock was running. What the hell. I reached into my desk for the pint of vodka. It was lunch time.

  46

  Well, what are you going to do? I worried so much that I fell asleep at my desk. When I awakened it was dark. I got up, put on my coat and my derby and got out of there. I got in my car and drove 5 miles west. Just to do it. Then I parked it and looked around. I was parked in front of a bar. Hades, said the neon sign. I got out of the car, went in. There were 5 people in there. 5 miles, 5 people. Everything was coming up 5s. There was a bartender, a babe and these 3 thin limp stupid kids. The kids seemed to have shoeblack in their hair. They smoked long cigarettes and sneered at me, at everything. The babe was at one end of the bar, the kids at the other, the bartender in the middle. I finally got the bartender’s attention by picking up an ashtray and dropping it twice. He blinked and moved toward me. His head looked like a frog’s head. But he didn’t hop, he stumbled toward me, stopped in front of me.

  “Scotch and water,” I told him.

  “You want the water in the scotch?”

  “I said, ‘Scotch and water.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Scotch and water, separately, please.”

  The 3 kids were looking at me. The one in the middle spoke.

  “Hey, old man, you want some pain?”

  I just looked at him and smiled.

  “We give free pain,” the one in the middle said. They all sneered, they all kept sneering.

  The bartender arrived with my scotch and water.

  “I think I’ll come down and drink your drink,” the same one spoke again.

  “You touch my drink and I’ll break you in half like a piece of dry shit.”

  “Oh my my my,” he said.

  “Oh my,” said the second.

  “Oh my,” said the third.

  I drained the scotch and skipped the water.

  “Old man thinks he’s tough,” said the one in the middle.

  “Maybe we ought to see how tough he is,” said another.

  “Yes,” said the last.

  God, how boring they were. Like almost everybody else. Nothing new, nothing fresh any more. Dead, flat. Like the movies.

  “Give me the same thing.” I told the bartender.

  “Was that a scotch and water?”

  “It was.”

  “That old man don’t look like much to me,” said the one in the middle.

  “Doesn’t,” I said.

  “Doesn’t what?”

  “Old man doesn’t look like much.”

  “Then you agree with us?”

  “Correcting you. And I hope it’s the last correction I have to make tonight.”

  The bartender arrived with my drink. Then, he left.

  “Maybe we can correct your ass,” said the one who had been doing most of the talking.

  I ignored that one.

  “Maybe we’ll stick your head up your ass,” said one of the others.

  Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.

  “Maybe we’ll make you suck a carrot,” said one of them.

  “Maybe he’d like to suck three carrots,” said one of the others.

  I didn’t say anything. I drained my scotch, had a water, stood up, nodded to the back of the bar.

  “Oh, look he wants to see us outside!”

  “Maybe he wants our carrots!”

  “Let’s go see!”

  I walked out toward the back
. I heard them behind me. Then I heard the click of a switch blade opening. I turned in time to kick it out of his hand. Then I gave him a chop behind the ear. He dropped and I stepped over him. The other two turned and started running.

  They ran down through the bar and out the front entrance. I let them go. I walked back to the other kid. He was still out. I picked him up, carried him over my shoulder, took him outside. I stretched him out on a bus bench on his back. Then I took off his shoes and threw them down a storm drain. Ditto his wallet. Then I went back inside, went back and got the switch blade, pocketed it, went back to my stool, ordered another drink.

  I heard the babe cough. She was lighting a cigarette.

  “Mister,” she said, “I liked that. I like real men.”

  I ignored that.

  “I’m Trachea,” she said.

  She picked up her drink and came and sat down next to me. She had on too much perfume and a week’s worth of lipstick.

  “We could get to know each other,” she said.

  “It wouldn’t pay off, it would only be stupid.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Experience.”

  “Maybe you met all the wrong kinds of women?”

  “Maybe I’m attached to that.”

  “I could be the right one.”

  “Sure.”

  “Buy me a drink.”

  Mine was arriving.

  “A drink for Trachea,” I told the barkeep.

  “Gin and tonic, Bobby…”

  Bobby toddled off.

  “You haven’t told me your name?” she lisped.

  “David.”

  “Oh, I like that. I once knew a David.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I forget.”

  Trachea leaned her flank against me. She was about 25 pounds overweight.

  “You’re cute,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Ah, I dunno…” She paused. “You like me?”

  “Well, not really.”

  “You should. I’m good.”

  “What at? You take shorthand?”

  “No, but I make short things long.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know!”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Guess.”

  “Balloons?”

  “You’re funny.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  Her drink arrived. She took a sip.

  The more I looked at her the less enamored I became.

  “Damn it,” she said, “my lighter!”

  She opened her purse and began pulling things out. A beer bottle opener. Three shades of lipstick. Chewing gum. A whistle.

  And…what?

  “I found it!” she said, holding up the lighter. She tapped out a cigarette, lit it.

  “What’s that thing there?”

  “Where?”

  “There. On the bar. That red thing.”

  I pointed.

  “Oh,” she said, “that’s my sparrow.”

  “Is it alive? Was it alive? Ever?”

  “No, silly, it’s stuffed. I got it at a pet shop today. It’s for my kitty. It’s my catnip sparrow. Kitty loves them.”

  “Oh, hell, put it away.”

  “David, you got excited there for a minute! Do birds turn you on?”

  “Just the Red Sparrow.”

  “You want it?”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  “I got some more catnip sparrows at my place. You can meet my kitty.”

  “No, it’s all right, Trachea. I’ve got to get going.”

  “All right, David, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  I got up, walked down the bar, tossed some bills to the bartender and walked out. The punk was no longer on the bench. I got into my car, pulled out and headed into traffic. It was about ten p.m. The moon was up and my life was slowly going nowhere.

  47

  The next day I was sitting in the office. The door kicked open and there was Harry Sanderson and his two monkeys. This time Sanderson was dressed in a light purple suit. His taste in colors was freaky. I knew a babe like that once, she had a way of wearing those weird colors. Like we’d go out to a restaurant to eat and everybody would turn and look at her. Problem was, she wasn’t much to look at. Even with a hangover and a 3-day beard I looked better than she did. Anyhow, back to Sanderson—

  “Punk,” he said, “your 24 hours are up. You still diddling with your weenie or you made your mind up?”

  “I’m still diddling with my weenie.”

  “You want the Red Sparrow or not?”

  “I want it. But you guys remind me of these guys who worked over my aunt in Illinois.”

  “Your aunt? What the fuck’s this about your aunt?”

  “She had a leaky roof.”

  “That right?”

  “Yeah. These guys came by and told her they’d fix her roof, they had a new super sealant. They had her sign a piece of paper, write out a check and then they climbed up there.”

  “Up where, punk?”

  “The roof. They got up there and poured used motor oil all over.

  Then they split. Next time it rained, it all came through, the rain, the oil. Ruined everything in my aunt’s house.”

  “No kiddin’, Belane? You touch my god-damned heart with that one! Now, let’s talk! You want the Sparrow or you want us to walk out of here?”

  “You’re gonna loan me 10 grand, huh? Which I ain’t even going to get and you’re going to charge me 15% a month interest? You got any other sweet deals for me? I mean, look at it this way: if you were me would you touch this goddamned deal?”

  “Belane,” Sanderson smiled, “one of the few things in the world that I am grateful for is that I am not you.”

  Both of his monkeys smiled at that one.

  “You sleep with these guys, Sanderson?”

  “Sleep? What the hell you mean, sleep?”

  “Sleep. Close your eyes. Play hand up the cheek. Stuff like that.”

  “Belane, I ought to bust you up so you’re less than a fart in an empty church!”

  Both of his monkeys giggled at that one.

  I inhaled, exhaled. Somehow, I felt as if I were going a bit mad.

  But I often felt that way.

  “So, Sanderson, you say you can put the Sparrow in my hand?”

  “Beyond a doubt.”

  “Well, screw you.”

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘screw you!’”

  “What’s the matter with you, Belane? Going a bit mad?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

  “Just a moment…”

  Sanderson gathered his two monkeys close to him. I could hear them buzzing and chirping. Then the huddle broke.

  Sanderson looked solemn.

  “It’s your last shot, punk.”

  “What? What is?”

  “We’ve decided to let you have the bird for 5 grand.”

  “3 grand.”

  “4 grand is our final offer.”

  “Where’s the fucking papers?”

  “I got ’em here…”

  He reached into his coat and threw them on the desk. I tried to read them. There was much legal jargon. I was to sign for a loan from the Acme Executioners. 15% interest a month. I could make that out. Also, something else.

  “This thing still reads as a 10 grand loan.”

  “Oh, Mr. Belane, we can fix that,” said Sanderson. He snatched the papers, crossed out the 10, changed it to 4, initialed it.

  He flipped the papers back on my desk.

  “Now, sign…”

  I found a pen. Then I did it. I signed the god-damned thing.

  Sanderson snatched the papers up and put them back in his coat.

  “Thanks a bunch, Mr. Belane. Have a nice day.”

  He and his two monkeys turned to leave.

  “Hey, where’s the Red Sparrow?”

  Sanderson stopped, turned.
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  “Oh,” he said.

  “Yeah, oh,” I said.

  “Meet us at the Grand Central Market, tomorrow afternoon, 2 p.m.”

  “That’s a big place. Where?”

  “Just find the butcher shop. Stand by the hogs’ heads. We’ll find you.”

  “Hogs’ heads?”

  “Right. We’ll find you.”

  Then they turned and walked out of there. I sat there looking at the walls. I had a vague feeling that I had been screwed.

  48

  So, it was 2 p.m. I was at the Grand Central Market. I had found the butcher shop and I stood at the hogs’ heads. The holes in the skulls, where the eyes had been, looked at me. I looked back, took a puff at my cigar. So many things to make a man sad. The poor boiled those skulls for soup.

  I wondered if I had been set up. These guys might never show.

  A poor soul walked toward me. He was dressed in rags. As he got close I spoke to him, “Hey, buddy, you got a dollar for a beer?

  My damned tongue is hanging out…”

  The miserable bastard turned and walked off. Sometimes I gave, sometimes I didn’t. It all depended upon how my feet hit the floor in the morning. Maybe. Who knew?

  Well, there wasn’t enough money to go around. There never had been. I didn’t know what to do about it.

  Then I saw them. Sanderson and his two monkeys. They were approaching me. Sanderson was smiling and carrying something covered by a cloth. It looked like a bird cage under there. Was it a bird cage?

  Then they stood in front of me. Sanderson looked over at the hogs’ heads.

  “Belane, just be glad you’re not a hog’s head.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? A hog’s head can’t fuck, eat candy, watch tv.”

  “What you got under the rag, Sanderson?”

  “Something for you, baby, you’re going to like it.”

  “Sure,” said one of the monkeys.

  “Yep,” said the other.

  “These guys ever disagree with you, Sanderson?”

  “Uh-uh, that would be death.”

  “We wanna live,” said one of them.

  “To a ripe old age,” said the other.

  “Like I said, Sanderson, what you got in the cage?”

  “Oh, this ain’t your cage, this cage is empty.”

  “You gonna give me an empty cage?”

  “This is the decoy, Belane.”

  “What do you need a decoy for?”