Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [47]
Edwin is a bit past fifty but still built like a tractor. I’ve watched him carry a full beer keg on his shoulder up and down the cellar stairs. He’s still grinding out push-ups as I walk down the bar, apparently going for a personal best. The crowd is reaching a crescendo with the count and Edwin is finally slowing down.
—Forty-three! Forty-four! Forty-five!
His record with Lisa on his back is fifty-three. He did around fifteen once with Amtrak on his back, but Amtrak weighs about 280. With nobody on his back Edwin can do push-ups until everyone just gets tired of counting.
—Forty-nine! Fifty! Fifty-one!
The natives are really whipped up. “Children of the Grave” has just started screaming out of the juke and Lisa is giggling uncontrollably on Edwin’s back. She tries to take a sip of her greyhound, spilling it down her chin. Edwin is now shaking and grunting. Sweat is racing down his face and arms.
—Fifty-two! Fifty-three!
Edwin gulps air and Lisa gets down a big slug of vodka and grapefruit juice as he ratchets himself up again and again and again.
—FIFTY-FOUR! FIFTY-FIVE! FIFTY-SIX!
The record is shattered and Edwin collapses on the bar. He rolls to his back, tumbling Lisa to the floor behind the bar, where she lands, still giggling. Edwin gasps and shouts.
—Reward me! My just due! Reward me!
The gang applauds and cheers. They pour beer into Edwin’s open mouth and dig bills from their pockets to throw at him.
It’s a good party.
Edwin spots me when he boosts himself back up on the bar.
—Sailor! There ya are, ya fuck!
Everyone turns to see me, and they send up a new cheer.
—SAILOR!
They all toast and take a drink.
—Sailor, how goes it?
—Hank. How’s it hangin’, Hank?
—Did you see the fucking Giants game, man? Mets, man, it’s all about the Mets now.
Edwin vaults down from the bar and rushes me. He wraps his arms around my middle, lifts me from the floor and squeezes. All the air rushes out of me and I make little squealing noises.
—Ya little girl, ya little fucking girl. Get the beat shit outta ya and ya quit! Ya little fucking girl.
His arms are locked around the wound and my arms are pinned to my sides and I can’t get enough air to tell him to let me the fuck down.
—What’s a matter, little girl? Looks like he’s gonna cry here.
Edwin starts to swing me around and around. Everyone is crazy, laughing. Amtrak shakes up his beer and sprays me with it while someone else pelts me with peanuts. Lisa picks herself up from behind the bar and sees the action.
—Edwin! Edwin, for chrissake, Edwin, put him down. EDWIN!
She walks over to the juke and pulls the plug.
—Edwin, for fuck sake put him down, he just had surgery.
Edwin stops spinning and sets me gently on my feet.
—Oh, fuck! Fuck, Hank, I’m fucking sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking, man, I’m just glad to see you, man.
—It’s cool, Edwin, I’m, man, I’m really glad to see you, too. It’s great to see all y’all.
This sets off another round of cheers and Edwin grabs me by the back of the neck and shakes me a little. He’s totally fucking loaded. He’s got booze-sweat pouring out of his skin and his pupils are pinned up tight from the coke and the whole place reeks of weed. He steers me over to the bar by my neck and waves to Lisa.
—Set ’em up, Leez. Gobble gobble, Wild Turkey all around, all around.
Lisa grabs the bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and starts filling shot glasses while everyone packs around us at the bar. Someone turns the music back on, but it’s not Sabbath anymore. There’s a wind sound and a bell and the opening organ notes to Elton John’s “Funeral for a Friend” fill the bar. I put my mouth close to Edwin’s ear.
—Edwin, man, I need