Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [87]
I waited until my parents were asleep. My father always snored loudly. When I heard him I opened the bedroom screen and slid out over the berry bush. That put me into the neighbor’s driveway and I walked slowly in the dark. Then I walked up Longwood to 21st Street, took a right, then went up the hill along Westview to where the “W” car ended its route. I dropped my token in and walked to the rear of the car, sat down and lit a cigarette. If Becker’s friends were anywhere as good as Becker’s short story it was going to be one hell of a night.
Becker was already there by the time I found the Beacon Street address. His friends were in the breakfast nook. I was introduced. There was Harry, there was Lana, there was Gobbles, there was Stinky, there was Marshbird, there was Ellis, there was Dogface and finally there was The Ripper. They all sat around a large breakfast table. Harry had a legitimate job somewhere, he and Becker were the only ones employed. Lana was Harry’s wife, Gobbles their baby was sitting in a highchair. Lana was the only woman there. When we were introduced she had looked right at me and smiled. They were all young, thin, and puffed at rolled cigarettes.
“Becker told us about you,” said Harry. “He says you’re a writer.”
“I’ve got a typewriter.”
“You gonna write about us?” asked Stinky.
“I’d rather drink.”
“Fine. We’re going to have a drinking contest. Got any money?” Stinky asked.
“Two dollars…”
“O.K., the ante is two dollars. Everybody up!” Harry said.
That made eighteen dollars. The money looked good laying there. A bottle appeared and then shot glasses.
“Becker told us you think you’re a tough guy. Are you a tough guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’re gonna see…”
The kitchen light was very bright. It was straight whiskey. A dark yellow whiskey. Harry poured the drinks. Such beauty. My mouth, my throat, couldn’t wait. The radio was on. Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny, how you can love! somebody sang.
“Down the hatch!” said Harry.
There was no way I could lose. I could drink for days. I had never had enough to drink.
Gobbles had a tiny shot glass of his own. As we raised ours and drank them, he raised his and drank. Everybody thought it was funny. I didn’t think it was so funny for a baby to drink but I didn’t say anything.
Harry poured another round.
“You read my short story, Hank?” Becker asked.
“Yeah.”
“How’d you like it?”
“It was good. You’re ready now. All you need is some luck.”
“Down the hatch!” said Harry.
The second round was no problem, we all got it down, including Lana.
Harry looked at me. “You like to duke it, Hank?”
“No.”
“Well, in case you do, we got Dogface here.”
Dogface was twice my size. It was so wearisome being in the world. Every time you looked around there was some guy ready to take you on without even inhaling. I looked at Dogface. “Hi, buddy!”
“Buddy, my ass,” he said. “Just get your next drink down.”
Harry poured them all around. He skipped Gobbles in the highchair, though, which I appreciated. All right, we raised them, we all got that round down. Then Lana dropped out.
“Somebody’s got to clean up this mess and get Harry ready for work in the morning,” she said.
The next round was poured. Just as it was the door banged open and a large good-looking kid of around 22 came running into the room. “Shit, Harry,” he said, “hide me! I just held up a fucking gas station!”
“My car’s in the garage,” Harry said. “Get down on the floor in the back seat and stay there!”
We drank up. The next round was poured. A new bottle appeared. The eighteen dollars was still in the center of the table. We were still all hanging in there except Lana. It was going to take plenty of whiskey to do us in.
“Hey,” I asked Harry, “aren’t we going to run out of drinks?”
“Show him, Lana…”
Lana pulled open some upper cupboard doors. I could see bottles and bottles of whiskey lined up, all the same brand. It looked like the loot from a