Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [88]
Harry kept pouring the rounds and we kept drinking them down. The kitchen was blue with cigarette smoke.
Marshbird dropped out first. He had a very large nose, he just shook his head, no more, no more, and all you could see was this long nose waving “no” in the blue smoke.
Ellis was the next to drop out. He had a lot of hair on his chest but evidently not much on his balls.
Dogface was next. He just jumped up and ran to the crapper and puked. Listening to him Harry got the same idea and leaped up and puked in the sink.
That left me, Becker, Stinky and The Ripper.
Becker quit next. He just folded his arms on the table, put his head down in his arms and that was it.
“The night’s so young,” I said. “I usually drink until the sun comes up.”
“Yeah,” said The Ripper, “you shit in a basket too!”
“Yeah, and it’s shaped like your head.”
The Ripper stood up. “You son-of-a-bitch, I’ll bust your ass!”
He swung at me from across the table, missed and knocked over the bottle. Lana got a rag and mopped it up. Harry opened a bottle.
“Sit down, Rip, or you forfeit your bet,” Harry said.
Harry poured a new round. We drank them down.
The Ripper stood up, walked to the rear door, opened it and looked out into the night.
“Hey, Rip, what the hell you doing?” Stinky asked.
“I’m checking to see if there’s a full moon.”
“Well, is there?”
There was no answer. We heard him fall through the door, down the steps and into the bushes. We left him there.
That left me and Stinky.
“I’ve never seen anybody take Stinky yet,” said Harry.
Lana had just put Gobbles to bed. She walked back into the kitchen. “Jesus, there are dead bodies all over the place.”
“Pour ’em, Harry,” I said.
Harry filled Stinky’s glass, then mine. I knew there was no way I could get that drink down. I did the only thing I could do. I pretended it was easy. I grabbed the shot glass and belted it down. Stinky just stared at me. “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the crapper.”
We sat and waited.
“Stinky’s a nice guy,” I said. “You shouldn’t call him Stinky. How’d he get that name?”
“I dunno,” said Harry, “somebody just laid it on him.”
“That guy in the back of your car. He ever going to come out?”
“Not till morning.”
We sat and waited. “I think,” said Harry, “we better take a look.”
We opened the bathroom door. Stinky didn’t appear to be in there. Then we saw him. He had fallen into the bathtub. His feet stuck up over the edge. His eyes were closed, he was down in there, and out. We walked back to the table. “The money’s yours,” said Harry.
“How about letting me pay for some of those bottles of whiskey?”
“Forget it.”
“You mean it?”
“Yes, of course.”
I picked up the money and put it in my right front pocket. Then I looked at Stinky’s drink.
“No use wasting this,” I said.
“You mean you’re going to drink that?” asked Lana.
“Why not? One for the road…”
I gulped it down.
“O.K., see you guys, it’s been great!”
“Goodnight, Hank…”
I walked out the back door, stepping over The Ripper’s body. I found a back alley and took a left. I walked along and I saw a green Chevy sedan. I staggered a bit as I approached it. I grabbed the rear door handle to steady myself. The god-damned door was unlocked and it swung open, knocking me sideways. I fell hard, skinning my left elbow on the pavement. There was a full moon. The whiskey had hit me all at once. I felt as if I couldn’t get up. I had to get up. I was supposed to be a tough guy. I rose, fell against the half-open door, grabbed at it, held it. Then I had the inside handle and was steadying myself. I got myself into the back seat and then I