Hick - Andrea Portes [42]
“Well, um . . . hell! Friend of Lloyd’s is a friend of mine. You wanna drink?” He holds up a bottle of Seagram’s 7.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Eddie sinks the eight ball, playing it off, casual.
“Well, well, that’s some pretty sharp shooting.” The voice comes from the front of the bar, some newcomer just snuck in from the sun.
To say the newcomer is an ugly man is putting it nice. Real nice. He’s got a face that’d make a freight train take a dirt road. He’s got faded everything, not just-bought, like the rest of the town, with gray stubble peppering the bottom of his face and a tooth missing, smack-dab in front. He takes a seat, sideways, leaning against the saddle, looking gritty down the bar.
And now he is looking at me.
“Well, it’s hotter then a French whore with two pussies out there, huh?”
He unbuttons his collar.
Look, I’m not trying to say I’m some kinda beauty queen or princess priss from Prissonia, but the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he wants to eat me up right there. And there’s something in his look that’s making me nervous and shamey and weak, like my knees are about to wobble out from underneath me. Eddie comes over and stands beside me, protective. I like this new side of Eddie, like I’m his girlfriend.
“I like your hat,” the stranger says, making nice.
“it’s not a hat. it’s a Stetson.”
“Well, then, I like your Stetson.”
“You play?” Eddie nods towards the pool table.
“I reckon I can, been a while but—”
“You a betting man?”
The bartender hands Eddie a drink, eyeing the stranger, wary.
“All right. Let’s make it a hundred.”
The stranger starts to smile crooked, meeting Eddie in the eye.
“Well, well. All right. You’re on, then.”
The bartender and I share a look, both of us thinking that this is how all the bad things in the world begin and that there is no doubt these two are the men for the job. The bartender pours me a drink.
“Shirley Temple, kid. Made it special, just for you.”
“Thanks, Mister.”
He leans in, dimming his voice to a whisper,
“Listen, kid, we don’t want any trouble here, so, you know, if things start looking bad, maybe you could call off your uncle there and tell him you wanna go back to Lloyd’s.”
I nod back, assuring, squinting my eyes like we have an agreement, man to man.
Eddie racks up the balls, giving it a little flourish at the end to show he means business. The stranger fumbles with the pool cue.
I sip my Shirley Temple and try to act casual, but how can you when Eddie shoots in every single ball, each one after the next, missing the eight, on purpose.
The stranger looks flustered, disappointed. He goes to the table, his only chance a solid damn near the side pocket. Tough shot. He misses off the bank. Eddie shoots in the eight ball and starts to laugh.
“Well, there, Mister, now maybe you’ll learn some manners.”
The stranger looks sunken, shaking his head and scratching his neck, stubbly.
“You got me, Mister.”
“Well, live and learn, I guess.” Eddie’s being a real pal now.
“Listen.” The stranger leans in to Eddie, quiet-like. “I can’t go back to my wife a hundred bucks in the hole. she’ll have my head, if you know what I mean.”
The stranger looks up at Eddie, pleading. “Maybe we could play one more, you know, double or nothing.”
Eddie looks at the man like he just landed off the moon.
“You must be one dumb crazy fucker to wanna lose two-hundred bucks.”
“All right, then. How bout a game for two-hundred straight up? That worth your time?”
The bartender and I share a look. This is just too pathetic.
The stranger looks at Eddie.
“Could be.”
Eddie walks over to the table and starts chalking up his cue.
The stranger and Eddie shoot to see who goes first. The stranger wins. Eddie comes over and stands beside me at the bar, drinking his drink and watching the man, pathetic in his stance. The stranger makes the first shot. Eddie nods, not thinking much of it. The stranger makes the second shot. Eddie shifts his weight and sips his drink. The stranger makes the third shot, the fourth shot, the fifth shot, all the way to the