Pulp - Charles Bukowski [33]
The phone rang, I picked it up. It was Lady Death.
“I’m still here, Belane.”
“Why don’t you take a vacation, babe?”
“I can’t. I enjoy my work too much.”
“Listen, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you just work the earth?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, does your work include, say, uh…space aliens?”
“Of course. Space aliens, worms, dogs, fleas, lions, spiders, you name it.”
“That’s nice to know.”
“What’s nice to know?”
“That you work space aliens.”
“You bore me, Belane.”
“I’m glad of that, baby.”
“Listen, I’ve got some work to do…”
“Just answer me one question…”
“Maybe. What is it?”
“How do you kill a space alien?”
“No problem.”
“A bullet won’t do it. What do you use?”
“That’s a secret of the trade, Belane.”
“You can tell me, baby, my lips will be forever sealed.”
“Fat boy,” she said just before hanging up, “I might take care of that for you.”
I put the phone down and put my feet back on the desk. Christ, 6 space aliens on the prowl and enlisting me for the Cause. I should notify the authorities. Sure, lot of good that would do. I had to solve it myself. Seemed damned tough. Maybe I ought to sit on it for a while. I uncapped the vodka and had a little nip. After all, there was still the Red Sparrow and Cindy Bass. I took out a coin and flipped it: heads, Red Sparrow; tails, Cindy Bass. It came up tails. I smiled, leaned back in my chair and thought about her: Cindy Bass. Nailing it.
32
Well, to celebrate my progress as probably the greatest detective in L.A. I closed the office, took the elevator down and hit the street. I tried walking south, did, hit Sunset Boulevard and strolled along. Problem with Sunset, in my neighborhood, there weren’t many bars. I walked along. Finally found one, half-a-class place. I didn’t feel like sitting on a stool. I took a booth. Here came the waitress. She had on a mini-skirt, high heels, see-through blouse with padded brassiere. Everything was too small for her: her outfit, the world, her mind. Her face was hard as steel. When she smiled it hurt. It hurt her and it hurt me. She kept smiling. That smile was so false the hairs on my arms rose. I looked away.
“Hi, honey!” she said, “watcha havin’?”
I didn’t look at her face. I looked at her midriff. It was exposed. She had a little paper rose, red, pasted across her bellybutton. I talked to the paper rose.
“Vodka and tonic with lime.”
“Sure, honey!”
She minced off, trying to roll her buns attractively. It didn’t work.
At once, I began to get depressed.
Don’t, don’t, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take. Everybody was screwed. There were no winners. There were only apparent winners. We were all chasing after a lot of nothing. Day after day. Survival seemed the only necessity. That didn’t seem enough. Not with Lady Death waiting. It drove me crazy when I thought about it.
Don’t think about it, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take.
The waitress arrived with my drink. I put down a bill. She picked it up.
“Thanks, honey!”
“Wait,” I said, “bring me the change.”
“There isn’t any change.”
“Then, consider your tip included.”
She opened her eyes large. They were blank.
“What’re you, a god-damned cowboy?”
“What’s a cowboy?”
“You don’t know what a god-damned cowboy is?”
“No.”
“That’s somebody who wants a free ride.”
“You think that up yourself?”
“No. That’s what the girls call them.”
“What girls? The cowgirls?”
“Mister, you got a bug up your ass or what?”
“It’s most probably ‘what.’”
“MARY LOU!” I heard this loud voice, “THAT ASSHOLE GIVING YOU TROUBLE?”
It was the bartender, a little guy with beetle brows.
“Don’t worry, Andy, I’ll handle this asshole.”
“Yeah, Mary Lou,” I said, “you’ve probably handled a lot of assholes.”
“WHY YOU COCKSUCKER!” she screamed.
I saw Beetle Brows vaulting the bar. Good trick for a guy his size. I slammed my drink down and rose to meet him. I ducked under his right and dug my knee into his privates.