Pulp - Charles Bukowski [44]
Then, suddenly I felt the hands let go. I staggered back, sucking in air from the stratosphere and everywhere else.
I looked at Tohil. He didn’t look good. He didn’t look good at all. He was looking at me but he wasn’t looking at me. I saw him grab his left arm. He held his left arm and this awfully pained look crossed his face. He gasped, looked up and fell to the floor.
I went over, bent over him, felt his pulse. Nothing. He was gone. Bye bye.
I walked over, sat in a chair. And there on the couch across from me, there she was: Lady Death. Never had she looked so good. What a babe. Never let you down. Better than gold. She smiled.
“How ya doin’, Belane?”
“Can’t complain, exactly, Lady.”
She was dressed completely in black. She looked good in black. Also red.
“Better watch your weight, Belane. You’ve been eating too many french fries, mashed potatoes, desserts…you’ve been sucking at beer bottles…”
“Yeah. Well…yeah…”
She smiled again. Perfect strong teeth. She could bite through a plumber’s monkey wrench.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Some more business near at hand.”
“Anybody I know?”
“You know a Harry Dobbs?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you do, forget him.”
Then she was gone. Like that.
I walked over to Tohil, dug for his wallet. There was a 50, 2 twenties, a 5 and a one. I slipped them into my right pants pocket. I walked to the door, opened it, closed it and walked down the hall. Nobody around. I got to the front door, stepped outside. The light rain was still falling. It felt good against my face. I inhaled, sighed, moved toward my car. It was still there. I walked around to the rear of it and checked the right rear tire. Sure enough, it was bald. I needed new rubber.
44
So, there I was depressed again. I drove back to my place, got in and opened a bottle of scotch. I was back with my old friend, scotch and water. Scotch is a drink you don’t take to right off. But after you work with it a while it kind of works its magic on you. I find a special touch of warmth to it that whiskey doesn’t have. Anyhow, I had the glooms and I sat in a chair with the 5th at my side. I didn’t turn on the tv, I found that when you felt bad that son-of-a-bitch only made you feel worse. Just one vapid face after another, it was endless. An endless procession of idiots, some of them famous. The comedians weren’t funny and the drama was 4th grade. There wasn’t much to turn to for me, except the scotch.
The light rain had become a hard rain and I sat there listening to it belt against the roof.
I should never have let those fuckers slip away. And I knew I’d never find my original informant again. I was back at the beginning. The Red Sparrow had vanished from my stupid grasp. Here I was 55 years old and still fumbling in the dark. How long could I stay in the game? Did the inept deserve anything but a kick in the ass? My old man had told me, “Get into anything where they hand you the money first and then hope to get it back. That’s banking and insurance. Take the real thing and give them a piece of paper for it. Use their money, it will keep coming. Two things drive them: greed and fear. One thing drives you: opportunity.” Seemed like good advice. Only my father died broke.
I poured a new scotch.
Hell, I’d even failed with women. Three wives. Nothing really wrong each time. It all got destroyed by petty bickering. Railing about nothing. Getting pissed-off over anything and everything. Day by day, year by year, grinding. Instead of helping each other you just sliced away, picked at this or that. Goading. Endless goading. It became a cheap contest. And once you got into it, it became habitual. You couldn’t seem