Pulp - Charles Bukowski [6]
“I’ve got a 25 buck bet, that will make half-a-string. If I lose I’ll cough it all up, my mother’s honor.”
“Belane, your mother is into me for $230.”
“Yeah? And your mother’s got warts on her ass!”
“What? Listen, Belane, you been…?”
“No, no. It was another guy. He told me.”
“O.k., then.”
“All right, I want $25 to win on Burnt Butterfly in the 6th.”
“All right, you’re covered. And good luck. Yours seems to be running out.”
I hung up. Son-of-a-bitch, a man was born to struggle for each inch of ground. Born to struggle, born to die.
I thought about that. And thought about that.
Then I leaned back in my chair, took a good drag on my cigarette and blew an almost perfect smoke ring.
8
After lunch I decided to go back to the office. I opened the door and there was a guy sitting behind my desk. It wasn’t McKelvey. I didn’t know who it was. People liked to sit behind my desk. And, besides the guy sitting, there was a guy standing. They looked mean, calm but mean.
“My name’s Dante,” said the guy behind the desk.
“And my name’s Fante,” said the guy standing.
I didn’t say anything. I was fumbling in the dark. A chill ran up my back and right on through the ceiling.
“Tony sent us,” said the guy sitting.
“Don’t know a Tony. You gentlemen have the right address?”
“Oh yeah,” said the standing guy.
Then Dante said, “Burnt Butterfly ran out.”
“Tossed the jock coming out of the gate,” said Fante.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. Ask the dust.”
“As a handicapper you are handicapped,” said Dante.
“And Tony says you owe us half-a-string,” said Fante.
“Oh that,” I said, “I’ve got it right here…”
I moved toward my desk.
“Forget it, sucker,” Dante laughed. “We’ve confiscated your water pistol.”
I stepped back.
“Now,” said Fante, “you realize that we can’t let you walk around blissfully sucking air while you owe Tony half-a-string?”
“Give me 3 days…”
“You got 3 minutes,” said Dante.
“Why is it?” I asked, “that you guys take turns talking? First Dante, then Fante, on and on, don’t you ever break your rhythm?”
“We’re here to break something else,” they both spoke together. “You.”
“That was good,” I said. “I liked that. A duet.”
“Shut up,” said Dante. He pulled out a smoke and stuck it in his lips. “Hmm,” he went on, “seems like I forgot my lighter. Come here, asshole, light my cigarette.”
“‘Asshole’? You talking to yourself?”
“No, you, asshole, come here. Light my smoke! Now!”
I found my lighter, walked forward, stopped in front of one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, flicked my lighter, put the flame to his fag.
“Good boy,” said Dante, “now take this cigarette out of my mouth and stick it into yours, burning-end first and keep it there until I tell you to take it out.”
“Uh-uh,” I said.
“Either that,” said Fante, “or we blow a hole in you big enough for the little people at Disneyland to dance through.”
“Wait a minute…”
“You got 15 seconds,” said Dante, taking out his stopwatch, setting it, then he said, “Now, you’re on. 14, 13, 12, 11…”
“You don’t mean it?”
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3…”
I heard the click of a safety catch being taken off.
I snatched the cigarette out of Dante’s mouth and stuck it into mine, burning-end first. I tried to engender a mass of saliva and to keep my tongue out of the way, but no luck, I got it, I got it good, it HURT!!!! It was vile and painful! I began to gag and had to spit the thing out.
“Bad boy!” said Dante. “I told you to keep it in until I told you to take it out! Now we are going to have to start all over again!”
“Fuck you,” I said, “kill me!”
“O.k.,” said Dante.
Just then the door opened and Lady Death walked in. She was really dolled up. I almost forgot about my mouth.
“Hey,” said Dante, “what a babe! You know her, Belane?”
“We’ve met.”
She walked over to a chair, sat down, crossed her legs, her skirt riding high. None of us could believe those legs. Even I couldn’t and I had seen them before.
“Who are these clowns?” she asked me.
“They’re emissaries from a guy called Tony.”
“Get