Pulp - Charles Bukowski [65]
“Thank you, officer.”
“And drive with care,” said Louie.
“You too, buddy.”
“What?”
“I said, sure.”
They strolled back toward their car. I strolled toward mine. I got in, started the engine. They were just sitting back there. I pulled into traffic, then kept it at 60.
Cindy, I thought, you’re really going to pay now! I’m going to nail your ass like it has never been nailed!
Then I got to the Harbor Freeway turnoff, took 110 south and just drove along, hardly knowing where I was going.
12
I rode the Harbor Freeway to the end. I was in San Pedro. I drove down Gaffey, took a left on 7th, went a few blocks, took a right on Pacific, just drove along, saw a bar, The Thirst Hog, parked, went on in. It was dark in there. The tv was off. The bartender was an old guy, looked to be 80, all white, white hair, white skin, white lips. Two other old guys sat there, chalk white. Looked like the blood had stopped running in all of them. They reminded me of flies in a spider web, sucked dry. No drinks were showing. Everybody was motionless. A white stillness.
I stood in the doorway looking at them.
Finally the bartender made a sound: “Etch…?”
“Has anybody here seen Cindy, Celine or the Red Sparrow?” I asked.
They just looked at me. One of the patrons’ mouths drew together into a little wet hole. He was trying to speak. He couldn’t do it. The other patron reached down and scratched his balls. Or where his balls used to be. The bartender remained motionless. He looked like a cardboard cutout. An old one. Suddenly I felt young.
I moved forward and took a bar stool.
“Any chance of getting a drink here?” I asked.
“Etch…” said the bartender.
“Vodka 7, forget the lime.”
Now just kick four-and-one-half minutes in the ass and forget it. That’s how long it took the bartender to get it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, “now please make me another while you are in motion.”
I took a hit of the drink. It wasn’t bad. He’d had lots of practice.
The two old guys just sat there looking at me.
“Nice day, isn’t it fellows?” I asked.
They didn’t answer. I got the feeling that they weren’t breathing. Weren’t you supposed to bury the dead?
“Listen, fellows, when was the last time either one of you pulled down a pair of women’s panties?”
One of the old guys started going, “Heh, heh, heh, heh!”
“Oh, last night, huh?”
“Heh, heh, heh, heh!”
“Was it good?”
“heh, heh, heh, heh!”
I was getting depressed. My life wasn’t going anywhere. I needed something, the flashing of lights, glamour, some damn thing. And here I was, talking to the dead.
I finished my first drink. The second was ready.
Two guys walked through the doorway wearing stocking masks.
I downed my second drink.
“ALL RIGHT! NO SHIT FROM ANYBODY! WALLETS, RINGS AND WATCHES ON THE BAR! NOW!” screamed one guy.
The other guy leaped over the bar and ran to the cash register. He pounded at it.
“HEY! HOW DO YOU OPEN THIS FUCKING THING?”
He looked around, saw the bartender. “HEY, GRAMPS! COME HERE AND OPEN THIS THING!” He pointed his gun at him. All of a sudden the bartender knew how to move. He was at the register in a wink and had it open.
The other guy was putting the stuff we had laid on the bar into a sack.
“GET THE CIGAR BOX! UNDER THE BAR!” he yelled at his buddy.
The guy behind the bar was stuffing the cash from the register into a sack. He found the cigar box. It was loaded. He stuffed it in the sack and leaped over the bar.
Then they both stood there for a moment.
“I feel kind of crazy!” said the guy who had leaped over the bar.
“Forget it, we’re leaving!” said the other guy.
“I FEEL CRAZY!” yelled the first guy. He pointed his gun at the bartender. He fired three shots. All into the gut. The old man jerked three times, then fell.
“YOU FUCKING FOOL! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” his cohort yelled.
“DON’T CALL ME A FOOL! I’LL KILL YOU TOO!” he screamed, then turned and pointed his gun at his partner. He was too late. The shot went through his nose and came out the back of his head. He fell over taking