Post by Christian Connolly on Dec 6, 2011 1:44:40 GMT -5
Jessica wants me to quit; she thinks I already have, but addictions are a nasty business.
Drinking has never really been the same for me as other people. Even in my youth, I was never much of a "party guy." I guess Meika had a lot to do with that because thinking of her as a "party girl" is almost comedic. In all our time together, I can only remember her drinking two glasses of wine, and she didn’t like either of them. I guess even when she was fifteen she was thirty-five. Maybe that’s what attracted me to her.
I know I need to quit.
But not tonight.
"Another drink, hon?" asks the woman behind the bar. She has a hint of Kentucky-twang in her accent, putting her a little out of place in Minnesota. Other than that, she’s typical, wearing a plaid halter-top tied up above her stomach and cut-off jean shorts. Her hair is that fake blond color, and I’m sure her roots would be showing if not for a cheap, straw cowboy hat. Her name is Sandy. She’s already told me.
I slide my empty glass toward her and she serves up a refill, looking like smiling sex. Typical, I think again. You can find Sandy in any bar in North America on weekends, or on special nights like this - "Ladies Night." Bar shots half off. Now, I know what you’re thinking - if Sandy is "smiling sex," why is she working Ladies Night? Because much like everything else that’s geared toward women, Ladies Night is actually geared toward men. Put a hundred drunk women in revealing clothing in a room, and you can bet two hundred men are going to show up.
Me? I’m just here because it was the closest place to the airport.
"Something troubling you, hon?" asks Sandy.
"Just killing some time," I reply.
"You’re not from around here are you?"
Neither are you, I don’t say.
"I can tell you know," she says while pulling a beer out of the cooler behind her for herself. "Bloomington’s nice this time of year, isn’t it?"
"I just got in."
"You here on business?"
"Something like that."
I take a sip of my rum and lose myself in the hot, soothing burn, letting it rush into my head with welcome relief.
"What can I get you, Robbie?" she asks a large man that’s just taken the bar stool three places down from mine. He’s a greasy motherfucker, with a thick black mustache and hair that’s oiled straight back.
"Jack and Sprite," he grunts.
While he’s waiting for his drink, a young man approaches - far too young to be in here, if I’m any judge. No more than seventeen or eighteen. After whispering with Robbie for a moment, the young man leaves again, and I glance over my shoulder to see him returning to a girl that I can only assume is his girlfriend.
A moment later, Robbie pays for his whiskey, gets up, and walks off in their direction. I stay out of the drug end of the Hattoni family business, but running with those boys has taught me a thing or two. I know what’s happening here before Sandy tells me.
"Coke dealer," she says with a roll of her eyes.
"And the kid?"
"Never seen him before," she shrugs, and then she narrows her eyes on me. "You look kind of familiar."
"I get that a lot," I say. I’ve said it a million times before, but before she can respond, I’ve left my money on the table beside the empty glass.
I follow Robbie and the young couple outside, keeping my distance like I’m stalking some thug in an alley to break his knee caps. I don’t plan on breaking anyone’s knee caps, but old habits die hard. Outside, I stop on the patio and watch them head down into the parking lot. All three of them get into a car - the kid’s car, I know, because he got into the driver’s seat. The girl’s on the passenger side and that slimy piece of shit is in the back. I start to think about his knee caps, and then about my own, because his bosses are probably a lot like the guys I hang out with back home.
Within a few minutes, Robbie gets out of the back, pulls his coat tight, and starts back toward the bar. I wait for him on the patio.
"Chilly night," he says as he passes. In that brief moment I study his face, taking in every line; every detail. I want to remember him exactly, should an opportunity ever arise...
But tonight I only nod.
I start down toward the parking lot, quick as I can before the kids pull out. The headlights of the car come on and I hear the engine rev, but I’m close now. Before the car pulls away, I’m already climbing into the backseat. The girl looks back in horror; the young man tries to act tough.
"The fuck are you doing!?" he demands. That’s a mistake.
"Get her out of the car," I calmly reply.
"What!?"
Slower this time: "Tell your girlfriend to get out of the car."
"Who the fuck are you!? Listen, buddy, I’ve got a gun in the-"
"If she doesn’t get out of the car, I’m going to embarrass you," I say, losing my patience.
That puts an end to the threats. The young man looks at me with terrified brown eyes for a moment, and then turns to his girlfriend, trying to hold onto what dignity he can. "Just wait outside for a second. I’ll see what this fucker wants to talk about."
It’s better this way. In the world I live in, women are generally excluded from serious conversations.
With a look that tells the boy he won’t be getting laid for a month, the girl storms out of the car without protest. I’m not sure where she went.
"Give me the coke," I tell him.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he lies.
"Don’t test me."
Reluctantly, he hands back a small bag of white powder, which I immediately empty out the door onto the parking lot pavement. He looks horrified, but he doesn’t say anything. I know the presence that I have, and I know how to use it to my advantage; it’s perfect for scaring the fuck out of little pricks like this kid.
I reach around into the driver’s seat and press my forearm hard against his adam’s apple, pulling him tight to the seat. I lean forward with my lips close to his ear.
"I want you to watch for me," I tell him, calmly - half a whisper. "Over your shoulder. You’ll never see me coming - never see my face. But if I ever see you talking with that man again, or any man like him, I will kill you. Do you understand?"
He doesn’t reply but I can feel him shaking. My work is done.
I get out of the car and start back toward the bar, not even acknowledging his girlfriend as I pass her by.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s because of the guys I run with and the things I know they do. Maybe it’s because I don’t want the kid to end up like me. I don’t know why I did it.
But I know I need another drink.
Drinking has never really been the same for me as other people. Even in my youth, I was never much of a "party guy." I guess Meika had a lot to do with that because thinking of her as a "party girl" is almost comedic. In all our time together, I can only remember her drinking two glasses of wine, and she didn’t like either of them. I guess even when she was fifteen she was thirty-five. Maybe that’s what attracted me to her.
I know I need to quit.
But not tonight.
"Another drink, hon?" asks the woman behind the bar. She has a hint of Kentucky-twang in her accent, putting her a little out of place in Minnesota. Other than that, she’s typical, wearing a plaid halter-top tied up above her stomach and cut-off jean shorts. Her hair is that fake blond color, and I’m sure her roots would be showing if not for a cheap, straw cowboy hat. Her name is Sandy. She’s already told me.
I slide my empty glass toward her and she serves up a refill, looking like smiling sex. Typical, I think again. You can find Sandy in any bar in North America on weekends, or on special nights like this - "Ladies Night." Bar shots half off. Now, I know what you’re thinking - if Sandy is "smiling sex," why is she working Ladies Night? Because much like everything else that’s geared toward women, Ladies Night is actually geared toward men. Put a hundred drunk women in revealing clothing in a room, and you can bet two hundred men are going to show up.
Me? I’m just here because it was the closest place to the airport.
"Something troubling you, hon?" asks Sandy.
"Just killing some time," I reply.
"You’re not from around here are you?"
Neither are you, I don’t say.
"I can tell you know," she says while pulling a beer out of the cooler behind her for herself. "Bloomington’s nice this time of year, isn’t it?"
"I just got in."
"You here on business?"
"Something like that."
I take a sip of my rum and lose myself in the hot, soothing burn, letting it rush into my head with welcome relief.
"What can I get you, Robbie?" she asks a large man that’s just taken the bar stool three places down from mine. He’s a greasy motherfucker, with a thick black mustache and hair that’s oiled straight back.
"Jack and Sprite," he grunts.
While he’s waiting for his drink, a young man approaches - far too young to be in here, if I’m any judge. No more than seventeen or eighteen. After whispering with Robbie for a moment, the young man leaves again, and I glance over my shoulder to see him returning to a girl that I can only assume is his girlfriend.
A moment later, Robbie pays for his whiskey, gets up, and walks off in their direction. I stay out of the drug end of the Hattoni family business, but running with those boys has taught me a thing or two. I know what’s happening here before Sandy tells me.
"Coke dealer," she says with a roll of her eyes.
"And the kid?"
"Never seen him before," she shrugs, and then she narrows her eyes on me. "You look kind of familiar."
"I get that a lot," I say. I’ve said it a million times before, but before she can respond, I’ve left my money on the table beside the empty glass.
I follow Robbie and the young couple outside, keeping my distance like I’m stalking some thug in an alley to break his knee caps. I don’t plan on breaking anyone’s knee caps, but old habits die hard. Outside, I stop on the patio and watch them head down into the parking lot. All three of them get into a car - the kid’s car, I know, because he got into the driver’s seat. The girl’s on the passenger side and that slimy piece of shit is in the back. I start to think about his knee caps, and then about my own, because his bosses are probably a lot like the guys I hang out with back home.
Within a few minutes, Robbie gets out of the back, pulls his coat tight, and starts back toward the bar. I wait for him on the patio.
"Chilly night," he says as he passes. In that brief moment I study his face, taking in every line; every detail. I want to remember him exactly, should an opportunity ever arise...
But tonight I only nod.
I start down toward the parking lot, quick as I can before the kids pull out. The headlights of the car come on and I hear the engine rev, but I’m close now. Before the car pulls away, I’m already climbing into the backseat. The girl looks back in horror; the young man tries to act tough.
"The fuck are you doing!?" he demands. That’s a mistake.
"Get her out of the car," I calmly reply.
"What!?"
Slower this time: "Tell your girlfriend to get out of the car."
"Who the fuck are you!? Listen, buddy, I’ve got a gun in the-"
"If she doesn’t get out of the car, I’m going to embarrass you," I say, losing my patience.
That puts an end to the threats. The young man looks at me with terrified brown eyes for a moment, and then turns to his girlfriend, trying to hold onto what dignity he can. "Just wait outside for a second. I’ll see what this fucker wants to talk about."
It’s better this way. In the world I live in, women are generally excluded from serious conversations.
With a look that tells the boy he won’t be getting laid for a month, the girl storms out of the car without protest. I’m not sure where she went.
"Give me the coke," I tell him.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he lies.
"Don’t test me."
Reluctantly, he hands back a small bag of white powder, which I immediately empty out the door onto the parking lot pavement. He looks horrified, but he doesn’t say anything. I know the presence that I have, and I know how to use it to my advantage; it’s perfect for scaring the fuck out of little pricks like this kid.
I reach around into the driver’s seat and press my forearm hard against his adam’s apple, pulling him tight to the seat. I lean forward with my lips close to his ear.
"I want you to watch for me," I tell him, calmly - half a whisper. "Over your shoulder. You’ll never see me coming - never see my face. But if I ever see you talking with that man again, or any man like him, I will kill you. Do you understand?"
He doesn’t reply but I can feel him shaking. My work is done.
I get out of the car and start back toward the bar, not even acknowledging his girlfriend as I pass her by.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s because of the guys I run with and the things I know they do. Maybe it’s because I don’t want the kid to end up like me. I don’t know why I did it.
But I know I need another drink.