by Kirk Alex
“What do you say, amigo? All I’m asking is twenty-five bucks for a watch that’s worth at least a hundred.”
The old man ignored him. Rose to pay his check. Ortiz cursed under his breath. Sweat poured down his face. All he needed was a couple of balloons to set him straight: one of chiva, one of blow. He’d be all right for a while. Felt the sickness within, churning his guts up inside of him. There was Ex in the car. Not much. Some. What else? Not much of anything else. Maybe a can of warm beer underneath all that shit somewhere that Felix liked to collect. Had to unload the fucking watch. Should ask for twenty. He’d be able to buy a balloon at least. Get the other on credit.
Told Felix to clear the stool and sit on the other side of him, so he could “bond” with the Native American who sat on Felix’s right.
“Lookee-here.” Ace Ortiz resorted to a hushed tone this time. Held the watch out in a discreet manner. “Hundred dollar timepiece that I’m letting go for twenty. Two sawbucks. Can use the bread to buy my woman a gift. Just had twins. How about it, chief?”
The Native American looked at him with a look of pure disdain. Called out the diner owner’s name.
“No offense, Mr. Jessup, but I don’t come here to be harassed by some hype hard-up for a fix. I come for coffee and pie. That’s it. I like to eat my pie in peace.”
He threw some bills on the counter, and walked out.
Slim Jessup made it over. Grabbed Ortiz by the scruff and guided him out the front entrance; with a convincing enough shove at the end that helped the junkie along.
“Stay out, or I drop a dime on your funky ass.”
“What I do wrong?” Ortiz was practically in Jessup’s face. “It ain’t like I was eatin’ what somebody left on their plate, man—like some peeps do. I paid for my Coke. I’m a paying customer. You ain’t right.”
“I warned you about soliciting in my place of business. This is a family diner, not a junky hangout. You and your scruffy pal do not peddle stolen merchandise in my place, hear?”
Ortiz’s immediate reaction was to spit in the man’s face. Slim Jessup hauled off and cold-cocked the junkie and walked back inside, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.
He gestured to Felix to get out and join his pal outside. As Monk walked past, the owner took the opportunity to kick him in the rear hard enough to send him hurling through the door and sprawling on his belly.
Slim Jessup looked at his hands: some of the soft drink had got on them and his clothes. He wiped a piece of the Chuckles candy from his shirt collar. There was a bit, particle, something, stuck to his hand. It was not until he took a closer look did he realize that it was a tooth. One of Glassy’s. Had to be. Left Jessup thoroughly disgusted.
He returned to the kitchen to clean himself off.
CHAPTER 145
Rudy Perez, still at the counter, hadn’t given up on reaching Olivia—only it was not easy to talk to someone when they had their back turned to you most of the time.
“Had it coming to them.” Rudy tossed it out there—and got no reaction from her. He tried again. “I can understand you being angry with me because of what I said to Landa, and I apologize for it. But I don’t get why you’re sticking up for the cokeheads.”
“Get off my case, Rudy. All I’m doing is getting a ride home.”
“Why can’t you go with me? I can call us a cab, or my brother can pick us up. I came here to apologize—”
She spun to face him. “You’re rushing me; you’re pushing. I can’t be engaged. We never discussed it. You decide what’s right for us and then tell me about it and expect me to like it. That’s not what being with someone is all about.”
“I didn’t mean for it to look that way. Just trying to do the right thing, that’s all.”
“I can’t be rushed, Rudy. I don’t need the pressure.”
“What are you saying?”
“If you want to know the truth, I just don’t feel like being with you right now.”
And she resumed cleaning the counter. Pearleen Bell and her friends emerged from the ladies’ room. They looked great, every single one of them: beautiful, sexy. They should be in a Hollywood movie, Rudy thought—and hated them all just then, because deep down he knew what they really were. Maybe Olivia had been right about Pearleen not being as bad as the others, but they used drugs; they were, in fact, tramps. There was no other word for them, and now they were trying real hard to get their filthy rotten hooks in his girlfriend.
Buncha dirty sluts, Rudy thought. That’s what his look said.
Lana shook her head. Made a tsk tsk sound.
“Poor baby. Having another spat with your girlfriend?”
“Matter of fact, you’re right.”
“Welcome to the club.”
CHAPTER 146
Olivia looked up from where she was to see that the sun had set and there was no Yolanda. Her sister knew diner hours were sunup to sunset.
She bid good night to Slim and Bertha, clocked out, and walked outside with Pearleen Bell and friends.
“I just want a ride home. I can’t go anywhere else with you.”
Lana said: “Gonna be a goody-two-shoes all your life, Olivia?”
Rudy took it in. Watched as they stood out there in front of the diner waiting for their taxi. It ate him up. There was nothing he could do about it but take it.
Slim walked up. On the other side of the counter, doing something. When he spoke, the words jarred him out of his world of pain, although not for long.
“My man Rudy Perez. The fine ones are always like that: Bustin’ your chops. More trouble than they’re worth. Get yourself an older woman, one that ain’t as good lookin’, who won’t be playing them kind of games with you. Older woman knows how to treat a man. Easier to please, too.”
“I don’t want no older woman. Because I got the one I want: That’s the one I love and want to marry.” On that, Rudy walked out himself.
CHAPTER 147
A geezer in worn clothing approached Ace Ortiz for a handout in the parking lot.
“Spare some change, Mister Ace? I ain’t had a beer or nothin’ in I don’t know how long.”
“What’s your name, old timer?” Ace asked him, between pulls from a can of cheap beer.
“Henry Apsche.”
“Harry Apeshit? Hell kind of name is that?”
“No, no; not ape shit, sir. Apsche.”
“Lookee-here, brother. I’ll give it to you plain and straight: My asshole bleeds for you, Mr. Harry Apeshit. Write it down. On a piece of paper. Keep it in your pocket. So you can remember not to fuck with me in the future.” Then the parolee hurried on over to Rudy Perez with the intention of selling him a piece of jewelry, possibly something for his girl who was giving him so much grief. He guzzled the remaining brew, then tossed the can aside.
Rudy didn’t wish to be bothered. His eyes remained focused on Olivia as she got in the cab with the others. Ace Ortiz stayed with him, insisting he should at least take a look at the ring he held in his hand.
“Guaranteed to bring her back, Rudy. Lookee-here—” He yanked on Rudy’s sleeve. Rudy spun in his direction and sent a hard fist into Ace Ortiz’s jaw. Ortiz staggered back, a mite stunned, and landed on his backside and dropped the ring in the process. That’s three times he’d been punched in fairly quick succession, in a relatively short period of time. He’d had enough. Cursing, the former con rose to his feet, drawing a switchblade.
“Ace,” his buddy Felix called out, collecting the empty beer can. “No, man.”
“Stay out of this, Felix,” said Ortiz, his unwavering gaze fixed on Rudy Perez. “I’m gonna step on you, suckah.” Ace promised, making circular motions with the switchblade in his hand, all the while taking slow, cautious steps toward an equally angry Rudy Perez who would not be frightened off.
“Step on you real good. Shoulda done this to that nigger bitch inside the diner for ambushin’ my ass when I wasn’t even lookin’. Sambo Slim was watchin’, and I couldn’t. Now
, we ain’t inside, are we, motherfucker? Want to try that again?” He spit on the ground, making it a point to look his opponent in the eye while doing so. The ex-con tossed the knife in the air, above his own head, then swiftly snatched it by the hilt as it dropped back down, so that the blade pointed downward, thus giving him the added advantage of being able to use both fists to punch with, as well as the ability of slashing with the fist that held the switchblade.
“Gonna stick you just like I done to that darkie punk in the slam. Teach you some respect. Done my time. Paid a lifetime of dues to let a bitch like you get away with it. Gonna slice-and-dice your sorry ass real good, suckah.”
“People want to be left alone, Ace. Only you’re too stupid to get it—”
“Still gonna cut you, bitch—”
“That’s all you know, isn’t it, Ortiz? Cut ’em up and rip ’em off. Mug them, beat them, scam them. It’s easier than having to work for your money. The original short-cut man.”
“You heard.”
Right then both had little choice but to jump back, out of the way, to make room for Rudy’s brother Monroe, as he sped onto the lot in his pickup truck and brought it to a skidding halt between them. Monroe hopped out with a ball bat. Glared at Ortiz who glared back.
“This ain’t none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business, Ace.”
“You’re a tough guy with that lumber in your hands, Roe.”
“About as tough as you with that steel going up against someone who would never stoop so low as to even think about carrying something like that.”
“I need it to protect myself from assholes like you.”
As Roe was about to respond, thinking: This is dumb and there is no point to it, the panhandler staggered over toward Ace Ortiz, holding up the ring the ex-con had dropped a moment ago.
“Here you are, Mister Ace. I believe this is yours.”
Ortiz pocketed the ring. Walked away.
“Just a quarter, Mister Ace? If you could spare a quarter? Somebody? I’m dry.”
The junkie spit on the ground. Reached inside the Toyota for a beer. Pulled on it. Monroe walked to the other side of his truck where his younger brother stood and was now leaning against it, watching as the cab with his girl and those skanks in it pulled out of the lot finally.
“It’s a losing battle, kid. A lot of pain. Let the heartbreaker do what she wants. Let her go.”
“What am I supposed to do? Give up like you did? You just gave up on Yolanda. You didn’t even make any real effort to stay with her.”
“Yeah? You’re wrong, Rudy. Nothing is worth a lifetime of hassle and bullshit from in-laws who never wanted you to marry their ‘precious’ daughter to begin with.”
“Maybe it’s not for them to say, maybe Olivia and me’s got something to say about it.”
“If you think she’s going to go against her family, you’re more naive than I figured—”
“Why don’t you stop playing the big brother, Monroe, and start minding your own business.”
“I care about you, all right? That’s what brothers are supposed to do.” Monroe had his arm round Rudy’s shoulder in a consoling way, hating to see his younger brother’s eyes well. “Hey, come on. Let’s go home. We’ll get a couple of six-packs.”
“Get drunk. That’s the answer to everything, huh, Roe? Dad never drank, Grandpa never drank. How come you gotta be a boozer?”
And Rudy tore away from his brother and walked on out of the parking lot by himself.
Monroe remained behind, stood there like that, fully aware what his brother was going through, wished there was something he could do or say—and the truth of it was, no matter what anybody said to you at a time like this, it just didn’t matter, didn’t help, when all you wanted and needed was to be with your girl.
It was also true he never drank until Yolanda dumped him. Beer helped him forget. It didn’t always work, but somehow managed to make it easier to deal with the pain of losing the woman you had given your heart to.
He turned and noticed Ace and his sidekick leaning against their multi-colored wreck pulling on generic beers and smirking about something in a self-satisfied way. Coupla real “tough guys.”
Losers. Two complete washouts with nothing for a future. Monroe got in his pickup truck, and pulled up beside them.
“You congenital assholes so much as touch my brother . . . Swear to God, I’ll bust you up.”
He glared at them a moment. “Now, you can chuckle all you want, about anything you want—but that’s a guarantee you can take to the bank.”
He drove off the lot.
CHAPTER 148
Taxi driver was partial to Oldies. Something called “96 Tears” by Question Mark & the Mysterians blasted the interior of his cab.
There was plenty of chatter and laughs, and the girls did their best to alleviate the Duarte girl’s nervousness and apprehension. Pearleen sat in the front with the driver. Lana and Stella sat on either side of Olivia in the back.
“I just want to get home. I can’t go anywhere else with you.”
Stella Martel shot Olivia a look that was less-than-friendly.
“That Miss Goody-Two-Shoes act gets old fast, kid.”
“Wet blanket,” Lana said. “I told you, didn’t I?”
“Drop it, you guys,” said Pearleen Bell.
Stella lit a joint. Toked. Passed it on to Lana.
Stella said: “Still a virgin, ain’t you, Olivia?” Then she laughed. “She don’t part them knees for nobody—”
Lana was chuckling, shaking her head. She looked at Olivia Duarte sitting next to her. “Right,” Lana said. “She don’t spread ’em for nobody, until Rudy Perez pins her down one time and gets his, whether you like it or not, girlfriend. That’s the way it is. You’re gonna learn about men. Am I right, Stella?”
Stella readily agreed with a nod of her head. Got the reefer back. Allowed Pearleen a toke and then finished it off herself.
Lana “Da Bottom” Sepulveda was looking at the ring on Olivia’s finger that Rudy had given her. “That engagement ring don’t mean nothing. All it does is makes it easier for them to get laid when they feel like it. Soon as they get what they want, they’re gone, and so is the wedding.”
“How do you know so much, big mouth?” Olivia finally said.
“Because it happened to her—” Pearleen said.
“Half a dozen times, at least.” Stella laughed out loud.
“No way. Happened twice. Big deal.” Lana looked at Olivia. “You’ll find out about life. You’ll see, girl. Men are after one thing. That ring don’t mean nothing. Not a damned thing.”
“Why don’t you get off her case. Both of you. She doesn’t need to hear that.”
“Oh yes, she does, Pearl,” Lana countered. “Them’s the hard facts of the way it is, girlfriend. The more you know how things are, the better off you are. All you got to do is take one look at what happened to my mother. Ain’t pretty, is it?”
Soon they were approaching the block Biggs lived on. The cab slowed.
“I just want to get home.”
Pearleen had Olivia convinced that they would drop her off as soon as they picked up something Cecil was holding for them, something he had promised them a while back. And then Pearleen Bell went into another explanation why she needed “the stuff,” that it helped give her a boost, that it was free, that it was just this one time and that she was ready to quit.
“Cecil loves our act, honey. Why he does it.”
The cab stopped in front of Biggs’s Church of Re-Newed Hope. The strippers climbed out. A hesitant Olivia Duarte did likewise.
The driver was paid, tipped less than the customary l0% by Pearleen, and all four women watched the unhappy cabby take off and disappear down the poorly lighted street.
Olivia felt a shiver race up her spine. What now? It was too dark and too dangerous to walk the rest of the way home. If that were not enough to weigh her down, she realized that she did n
ot have her purse. Her purse was missing. The cab driver had taken off with her purse.
Pearleen Bell picked up on her nervousness and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“It’s a church. You ain’t got nothing to worry about. Man let all them homeless in over the years. What you got that worried look on your face for? Relax, girl.”
“It isn’t that. I left my purse in the cab.”
“All Cecil’s got to do is make a phone call. Your purse ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
CHAPTER 149
The gate had been left unlocked, and they walked through. Biggs was at the front door to greet them. He did his best to project a smile, but the lifeless eyes were not smiling. Cecil Biggs’s peepers did not look at people, they looked through them.
The women were invited inside. They entered, and the door was closed behind them. Pearleen mentioned that the cabbie had taken off with Olivia’s purse, and she wondered if Cecil might give the cab company a call.
“No problem. As soon as we get you ladies situated.”
“What’d I tell you?” said Pearleen to the Duarte girl.
“I hear you’re considering going off to college, Olivia,” Biggs said to her in the hallway, as he proceeded to unlock a door on his right. “While I can relate to your desire to leave the nest and see what new adventures await out there in the great beyond, you might want to consider taking a second look at the first-rate universities we have right here in good ol’ Southern California.”
He had the door opened and led his guests into the living room-cum-entertainment den.
“Welcome to the United Christian Church of Recycled Hope,” dead-panned Biggs. If anyone found the line amusing they didn’t show it. Nothing had changed, according to those who had been here in the past: worn carpeting, cracks in the walls, peeling wallpaper; old futon and leather studded recliner against the far wall, the Roscoe side; black Naugahyde sofa against the front, street side; battered dresser with a large mirror to the immediate left as they entered.
