Chuck Freadhoff - Free Booze Tonight

by Chuck Freadhoff

  A block later they nodded at the same instant.

  “It’s got an electric starter,” Jimmy said.

  “For efficiency,” James says.

  “It never fails,” Jimmy said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The wood chipper,” they said in unison. They had to be messing with me, right? I searched their eyes in the mirror for a hint. Nothing.

  “Turn left at the next light,” I said and Jimmy moved the Continental into the left lane and stared to slow.

  I figured I’d start with Irving the ink-stained wretch. I’d pretty much used up all the favors anyone owed me – I was saving one big one to get Hakim into college, but it was the last one I had – so I didn’t have much choice. Besides, Irving always said he liked to help me just for the sheer entertainment value of it all. ‘Joey, you’re my muse and inspiration. I mean, you can’t make this shit up,’ he’d say and then laugh.

  True, I’d always hoped to do more with my life than inspire an advertising/PR executive – plumbing and air conditioning repair comes immediately to mind – but I was desperate. So I was expanding, going from collecting favors to owing favors. With any luck I’d actually be around to pay them back. I guess it’s like hoping your last Social Security check will be the exact amount you owe on your final Visa bill.

  Me? I’d always hoped to go out with every credit card in the world maxed out. Then again, over the past week or so I’d learned to temper my expectations.

  I leaned forward again and pointed through the windshield.

  “Three blocks down on the right,” I said. “It’s the big building that looks like a giant avocado.”

  Chapter 54

  We cruised past several open spots in the advertising/PR company’s lot and Jimmy nosed the Continental into a slot next to the front door, the bumper a few inches shy of a sign — “Reserved for President.”

  When you outweigh a boxcar, have a twin brother who’s even bigger, wear impenetrable sunglasses, and pack heat, I guess you can park anywhere you want.

  “Twenty minutes,” James said. I scrambled out and went looking for Irving the ink-stained wretch. I got lucky. The receptionist, who looked younger than the average fruit fly, called Irving and he came out a few moments later.

  He smiled when he saw me and threw his arms wide. “Joey, welcome to Snookem & Mugem the world’s best advertising/PR agency.”

  Irving had recently been promoted to Executive Vice President of S&M. He seemed to have made the adjustment from hard-hitting investigative journalist without too much trouble. After dreaming up pygmy hitmen, I guess convincing the world of the benefits of liposuction, snail killers, and frozen tamales made with a dash of reprocessed asbestos — “We guarantee, you’ll never suffer heartburn” — was easy.

  We walked back to Irving’s office while kids barely older than the receptionist — the junior creatives, Irving called them with a sneer — whizzed by on Razor scooters and beach cruiser bicycles with the assurance and self-importance of the guys who built the first A-bomb. No wonder Irving did so well here. In this world, he was practically normal.

  Snookem & Mugem’s building was a cavernous affair that looked like someone tried to rehabilitate a bankrupt Home Depot. The whole place was painted an awful green that resembled week-old guacamole.

  “We represent the Anaheim Avocado Growers Association,” Irving said and gestured to the walls.

  When we got to his office, a glass-walled cubicle near the center of the building, Irving went behind his desk and dropped into an ergonomic office chair with more buttons and levers than the Space Shuttle and gestured to a couch against the wall.

  I plopped on the couch and decided to get right to the point. I only had twenty minutes. Besides, why waste time on charm? After working in PR all day Irving’s bullshit antenna was pretty finely tuned.

  “Irving, I’m going to need a favor,” I said.

  “Do tell?”

  “I’ve got to put on another gig at the bar. And the place has got to be packed. My life depends on it.”

  “Let’s see. The last time we helped you, Ken passed out on the floor and was a zombie for a few days, some Neo-Nazi skin head bikers almost trampled me, the place came close to burning down, and two guys who could anchor the Goodyear Blimp were chasing you and would have killed you if they’d been just slightly faster afoot than your average household appliance. Did I leave anything out?”

  “The projectile vomiting?” I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to mention Davey the semi-illiterate music critic’s loss of digestive control, but like I said, I didn’t have time for charm.

  “Oh yes, how could I forget?”

  “Now, tell the truth. When’s the last time you had that much fun?”

  “The Northridge Earthquake.”

  “Right. So you’ll do it?”

  A smile crept onto Irving’s face. I’m pretty sure it was the same way he was smiling when he filed his fake pygmy hitmen stories.

  “Well, Joey, you know how much I enjoy working with you but I’m thinking … .” He made a tent with his fingers and drummed the tips together. “Let’s see what’s the right phrase? Oh I guess maybe Daniel and the lions’ den. Why in the world would I want to play Daniel again?”

  “I’ll provide the lion. Well, a tiger really,” I said thinking of Timmy. Okay, so it was even more desperate than a Hail Mary, but considering how wacky this place was, why not give it a try?

  Irving smiled but shook his head. “Sorry, don’t really need any tigers. Now, if you happen to have an elephant in your hip pocket, maybe we could work something out. We’d shooting a commercial and need a pachyderm.”

  I smiled. Sometimes, I just get lucky. True, it happens about as often as Haley’s Comet comes around, but I wasn’t throwing this one back.

  “Consider it done. I know just who to talk to. Not a problem, really.”

  Irving arched his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Hey, would I bullshit you?” I asked. “Well, never mind that. I really can get you an elephant. Her name’s Dimples. You’re going to love her. So you’ll help?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I need something that’ll draw a crowd.” I took a moment and explained the need to impress Vincent the Hammer with a packed house. “And those fliers didn’t work. I was told no one showed up.”

  “Synergy, Joey. That’s the key.”

  “Come again?”

  “In advertising. Synergy is the key. Like today, we just signed two new clients — laxatives and adult diapers. See what I mean?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. But if Irving thought Synergy would work, I was all for it. At that point, I was willing to believe in magic crystals and the positive energy of pyramids, although they hadn’t done much for all those pharaohs who were buried in them and were still dead a few thousand years later. But I wasn’t worried about the next millennium. I was just trying to get through Saturday.

  “Yeah, synergy,” I said.

  “And you’ll need a new name for the band. Something that really makes people want to come into the bar.”

  “No problem, I’ll get right on it,” I said and immediately shoved the task to the back burner. Only later would I realize that, for me, sometimes it really is best not to concentrate too much on things.

  “Great,” Irving said. “I’ll get Ken to lend a hand, too.”

  “He’s not still pissed over the last time?”

  “He doesn’t remember the last time. In fact, he lost a couple of days. But every time he brings it up, I just change the subject.”

  “Cool. One more thing. You know anyone who’s good with video?”

  “Video?”

  I explained what I had in mind and Irving laughed out loud.

  “Ah, Joey, you always did dream big. You know, if this doesn’t work out, we could use someone like you here at Snookem & Mugem.”

  “Irving, if this doesn’t work out, I’m going to be dead.”


  “That’s okay, we represent the world’s biggest coffin maker.”

  “Got any clients who make wood chippers or carpets?”

  Chapter 55

  Grassman Guzman was waiting when the Roo brothers dropped me off. He was leaning against the bar and turned as I walked in. He held up a long neck and tipped it toward me, a semi-salute.

  “Joey, good to see you again,” he said. I think he meant it, too. Probably the way J. Edgar was happy to see Dillinger outside that movie theater. Good for the person doing the seeing, not so good for the one being seen.

  Guzman was standing next to Toughie and Ralph was behind the bar. Ralph shrugged and gave me a sheepish ‘what could I do’ look.

  “Grassman, you’re not going to believe what I have to tell you,” I said and tried to smile. When you’re holding nothing but aces and eights, you’re probably best off to charge straight ahead.

  “Joey, I never believe anything you tell me.”

  “This time it’s different. I’ve got to tell you about this woman who really, really wants to meet you. She’s an absolute knockout.” I glanced at Ralph hoping he’d jump in. What’s the old saying? Be careful what you wish for.

  “Oh yeah,” Ralph said and turned to Grassman. “That lady from the IRS who wants to put him in jail. She’s really pretty, almost as good looking as Toughie here.”

  I know love is supposed to be blind and Ralph was trying to curry favor with his new squeeze, but really … . Agent Viola and Toughie? It’s like comparing Marilyn Monroe and a warthog. Sure, they’re both mammals and they both breathe, but the similarities pretty much end there.

  “Wait a minute, there’s a little more to it,” I said and raised my hands, palms out.

  Guzman put his bottle on the bar and turned to face me. He wasn’t smiling.

  “Ralph tells me you’re planning another gig here this Saturday. That true?”

  I shrugged and nodded.

  Guzman loudly sniffed the air, glanced at the burned spot on the cement where the drum machine had melted down, then slowly turned and stared at the cash register before looking back at me.

  “Tell me, Joey, am I missing something here?”

  “The thing is, Grassman. It’s not just a gig. It’s a chance for a whole new life for you. This IRS agent she’s …”

  “I don’t want a new life. Ever since my wife left me for that orthopedic shoe salesman from Oxnard, my life’s been just great, thank you very much and I sure as hell don’t need any help from the IRS.”

  “Wait til you meet Agent Viola. She’ll change your mind.”

  “I don’t want to meet someone who… .” He glanced at Toughie who was studying him closely, waiting for him to finish. “Who works for the IRS,” he shook his head. “I’m only one step ahead of the law as it is.”

  “What if Agent Viola can help you stay out of jail?”

  “You believe in the tooth fairy, too?”

  “Okay, let me ask you one question.”

  “A question?”

  “How’s business?”

  Grassman scanned the bar – not a paying customer in the place. His eyes rested on me. “Joey, I’d do better selling hot tea in hell.”

  “Exactly. But I’ve got a plan to fix it, Grassman. This place will be booming and all your IRS problems will go away. Trust me.”

  “No. In fact, give me one good reason I shouldn’t just fire you right now and let Ralph run the bar.”

  I figured the answer was in the question — really, Ralph run the bar? —but I couldn’t start quibbling. I needed Grassman’s full attention.

  “Vincent the Hammer’s daughter is the lead singer. He’s planning to be here, take in the show.”

  “How the hell did you get mixed up with Vincent the Hammer?”

  Toughie chuckled and managed to keep her eyes away from Ralph long enough to look at Grassman. “Spare Parts did something really stupid.”

  “Spare Parts?” Grassman said and rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Listen,” I said, desperate to get control of the situation. “I tell you what. We’re going to have a rehearsal in two nights. Come. That’s all you’ve got to do. Just show up. After that, if you don’t want me to use the bar, I’ll call the whole thing off. Hey, it’s a chance to change your whole life. Would I lie to you?”

  “Joey, you lie to everyone.”

  “I’ve turned over a new leaf. Besides, if I screw this up, Vincent the Hammer’s going to kill me.” Under normal circumstances, offering your own demise probably wouldn’t be much of an incentive, but, as angry as Grassman was, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, I didn’t figure he’d be interested in obtaining a tiger.

  Grassman smiled and nodded slowly. “Well, that would be worth the price of admission.”

  “So, you’ll come to the rehearsal?”

  “Okay,” he said. He took a long swig and finished his beer. He put the bottle on the bar, and headed for the back door.

  “Wait, Grassman. I need one more thing.”

  “What is it now?”

  “You remember Rosie the hooker?”

  “Who could forget her?”

  “You have any idea where she is?”

  “She went straight. She’s teaching pole dancing in Marina del Rey. Why?”

  “I need her to lend me a hand. I’m trying to help an underprivileged youth get a higher education.”

  Chapter 56

  Delilah showed up a few minutes after Grassman disappeared through the back door. She strolled over to the bar, climbed onto a stool next to Toughie, and smiled at Ralph behind the counter.

  “Thought I’d better check up on Spare Parts,” she said and nodded to me two stools away. “You know, make sure he’s going to be ready for Saturday.”

  “I’ve got it totally under control,” I said and smiled, happy to see her.

  “Oh yeah, totally,” Ralph volunteered and leaned across the bar. “We were just about to go to Marina del Rey and iron out a few last minute details.”

  “Marina del Rey?” Delilah said.

  I shot Ralph a look but it was like sending smoke signals during a forest fire. The message wasn’t getting through the love fogging Ralph’s brain. He’d already turned back to Toughie and didn’t catch my look. A moment later, though, he tore his eyes away just long enough to nod enthusiastically to Delilah.

  “Oh yeah,” Ralph said. “Joey needs to see Rosie the hooker. She’s teaching pole dancing over there.”

  “Ex-hooker,” I added quickly. Sometimes, though, no matter what you say or what explanation you offer, you’re still better off having said nothing. The look that flashed through Delilah’s eyes told me that this was one of those times.

  Trying for a quick recover, I smiled and shrugged as if chatting up a pole-dancing ex-hooker was an every day part of life, like hot wiring the cable box to get a couple of extra channels for free.

  “I’m trying to help out Hakim. You remember him. He’s the bass player,” I said hoping to change the subject. I should have known better.

  “Pole dancing?” Delilah arched her eyebrows at me.

  “Want to come along?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said. She looked at Toughie. “You coming?”

  “Well, Vincent the Hammer wants me to keep an eye on him, but if he’s with you … .”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Delilah said. She turned to me. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

  Delilah was driving one of those convertible Audi two-seaters. It was a bright yellow and she drove like she carried a badge, a gun, and compromising pictures of the mayor with farm animals.

  She was pushing ninety the whole way and didn’t slow down until we shot off the San Diego Freeway and headed west toward the marina. The wind had been whipping past, making it hard to hear, but the noise died away as the Audi lost speed. I leaned a little closer to Delilah.

  “It’s not what you think. It really isn’t. Rosie owes me a favor, that’s all.”
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  “A favor?”

  “I bailed her out a couple of times.”

  It was during my brief stint as a salesman on a used car lot that specialized in classic autos. Rosie got popped twice in one week and called me for help. I didn’t have any money but called Hector the bondsman to make a deal. In exchange for posting Rosie’s bail I lent him a 1958 drop-top Caddy with fins big enough to impress Jaws. Hector impressed his girlfriend, Rosie got out of jail, and I got fired. But, I’d tucked away the favor Rosie owed me and it was time to collect.

  Rosie was teaching at a combination dance studio and acupuncture institute called Paula’s Pins and Poles. I double-checked the address Grassman had given me and pointed to a small strip mall half a block away.

  “That’s the place.”

  Delilah found a parking spot facing the street and I’d just climbed out of the sports car when I spotted Rosie coming out the front door of Paula’s. She was wearing baggie sweat pants and a loose T-shirt. She was carrying a big shoulder bag and her face shone with sweat.

  “She’s a hooker?” Delilah said.

  “You should have seen her on the stroll when she wore these tight … .”

  Delilah arched her eyebrows, letting me know that once again silence would have been a better choice.

  “This will only take a minute,” I said.

  “Take your time,” Delilah said and smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world. When your dad can grind people into plant food, I guess you don’t sweat the small stuff. She turned away and appeared to study the passing traffic.

  “Rosie,” I yelled and started across the parking lot.

  She saw me coming, dropped her bag, and waited. When I got close, she glanced at the Audi.

  “Girlfriend?” she asked.

  “You ever hear of a guy named Vincent the Hammer?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “His daughter, Delilah.”

  Rosie’s eyes shifted from me, to the Audi, and back to me again. “Joey, you certainly lead an interesting life. But, then again, so did Bonnie and Clyde.”