Back Roads & Hat Check

by David Berens

  “Boys,” I said sagely, “I know you’re just havin’ a good time, but remember this. Anything you get caught doin’ tonight will be with you for the rest of your lives. Good evenin’.”

  As I said that, they all started laughin’. Oh well, you live ‘n you learn.

  I walked down the hall and rapped on the door marked 1013. She opened it in a whoosh and pulled me in quickly. Lookin’ left ‘n then right, she slammed the door and hurried me into the livin’ room.

  “Holy dangit, Debby,” I said as I got a better look at her place.

  It was all white marble and white leather and white rugs… hell, everything was white.

  “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I said.

  She laughed, “it’s just a rental. I haven’t been here for long. I’m actually thinking about leaving it.”

  “Hell, I wouldn’t leave a place like this,” I said, “Oh… unless it’s a money thing. Heck, I ain’t got a dollar to my name.”

  She looked at me oddly and smiled.

  “You want a drink?” she asked walking into the white kitchen.

  “Sure, how ‘bout a beer?”

  “Red wine okay? That’s all I’ve got,” she said as she clinked a couple of glasses out of the cabinet.

  “Close enough.”

  “I’ve got some oysters too,” she called over the counter, “want some?”

  “Only if you’ve got hot sauce.”

  She walked into the living room with a plate of oysters on the half shell, a bottle of red wine and two glasses, and a bottle of hot sauce. Bingo, I thought, this girl’s tryin’ to seduce me.

  “Well, alright now,” I clapped my hands together, “don’t this just look like a nice date.”

  “It’s not a date,” she said with a smirk.

  My ass it’s not a date, I thought. I popped the cork on the wine and poured two glasses for us. I handed her a glass and she slugged it down… all of it in one gulp.

  “Whoa, now,” I said, “that was quick. You sure you don’t want to sip…”

  “I’m good,” she said, “just don’t want to waste any time.”

  And that was exactly when I took things the wrong way. As it so happened, I had my glass of wine in one hand and the hot sauce in the other when I leaned forward to kiss her. The shock on her face was a little unexpected, but even more unexpected was when she jumped up, leaving me to tumble over on the white couch. Red wine flew into the air and splashed all over everything. And would you believe the hot sauce… which was open at the time… fell into my shirt upside down and slid all the way into my pants. At that moment, I was fully regretting my decision to go commando as the burning sensation had my nether regions in flames.

  “Oh, my God,” she yelled looking around at the red splattered scene.

  It looked like a vicious murder had happened at the hands of a serial killer who liked knives or something like that. For a second, I wondered if she had a shitload of club soda on hand, but the burning grew stronger on my boys.

  I jumped up and shouted, “where’s your bathroom?”

  “What?” she was hysterical, “you have to piss at a time like this?”

  I couldn’t explain, “just hurry. Which way?”

  She pointed at a door. I ran and jumped through. I jerked the knob on the massive tub in the center of the room. I kicked off my flip flops and jerked my shorts down. Didn’t even bother to unbutton my shirt. I just ripped it off too. I hopped into the tub and splashed down into the ice-cold water.

  “Oh, hell, yes…” I wheezed as I scrubbed my burning midsection.

  The bathroom door opened and Debby stalked in.

  “What in God’s name?” she demanded seeing my current, nekkid state.

  I reached over the edge of the tub and held up the empty, offending hot sauce bottle.

  “I had a burnin’ in my pants for you,” I laughed.

  She started to say something, but that’s when the knock came at the door. If I was to describe the knock at the door, I’d call it something like what you see the police do in the movies just before they bust the door down with the battering ram.

  “What the hell?” I said hopping from the tub and grabbing a towel.

  “My husband,” she said and started scooping up my clothes.

  “Wait… what?” I asked as she shoved the pile of clothing into my arms.

  “Sorry, Troy,” she said, “but I you gotta go!”

  I started toward the door and she grabbed me by the arm.

  “You can’t go out that way!”

  “I didn’t know they made back doors in places like this,” I protested.

  “Balcony,” she said shoving me toward the sliding glass door, “hide on the balcony.”

  Naturally, I realized this was a short-term solution and started to say as much, but she pushed me out, slammed the door closed and whooshed the large blinds closed. I sat down in one of the chairs and began to slip on my pants. The next balcony over was hopping. It was my frat boy buddies from the elevator. One of them gave me a wave and a wink.

  Before I could get a foot in my pants the blinds ripped open and two large fellas in casino security outfits appeared. It only took a second for me to recognize Vinnie from the Hippo and read the other guy’s nametag… Louie. Vinnie and Louie. I really was in a Sopranos episode. I jumped up. Without thinking, I ran toward the railing nearest to the frat guys. I stepped up on the rail and heaved myself over the opening. As I flew through the air, I realized that if I missed, I was a goner. Ten stories up… I’d be found splatted on the concrete… nekkid… and smashed like a grape.

  But amazingly, I cleared the boys’ railing and landed on my feet. They were all stunned, but they immediately started cheering and high-fiving me. I’d just pulled some serious stunt and they loved it.

  “Hell yeah, dude,” one of them said looking back at the balcony I’d flown over from.

  Debby and the two Italian bodyguard fellas were staring over at me in disbelief.

  “What happens in Vegas, right Amigo?” one of the guys laughed.

  It only took a second for Vinnie and Louie to realize I was just next door. I ran through their apartment to cheerin’ and hollerin’. I heard later that someone snapped a picture of me and they hung it in their frat house as some sort of hero shrine. I jerked the door open and turned into the hall. Vinnie and Louie burst out of Debby’s room at the same time. Down the hall, maybe like a half a mile away, the elevator door dinged open. I ran hard. My towel threatened to fly away and I wondered if this was an unusual scene at the MGM or if it was a Vegas normality.

  The door of the elevator closed as Vinnie shoved his hand through to try and stop it. I kicked it hard with my bare foot and could feel the bones in his fingers crunch. He yelped and jerked his hand back and the door closed. I caught my breath as I descended to the lobby. When the door opened, I ran out the into the casino floor. Again, I was buck nekkid.

  There were a few gasps and points from the gamblers on the floor, but I ignored ‘em. I ran as fast as I could without embarrassing myself, but when I reached the massive check-in lobby, Vinnie and Louie were standing there.

  “You,” Vinnie pointed at my chest, “You’re coming with us. Now.”

  They escorted out to a black sedan with even blacker windows and shoved me inside.

  “You done screwed up, Troy,” Vinnie said with Louie nodding his agreement, “you had it good, but you broke da rules.”

  “But, you see,” I protested, “I didn’t actually break…”

  “Shut your freakin’ mouth,” Louie blurted out interrupting me.

  “Easy,” Vinnie held his arm out in front of Louie.

  He looked at me, “Teddy wants to speak to youse.”

  “Teddy?” I asked.

  “Debby’s husband.”

  “Dangit,” I muttered.

  As we drove, I was sure I’d be taken out to the desert, knelt down in front
of Teddy and executed. Scenes from every gangster movie I’d ever watched flashed into my mind. But we didn’t drive out to the desert… we drove out to the Peppermint Hippo. I was ushered – meaning the two goons carried me by my elbows with my toes draggin’ the ground – into the club, past all the girls and all the patrons.

  One particularly drunk dude tossed a dollar at me and said, “I guess that’s the ugly girl.”

  I was practically thrown into the upstairs apartment and a man who looked exactly like Andy Garcia was sitting on my futon. My rucksack was sitting next to him on the floor. It was stuffed… apparently, all my things had been packed.

  “So, you’re the famous Troy Bodean?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if I’d say famous, but...”

  Vinnie elbowed me to interrupt my thought.

  “I don’t give two flying fucks who you are,” Teddy stood up.

  He put his face inches from mine and pointed a finger at my chest, “you broke the rules. You slept with my wife. You’re outta here.”

  “Technically, sir,” I said, “I didn’t actually sleep with …”

  “OUT!” he yelled and pointed at the door.

  Louie reached down and handed me my rucksack.

  “Can I have just a minute to put on some cloth…”

  “Get out now, before I take Louie’s advice on what I shouda done to youse.”

  “Yessir,” I said and scrambled out the door, down the steps, through the Hippo’s lobby, and into the night. I snuck behind the building and jerked on some shorts and a shirt. My LSU hat was tucked into a side pocket and I slipped it on. That’s when it occurred to me that I’d been avoiding it… Louisiana… home.

  I wondered if Debby would be okay and if I’d ever see her again as I hitched my way down the highway and out of Las Vegas forever. Part of me hoped I would…

  My first ride was a man named Christopher Saint Juneau. A heavy, jolly man wearing several wooden cross necklaces and listening to whatever local church broadcasts he could tune in on his old Buick’s dial radio. Unfortunately, he wasn’t goin’ all the way to Louisiana and had to let me out, but I was thankful for the ride. After that, I walked into a truck stop, bought a six-pack of Coronas and waited for someone headed east. By the time I’d finished them all, I was on my way in the back of a truck haulin’ hogs for slaughter with an old guy who looked exactly like Jerry Reed. I drifted off to sleep wonderin’ if Burt Reynold’s Pontiac Firebird Trans Am was guidin’ us in.

  Joe Bond

  Shot Through The Back

  __________________________

  My name is Bond, Joe Bond. I know what you’re thinking. Shaken, not stirred. Right? Well, for starters, I don’t drink martinis. And, if I did, I wouldn’t order it with vodka. I prefer a decent scotch, Glenfiddich will do, Black Grouse if things are a little tight. But hell, a bottle will last me a month if things are going well… This month, not so much. I added a little water to the two fingers in the bottom of this month’s bottle yesterday and there’s still a week to go before payday.

  The puns and jokes and gags about my name started back in middle school and haven’t let up. It’s so bad that sometimes I just don’t even give my last name. Joe, just Joe.

  But then again, maybe it was this comparison to the famous super spy, 007, that led me to a life of law enforcement. And I wouldn’t trade my job for anything… except for another job… one that didn’t have me chasing idiots down disgustingly trashed alleys behind the local pawn shops that thought they could get away with lifting an iPad or a Nintendo console without getting caught. They always get caught.

  Monday was a really crappy day. It was the day that everything went sideways. The NYPD itself had always been good to me and by good, I mean, they paid me regularly. Even though I considered myself grossly underpaid for the slime I had to deal with, I did have benefits and I’d get a pension… if I didn’t get shot first. Mondays are usually pretty hectic. Everyone is getting out of jail for what they did on the weekend, and anyone else that wasn’t in jail decided to start the week of with a fresh new entry on their rap sheet. In all that mess of garbage in and garbage out, I got a call from Mary Sanser. A sweet, little old lady who lived in my building. She made me dinner at least once a week when Peggy – my wife – was out at her book club… and by made me dinner, I mean, she microwaved one of her TV dinners and we watched Wheel of Fortune together. She’d lost her husband of fifty years and I think she would’ve fallen apart if she’d had to eat dinner alone every night. So, I choked down the salisbury steak and not quite cooked green beans – I never ate the tapioca, who the hell likes that shit? Apparently, Mrs. Sanser did, she always ate mine for me.

  “Good morning, Joe,” Mary said, her voice shaking a bit, “I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but you always said if I needed anything, to just give you a call.”

  “Mary,” I said, “it’s okay. Is something wrong? Did you have a fall?”

  “Oh, no,” she answered, “it’s nothing like that. I’m okay. It’s just that Bill’s watch is missing.”

  The watch. Her dead husbands watch. I had heard more stories about that watch than anything else from Mary. Her husband, Bill, had worked on the railroad for forty-nine years. And as everyone knows, the railroad industry just ain’t what it used to be. So, Bill got phased out… after forty-nine years of his life, he got downsized… one year before earning his retirement pension. One goddamn year. But, they did give him a pocket watch. A twenty-dollar Seiko with an engraving on the inside of the cover that read: Thanks Bill. Thanks indeed. Being a prideful man, Bill took the watch and displayed it with honor. He never carried it. It sat in a display case that cost more than the watch on the faux mantel in their apartment. I’d asked to see it one night when Mary was telling me the story and I got pretty pissed off. It was a cheap ass watch that wouldn’t even keep time. Damn railroad. This was the primary reason that Mary had to work at Walmart as a greeter. Her Social Security paid her rent, but that was about it.

  How did Bill die? That’s the question on your mind, I know that, because it was the first question I asked Mary too. The railroad hadn’t killed him, what was it that had done him in? The flu. Yup, that’s right. Not only did the railroad screw him, but the influenza shot did too. He’d never had the shot in his life, but figured now that he was retired and getting older it would be a good idea. He got sick and figured it was just a reaction to the shot. You can’t really say he got the flu from the shot, but he got the flu while the shot was supposed to be protecting him… coincidence? Hell, I dunno. The department makes us get one every year.

  “I came home from the Walmarts,” she said, adding the S to the end where there wasn’t supposed to be one, “and my door was unlocked and slightly ajar. It didn’t look like it had been broken into so, I just figured I’d had a senior moment when I left for work and forgotten to close it.”

  I started jotting down a few notes on a yellow pad. If it hadn’t been Mary, this would’ve been a quick phone call. Is there anything else missing, ma’am? Did you search your house, ma’am? Are you sure you haven’t just misplaced it, ma’am? What is it worth, ma’am? All that jazz. There is no way the NYPD was going to let me pursue the robbery of a twenty-dollar Seiko watch.

  “But when I sat down to watch TV, something made me look up at the mantel, and it wasn’t there,” she continued. “box and all was gone. I’m sorry to bother you with that, Joe… but…”

  She broke down into tears.

  “Mary,” I said, “I’m coming over. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  ***

  I pulled my cruiser up to the apartment building, but I didn’t park it in my personal spot. I’ve never done that. Call it paranoia, but I don’t want anyone putting together that I was a cop and I lived in this building. Thugs around here like to make tires, wheels, radios, and anything else inside a cop’s personal car disappear. On the front stoop, I bumped into Manny, Moe, and Curly. I shit you not, those
are their real names. Three teenagers from the building. They weren’t brothers, but they all dressed alike… they always had… ever since I’d met them. Baggy pants hanging down around their thighs, colorful boxers on full display, triple XL sized white shirts, leather jackets with bright red, green, and yellow logos from one urban brand or another, and the whitest high-top tennis shoes I’d ever seen. Curly was the youngest by a year, Manny and Moe were the leaders of this little gang. Gang… that thought worried me. The way this neighborhood was headed, a gang might be the only way out of here. But I tried my best to influence them onto another path. A legitimate path like mine, so they could grow up broke, miserable, and exhausted all the time. Living the dream. More than once I thought about picking up and getting out of here. Head south, someplace warm… really warm. But Peggy was born and raised in New York and said she’d never leave. The first time I’d mentioned it had been a real blowout. One of those fights that makes you think divorce doesn’t look so bad. And then the next day, everything was back to normal… or at least, a strained, quiet, awkward normal. Things hadn’t been the same since that, but I supposed it was like that for most couples for a while after an argument. I hadn’t seen the signs…

  I walked up and stuck out my hand.

  “Manny,” I said shaking the young boy’s hand, “what’s new?”

  “Not much Mr. B,” he said smiling, “how ‘bout you?”

  “Same old, same old,” I moved to shake Curly’s hand.

  The younger boy shook my hand vigorously. I put it out toward Moe and he frowned. He made a point of looking away without shaking it. Hmm… this was new. With kids like these, it all started when someone told them that cops were bad and drug money was good. I let it go… for now.

  “You boys now Mrs. Sanser?”

  “Yeah,” Manny said, “Old lady up in fifteen. Why?”

  “She had something taken between yesterday and today,” I said, “you see anybody coming in or going out that didn’t belong?”