by James Ross
“The waitress here was gonna card him but he’s with me, you know. Can you see to it that she gets him a beer?”
“I’ll take care of it. Got anything you like today?”
“Not unless you have one for me,” Blue said with a wink, “otherwise we’re just gonna have a nice meal and watch a couple of races.”
“Nothing going on today,” Sal replied, “but there may be something in a couple of days.” He turned to leave. “I’ve got stuff to do, but we’ll get that beer over to the table.”
“Now ya have to drink it,” Blue said coarsely. “We don’t want to make him feel like he went out of his way for nothin’.” The waitress brought the drinks to the table and Blue immediately took a sip. “Now tell me, you’re still playin’ golf, aren’t ya?”
Opur shook his head positively. “J Dub wants me on the driving range every morning by six.”
“How do ya want to work over at my place?”
Opur grinned sheepishly. “I sort of liked what you have had me doing the last few days.”
“That reminds me,” Blue said, “do ya have the money for me?”
Opur shook his head. “It’s not all here.” He reached in his pocket and placed a folded over stack of hundreds on the table. “There’s only fifty-one dollars.” He had been practicing his lingo.
“What do ya mean? What did ya do, take some it?” The decibel level in Blue’s voice was raised a couple of notches.
The inflection in Blue’s voice scared Opur. He could feel the anger. “No. The banker only had twenty-five dollars.”
“Yeah, right,” Blue said sounding pissed off. “That makes a lot of sense. The guy that’s short with the cash is a banker.” He stared at Opur. “Come on, where is it? What did ya do with it?”
“No, no, no. That’s what happened,” Opur said as he backpedaled. He looked at the beer on the table, reached forward for the glass, put it to his lips and gulped down a healthy drink.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” Blue roared. “Now ya see why some people drink!” He raised the glass of Crown Royal to his lips and followed suit. “Harold called me and told me he’d be light two dimes. I was just pullin’ your leg.” He lit up a Camel. “How’d that beer taste?”
Opur wrinkled his nose. “It was cold.” Blue nodded for him to take another drink and Opur obliged. “What’s a dime?”
Blue laughed again. “I need to git ya up to speed with this stuff, don’t I? A dime is a thousand dollars and a nickel is five hundred. Do you think you can remember that?”
Opur nodded and then questioned his new boss. “How do two to three nights a week sound?”
“To work?” Blue barked.
Once again Opur shook his head up and down. “That way I can still practice and maybe go in a little later a few days a week.”
Blue counted the money, folded it and lifted his hip slightly off the chair to place it in his pants pocket. “We’ll figure something out that won’t git J Dub in a tizzy.” He raised his arm in the air and snapped his fingers. “Let’s git some food over here! We’re in a hurry!”
Chapter Forty-Six
“J Dub, look at him!” Julie yelled as she looked out the window toward the practice green. “He can hardly stand up.”
The pro sauntered to the window and looked out. Opur was bent over at the waist trying to heave his breakfast. “I guess he doesn’t feel good,” he laughed. “What’s the big deal?”
“Did you see his eyes when he was in here?”
“It’s early.”
“They were bloodshot!” She went to the sink and wet a towel. “I’m going to go help him.”
“Just leave him alone. If he needs your help he can come in and ask for it,” J Dub said.
“You should never have introduced him to Blue! I’d say he got him drunk yesterday,” Julie said.
“As long as he shows up on time what should we care? He’s a big enough boy to figure out what is good for him and what isn’t.”
Fred, BT, Easy Earl, Elia, Paco, Curt, Paul and Rollie were putting on the green and figuring out which guys were going to play with each other. “He doesn’t have any money. They’re going to take advantage of him,” Julie complained.
“Have you seen him play?” J Dub asked. “If he’s hung over he still has a better game than those guys.”
“You said you were going to keep a close eye on things. Maybe it’s time for you to make a call to Blue and find out what the two of them have been up to.”
J Dub smiled. He knew what was going on. “Quit being his mother. Blue’s giving him an education.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Follow me,” Blue said to Opur as he walked through the bar. “I’m going to give you a tour of the place so that you can familiarize yourself with things.” He stopped at the foot of a staircase. “These lead to the upstairs apartment, but we’ll come back here later.”
“Does someone live up there?” Opur asked.
“Not full time anymore,” Blue explained. He grabbed a Camel and lit up. “If one of us gets too drunk around here then it serves as a place to sleep so we don’t have to drive home.” He continued to the side door, slid it open and stepped outside. A small area of concrete with four tables occupied the area. A ten-foot-high retaining wall on each side of the slab defined the area. “This is our beer garden. It’s basically an area to connect these two buildings.”
“Isn’t the other one part of your bar too?”
“Sure it is. When Stub and I started making money we bought the building next to the main place.” He slid open the side door on the neighboring structure. The two entered the larger building. “This used to be the showroom for an automobile dealership. Before that they sold pleasure boats that went up and down the river.”
The building was altogether different than the quaint smaller bar. The ceilings were high. Cafeteria style tables with folding chairs occupied the main floor. Booths were placed along one wall. Two other walls had counters mounted on them with bar stools for seating. A rectangle bar set in the middle of the room. The ever-present combined odor of popcorn, stale beer and cigarette smoke spread through the room.
“That’s different,” Opur said as he looked at the far wall. It consisted of large garage doors that were full of windows from floor to ceiling.
“That’s how they pulled vehicles in and out of the building,” Blue said. “We left it alone and open them up when weather permits.” Customers packed the establishment. Waitresses ran drinks around the room.
The two walked to the wall of windows. “That is unbelievable,” Opur said as he looked outside.
The property sat about sixty feet above the Mississippi and was only a hundred or so yards away from the river’s edge. A larger outdoor beer garden was packed with people. Ten-foot-high retaining walls defined the two sides and were covered by an eight-foot-wide roof that was strategically placed along the top of the two side walls. Tables with colorful umbrellas dotted the patio area. A bandstand in a gazebo served as a location for entertainment with the backdrop being the river. “We call this the outfield,” Blue said. “We only built a four-foot-high wall on that side so that we wouldn’t screw up the view of the river.”
Opur looked across to the Missouri side. “How far is it across there?”
“It’s wide right here,” Blue answered. “Close to a mile and a half.” He took a drag off of the Camel and admired the success the establishment had created for him and his brother. “Do you want to help me?”
Opur jumped at the request. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”
“We’re going to have a card game upstairs tonight. Make sure the guys are well taken care of.” Blue took another drag off of his cigarette. “Down here keep the restrooms clean and stocked with toilet paper and paper towels. Make sure the band gets set up. Run food over to the grille and keep the cooks stocked. If the bartenders need a keg changed or more booze, take care of them.” He threw the butt
on the ground and rubbed his shoe on the remains. “Just act like an assistant manager. The others know you’re here to help me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Give me some ouzo,” Sal said. Opur recognized him from the lunch in the Turf Club.
“I better write that down,” Opur replied not having a clue what Sal was talking about. He grabbed a pad and pen off the kitchen counter. “How do you spell that?”
“Just tell the bartender. He’ll know what it is,” Sal answered. The upstairs apartment was crammed with an assorted lot. Joining Sal were Frankie T, Marco, Joey Pizza, Floyd Swindell, Corky Stones, Lavelle Ash, Buster and Stub Howe. The guys from the car wash included Jet Stream Vinny, Junior Scrubs, Jimmie Shines and Benny Buffs. At any one time the seats around the poker table were full. The rest of the guys shot the breeze in the cramped living room, watched TV or kibitzed behind the card players.
A card table had been fashioned out of a sheet of plywood. The octagon shape allowed for the players to have limited elbow room. Someone had stapled on a piece of pool table felt to add a semblance of class. Foam rubber padding had been covered by black leather and provided a cheap cushion on the edges of the table.
In the living quarters two couches that had been retrieved from the Salvation Army gave the apartment the look of a fraternity dorm room. An easy chair and coffee table completed the furnishings. A small efficiency kitchen allowed for a refrigerator, microwave and stovetop. Smoke, stench and cuss words added to the ambiance that seemingly pleased the fellows.
“Bring a bottle of Jack up for me,” growled a guy in his seventies. He sat in a wheelchair.
“Come on, Lavelle,” Floyd cautioned, “you do this every time we get together.” Lavelle Ash spent a lot of time confined to a wheelchair since suffering the after-effects of diabetes. His attitude had soured. He was cantankerous and ornery. His temper flared when he got a snoot full.
Stub Howe was easy to please. After eighty years he knew what he could handle. “I’ll take draught beer.”
“Give me a glass of red wine,” Marco said.
“Walker Red and water,” requested Frankie T.
Jet Stream Vinny got up and retrieved a soda from the refrigerator. He raised it in the air to signal to Opur that he was content. Joey Pizza wanted some white witch while others ordered Captain Morgan and Coke, beer served in long-neck bottles and imported flavored vodka.
The smoke from Frankie T’s cigar choked the oxygen out of the small apartment. Opur couldn’t wait to exit the room. He bounded down the staircase only to step into a bar jammed with customers. After waiting for four women to clear the aisle he turned sideways and squeezed between two guys that were obvious bikers. A guy carrying two containers of popcorn bumped into Opur and knocked him into a gal that was wearing a blue jean sweater vest. A waitress put her tray of drinks in the air as she turned sideways to get past him.
“Excuse me,” Opur said to a cocktail waitress that was standing at the bar waiting for a drink order to be filled. “Can you help?”
“Does it look like I don’t have anything to do?” the gal shot back. She was emptying ashtrays and wiping them clean. As the bartender was putting drinks on her tray she was counting up the cost in her head. A red bandana covered her forehead as well as the top of her head. It was tied in a knot in back.
“I don’t know what I’m doing? I’m the new guy here.”
“There’s only one way to learn.” She handed him a bar rag.
“As soon as I run these I’ll be back.”
Opur pulled out the drink list. “I don’t have any idea what some of this stuff is.”
She gave it a quick glance. “Blue put you upstairs?” Opur nodded.
“It’s wise-guy night,” she laughed. “His buddies play up there every other week.” She raised her drink tray and turned to leave. “You need to learn what goes on around this place. We’ve got that crew once in a while. Then there is MiSSus KuLe BReeZe SiSTa JaNeLLe. She’s here on Mondays. There are a lot of brothas and sistas that night.” The waitress put her tray back down on the counter. “Biker night is Sunday. Crash and the Crowbars crank it up. Daddy Mac and the Furkinators usually are booked every Friday and Saturday night. Blue calls them his house band. Then on Tuesdays and Thursday he gets some other local talent in here if he feels like we need it.”
“Got it.”
“If they start getting out of control take two pizzas up to them. It works every time.” The waitress picked her tray of drinks up and filtered into the crowd.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Dammit, Lavelle!” Marco yelled.
Opur had re-entered the apartment and was serving the drinks to the guys when the commotion at the card table broke out. Lavelle in his wheelchair was grabbing any card he could reach and tearing a corner off of it. “That’s a crock of crap!” he said.
“Joey beat you!” Marco hollered.
“He had no business staying in the hand!” Lavelle shouted back. After he tore off a corner he zinged what was left of the card through the air.
“You’re acting like a third-grader,” Frankie T added.
“I had a boat after the first five cards,” Lavelle roared back. He threw several cards into the air.
Joey Pizza stood up, reached out and scooted all of the chips that were in the pot toward his spot on the table. “It’s a pleasure doin’ business with you fellas.” A smirk spread across his face. Three nines were face up on the table in front of his seat. They matched a nine that was showing on the table.
“You lucky bastard,” Lavelle grumbled.
“Why didn’t you get him out?” Marco asked.
“I tried,” Lavelle answered.
Joey Pizza mimicked the guy in the wheelchair. He was laughing heartily as he raked in the chips. As he stacked the red, white and blue stash Lavelle ground his teeth. “There must be twelve hundred bucks here.” Joey’s eyes were fixed on the bounty.
“You no good mother . . .”
“Calm down, Lavelle,” Frankie T butted in. He had played in many card games with the old guy and knew how his temper could explode as quickly as a spark in a fireworks stand.
“He slow played me, Frankie. That’s a bunch of bull.” One card after another was torn. Now he was tearing them in half and winging them around the room.
“He played his hand.”
“He check raised me,” Lavelle griped. “You don’t do that to friends.”
Joey grinned some more. “Since when do we have rules in these card games?” His stacks were becoming more defined.
“You didn’t get him out early,” Marco reminded the old geezer. “What’s he supposed to do?”
“Yeah, I had a pair in my pocket,” Joey said as he referred to the two down cards that he had held from the beginning.
Lavelle stared at the kid out of the side of his eye. “You’re nothin’ but a smart-alec little punk.”
“Learn to play cards old man.” Joey glared back. “There’s a new generation in town.”
“Opur, grab the pack of plastic cards,” Stub barked as he turned to look over his shoulder at the teenager who was serving drinks in the living room. For a guy that didn’t say much his voice took on an air of authority. “They’re in the top drawer in the kitchen.” Stub turned back to Lavelle as Opur fetched the new deck. “Now cut out the crap. We’re not going to go through six decks of cards tonight.”
Joey sneered. “Yeah, quit acting like a sore loser.”
“Lavelle! No!” Marco shouted. “No!”
The old man had reached behind his back and pulled a snub-nosed revolver out of a pouch in the rear of the wheelchair. He steadied his grip, pointed the gun at Joey’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood flew into the kitchen and splattered against Opur’s body. Jaws dropped in disbelief.
“That’s what you get, punk.”
Chapter Fifty
“Were you in The Digit when the shooting took place?” Julie asked Opur a day later.
The teen
simply shook his head, still in shock. The sight of another dead body lying at his feet reminded him of his mom. His eyes were fixed.
“We never have that kind of stuff around here,” Fred said from the back table. He helped himself to a doughnut and perused the morning newspaper.
Easy Earl strolled through the front door and before pleasantries could be exchanged the retired car salesman asked, “Did you guys hear about the murder down at Blue’s?”
Julie gave him a look that could have frightened the birds off a scarecrow. “We were just talking about it.” Opur glanced toward the front door, in no mood to talk.
“It said they had a scuffle in the bar. The police are still investigating,” Fred said as he turned the page on the morning newspaper. He yelled across the room to Opur. “Where were you at the time it happened?”
“You were there?” Easy Earl followed.
Opur sighed and turned to Julie. “I’m going to go out and putt. This is about as bad as it was when the cops were there.”
Rollie strolled through the front door. “Are we going to tee off?” he said in a voice that was just short of a shout. “Let’s go.” Elia and Paco followed him into the clubhouse.
Fred started to wiggle his large frame out of the booth. “We were trying to get some information out of Opur. He was at Blue’s when the murder took place.”
“You were?” Ollie yelled. “How did it go down?”
Opur simply shook his head, got off the bar stool and headed out the door bumping into BT who was entering. “Some things you just don’t want to talk about.”
“Yeah,” Julie said as she came to his defense. She could see that he was clearly upset, “leave him alone. The cops told him not to say anything to anybody.”
