"What the fuck?" one of them said.
When Stony heard Chubby yell in the hallway, he unlocked the door and came out swinging, his first blow hitting Mott squarely between the shoulder blades with the applicator. Mott fell on his face in the dimly lit sea green corridor. Twenty feet away Chubby dueled with the two other guys. Mott jumped up, bulled Stony backward and ran like hell down the stairs. Stony smacked his head on the wall, sank dazed to a sitting position on the red cement floor and through blurry eyes watched Chubby hold the other two at bay like Little John versus the varlets. Cheri opened the front door and peeked into the hallway. Chubby tightened his grip on the stick, eyes wide open. Suddenly he moved forward a step, stomping his foot with an echoing slap. The two guys jumped back, their bats protruding from under their arms like jousting lances. Chubby laughed.
"C'mon, yah fucking creeps, ya know how to use those things?" Chubby licked his lips, inching forward, raising the stick to his shoulder. He blocked one of the two exits. Stony sat three feet from the other exit, trying to clear his head, still feeling too dopey to stand up. "I'm gonna bash ya faces in ... you know what that feels like?...hah?...you know what that feels like?" Chubby taunted.
Unblinking, Chubby inched forward. They inched back toward Stony and Cheri. "I once killed a guy in the service. It felt good ... you know that?...hah?...it felt real good." Chubby made a weird whining noise in the back of his throat. Stony got frightened by it—a one-note high-pitched whine—because it seemed that Chubby didn't realize that he was making it. Chubby took a vicious cut, lunging at one guy's face with all his beef. The stick made a ringing slap against the wall. The guy dropped his bat, quickly stooping to pick it up. "Hey, shithead, how'd the Yankees do today?" Chubby took another swing, a murderous arc missing chins by inches. One guy screamed, the other retreated within five feet of Stony. Stony cautiously lifted the wax applicator between the guy's legs and gave him a stiff goose. He squawked, dropped his bat, turned around, leaped over Stony and ran down the stairs.
"Jus' me an' you." Chubby grinned wolfishly at the remaining flunky. "What's yah name? Hah? What's yah name?" Chubby stomped his foot again.
The flunky whirled around, running toward Stony and the unblocked exit. Stony ducked and at the same time thrust his stick between the retreating legs. The stick spun out of his hands, as the guy fell headfirst into the door, belly-crawled/scrambled to the stairs and was gone. Chubby stood triumphant, panting in the corridor, his stick hanging loosely from a relaxed fist. He exhaled noisily. Stony struggled to his feet, using the wax applicator as a support.
Chubby laughed. "Yah lazy fuck. I hope yah dug the show."
Cheri stood gawking in the doorway, staring at Chubby. Chubby wiped the side of his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt, smiled at her.
"I'm goin' to bed now ... when I wake up..." Cheri dumbly nodded her head and closed the door, locking it with a terminal click. The outside of the door looked like the hood of a car after a minor head-on—a riot of scratches, dents and craters from the bat barrage. Chubby and Stony stared at each other. Chubby nodded at the door and wordlessly urged Stony to stay with her. Stony dismissed the idea with a shrug, propping the wax applicator beside the door.
"I was pretty fuckin' good tonight, hey?" Chubby draped an arm around Stony's shoulder as they headed for the elevator. Stony wanted to ask Chubby if he knew he was singing like a crazy man during the fight but the memory of the sound weirded him out.
"You were a fuckin' lifesaver, Chubs."
"What's the story?"
"Huh?"
"What was happenin' here?"
"Ah, nothin'." Stony gingerly touched the back of his head.
"Oh, nothin', yeah, O.K." Chubby smirked.
"Ah, I had a fight with Mott over Cheri, busted up his face a little an' he came back with those two lames."
"Hey." Chubby grinned. "Howdja like that thing I did with the foot-stompin' number, hah?"
"That guy almost jumped back in my lap," Stony snorted. The elevator opened with a groan. "Hey, Chubs, you really kill somebody in the service?"
Chubby screwed up his face with a "whatta-you-kiddin'?" expression. "Nah, I got shell-shocked though."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I ate too many peanuts." Chubby guffawed and held his gut until he started wheezing, motioning for Stony to slap him on the back as he leaned over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath.
***
Chubby ushered Stony into a bar, Buddy Love's, replete with huge shamrocks pasted on either end of a long mirror, crossed I.R.A. and American flags and an all-Irish juke box. They sat in a dark back booth lit by a red-tinted, wax-filled squat glass sheathed in plastic fishnet.
Stony rested his forehead on the corner of the table as if he were looking for something on the floor.
Chubby sat with his arms crossed, elbows on the table. Smirking, he surveyed the bar. "Hey, Stony, you know what they call a faggot Irishman?"
Stony weakly shook his head from side to side.
"A Gay Lick," Chubby cackled.
"Hah," from under the table.
"I hate Irish bars," Chubby muttered. "I'd rather be in a fight in a nigger bar. The Irish got no sense of humor."
"Who does?"
"You know, that's the first sign a somebody goin' crazy. They lose their sense a humor."
Stony raised his head and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping.
"I used to know this guy once, about ten years back. We used to call him Joe Sick." Chubby leaned into the aisle to catch the waitress' eye. "He was a steamfitter. This guy was a beast the likes a which I never seen since. He used to be a wrestler. We'd go to a bar and he'd open beer bottles with his teeth." Chubby pantomimed snarling as he ripped the cap off an imaginary bottle. "This fuckin' guy could piss a Dixie cup off a fire hydrant at twenny feet. He went to jail for two years for throwing his foreman through a plate-glass window. Broke his back."
Stony winced. "Was he Irish?"
"I dunno."
"What'll you be havin', boys?" The waitress stood over them. Her long, black hair hung down her back. Her eyes were crystal blue.
"Tequila," Stony mumbled.
"We don't have tequila." Her brogue was thick as stew.
"Give us two shots of Jameson's." Chubby winked. She left. "Tequila!? Where you think you are, Tijuana?"
She brought two filled shot glasses and left again.
Chubby leaned across the table and whispered to Stony, "Lemme give you some advice. Don't ever fuck around with an Irish woman."
"Temper?"
"Temper nothin'. They don't know their ass from their elbow in bed. That fuckin' church thing got 'em so uptight. They all got twenny-nine priests as brothers. When I was a kid I had an Irish girlfriend. Kathy Conroy. She useta think eating out meant not having any dishes to wash. The first time we fucked she complained of having this weird feeling all over. She went to the doctor. He told her it was an orgasm." Chubby laughed. He noticed the knuckles on Stony's right hand were scraped. He nodded at Stony. "Hey, what'd you do to that guy? He looked like he got hit in the face with a bag a nickels."
"I went berserk ... ah dunno." Stony lowered his head to the edge of the table again. Chubby stared at him for a while before reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder.
"Ah, yer all right, kid, yer all right, you take after yer uncle. You ever hear what I did with Phyllis once? Two months after we was married I walked into the house an' she's siltin' on the couch with this guy I never seen before. I take one look at both a them and I grab this clown by the front of his shirt. I'm just about to put him through the wall and Phyllis says, 'Chubby, I'd like you to meet my brother Larry.'" Chubby downed the shot of whiskey and smacked his lips. A liquor-scented belch reached Stony's side of the table. "The cat néver visited us again. You know, there ain't nothin' like jealousy to get the ol'juices flowin'."
"I think it sucks." Stony took a sip of whiskey and shuddered.
"Granted it ain'
t the most divine feelin' in the world, but let me ask you something, an' I want you to answer me straight. When you belted that guy tonight"—he finished off Stony's shot—"when you smacked that clown tonight, didn't you feel jus' a little good?" Chubby held up his thumb and index finger slightly apart. "Be honest."
"Nah, whatta' you kiddin'?"
"Nah, whatta' you kiddin'?" Chubby mimicked.
"Well..." Stony shrugged, fighting back a smile.
"Yeah, just a little, right?" Chubby eyed him slyly.
"A little." Stony smiled.
"Lemme tell you somethin'...when you're gettin' ready to break some joker's legs 'cause he's been fuckin' around with Mary Lou, you feel like fuckin' King Kong and John Wayne. God's on your side an' everything. You feel like a man. Am I right or am I right?"
Stony laughed. "You're sick, Chubby."
"Yeah, I'm sick." He motioned for the waitress, held up two fingers.
"Ninety-nine percent a the time a woman cheats, she does it to get her man jealous. Women love violence. Especially when it's over them." Two more shots were brought to the table. "How many times you think Cheri came tonight watching you guys duke it out?"
Stony was horrified. "You're really outta your tree, you know that?" His face was flushed. "You don't even know Cheri."
"Yeah, well I know that look she had on her face. There was four guys fightin' over her ass. That was prob'ly her first gang bang. An' I'll tell you something else, you're a schmuck for not hangin' around after it was all over. You prob'ly missed the greatest lay of your life."
Stony groaned and banged his head on the table.
"You got a lot to learn about women, kiddo. They're killers." Chubby lit a cigarette and chucked Stony on the chin. "You got time."
"Maybe I should go back?"
Chubby wrinkled his nose. "Too late. You gotta have timing with things like this. Chalk it up to experience."
"Experience means mistakes." Stony took a cigarette from Chubby's pack.
"So chalk it up to mistakes." Chubby reached for Stony's drink. "You know, don't get me wrong. Stones. I don't mean you gotta be like an animal all the time. Women dig tenderness too. The trick is to know when the recipe calls for garlic and when it calls for sugar. You know? You gotta use psychology. You gotta get 'em to relax, you gotta get 'em comfortable, you know? Put on some nice music, dance a little, make 'em a drink, get 'em to take a bath with you. You know, get intimate ... like they don't even know they're gettin' laid, but don't make 'em too comfortable. Girls like to be a little scared. It's more exciting for them. You know, like I said, garlic and sugar ... a little, a little."
Four men at the bar burst into laughter.
"Fuckin' green niggers." Chubby sneered. "I'll tell you something else, Irish men are the lousiest lovers. They like to cross themselves right before they come."
"Hey, Chub?"
"Italians and Jews are the only good stickmen around. All niggers know is to stick it in until they come."
"Hey, Chub?"
"Greeks aren't bad if you can get 'em out of the restaurant before they drop dead from washin' too many dishes."
"Hey, Chub?"
"Krauts like to do it to marching music an' Polacks got foreskins like pup tents."
"Hey, Chub, slow down."
"Huh?"
"Lissen, I wanna ask you somethin'. How many chicks you racked with?" Stony bit his nails and raised his eyebrows.
Chubby shrugged his shoulders, suppressing a smile. "In my whole life?"
"In your whole life."
"Oh Christ, three, or maybe four."
"C'mon, will you be serious?" Stony began bending his plastic swizzle stick at different angles.
"Whatta you drivin' at, Stones?"
Stony concentrated on the straw, inserting one end into the other. "Uh ... like ... every time you ball with a chick, does she come? I mean..."
"Nah." Chubby frowned. A bunch of middle-aged women took the booth in front of them. The waitress stood there joking and laughing with them.
"Well, what percent did?" Stony made an octagon with the swizzle stick.
"What kinda question is that?"
"About what percent?"
"Stony..." Chubby took the straw from him. "What's on your mind?"
The waitress stopped at their table. Chubby motioned for another round.
"Well." Stony picked up the straw. "Cheri..." He tossed it aside.
"She don't come?"
"Oh no, it ain't that. Yeah, she don't come, I mean she comes, but not when we're balling."
The waitress brought another round. Chubby sipped his drink thoughtfully.
"I mean I try all different ways. I go slow, I go fast, I do it from the back, from the front, from the side. Nothin' works."
"I don' know what to tell you. If it'll make you feel any better, I been married to your Aunt Phyllis for twenny-three years. I think she came three times, but I'll tell you one thing though, it don't do any good to worry about it."
"Three times?" Stony looked pained.
"Look, some women come more'n that in one fuck, others go to their graves without coming." He shrugged.
"Don't that drive you crazy?" Stony squinted.
"Well, look. Somebody can still dig sex without coming. That don't make 'em lesbians. But like I said, it don't help anybody to worry about it, you know, you just gotta hang loose."
"Hang loose." Stony nodded, picking his teeth with the mangled straw. "Lissen, Chub, I got Butler's car. I gotta go pick 'im up at the club. It's gettin' late."
Stony stood up. Chubby sat playing with his pack of Marlboros, slowly stripping the cellophane wrapper.
"Ah lissen. thanks for helpin' me out tonight."
Chubby gave a short salute off the top of his head.
"Hey, Stones? Also, stay away from PR women. They got two million boyfriends and brothers. They'll tear yah heart out."
***
Stony got back to D'Artagnan's about midnight. Butler was standing at the bar where Stony left him. He was talking to Chili Mac.
"Stones, you missed some fuckin' fight." Butler was drenched with sweat.
"Oh yeah?" Stony ordered a seventy-seven.
"So how's Cheri?" Butler smirked.
***
"Well, I'll tell you one thing, mah man, she can fuck Mott, Pot, Snot, Twat and half the fuckin' Marine Corps from now until doomsday, she ain't never gonna find a better stickman than me and that's the goddamn truth."
They sat parked in White Castle. Stony scarfed down half a hamburger and exhaled through his nose as he chewed. Butler had stopped listening to Stony's bullshit hours ago. He stabbed a straw through the center of the plastic top on his orange drink and eyed the middle-aged carhop ladies scurrying around the parking lot in royal blue slacks, blue short-sleeve tops and little blue Dixie cups on their heads. Some of them wore blue scarfs under the Dixie cups to keep their ears warm.
"My mother would dig that get-up," Butler said.
"Because not only am I a good fuck physically, Butler, but I know all that psychological shit about scoring pussy too." Stony crumpled the hamburger wrapper into a ball and rolled it lightly between his palms.
"I mean, you know, how to make them, how to get them relaxed." He dragged out his words. "You know how ... how to get them to trust you, you know? So they don't even know they're gettin' laid."
"You know what my ol' man got my ol' lady for Christmas?" Butler challenged. "Ankle socks! A fuckin' dozen pair a ankle socks." He paused for the news to sink in, reaching for his cigarettes on the dash. "She asked for them." With his thumb he bent a match onto the carbon and flicked a light.
Stony ignored him and went on. "First I get 'em a drink, see? An' then I put on some music, you know somethin' nice, right? An' we'll dance." Stony shut his eyes and dreamily swayed his head. "I won't even grind, maybe just a little bump like ... unh!" Eyes still closed. Stony licked his lips, arched his pelvis off the seat and rotated his hips.
Butler rais
ed his eyebrows and making a noise like a garbage disposal sucked the last drops of orange drink from the crushed ice.
"And now they're startin' to breathe a little funny, right? So I dance just a little closer, not grindin' or anythin', just enough to brush them with my meat, you know? Give them a hors d'oeuvre."
Butler unwrapped a hamburger.
"They try to act like they don't feel it, you know? But let me tell you something, Butler, you gotta be dead not to feel my piece—"
"I don' wanna feel your goddamn piece." Butler started in on some french fries.
"Anyways, I only do that once, one time, then we keep dancin'. They can think about it an' then like maybe two minutes later I say to them...'You wanna take a bath?' Very casual, you know? If the chick says 'sure!' you know that bitch is mine!" Stony tossed the crumpled wrapper on the tray hanging from the half-open car window. "Except one time I ast this girl to take a bath an' she got insulted. She thought I was sayin' she needed a bath."
An orange GTO with an idle like a dragon with asthma pulled in beside them on Stony's side. Butler squeezed Stony's knee. Two girls were in the front seat. Nice blondes with hard eyes and thin lips.
"Hey!" Butler smiled, leaning across Stony's lap. "What's happenin'?"
The driver and her friend stared straight ahead.
"You wanna take a bath?" He laughed, looking at Stony. Stony elbowed him back to his side of the car. The driver turned away and said something to her friend. Stony leaned out the window, winked at the driver and drummed his fingers against the car door.
"Hey"—his smile was right out of a Crisco can—"your name Carol? You look like a girl Carol I know. Your friend's name Carol?" No answer. He shrugged.
Butler bolted over Stony again and hung out the window. "How 'bout a shower?" Stony cracked up, seeing it was a lost cause.
The girl on the passenger side lit a cigarette. In the brief light of her match Stony could see that her skin was ice white smooth and she plucked her eyebrows. His gut wrenched.
"Maybe you just wanna wash up a little?" Butler continued. Stony didn't laugh. He wanted the bitch with the plucked eyebrows.
Bloodbrothers Page 4
