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Lamb’s Place

Jacob LePretre

    The moon stood at a perfect circle as it had been before and as it will be again. It gave off a warm glow and hung low in the dark. A quiet summer glow. Clouds colored a hazy blue green puff like the fish and the outer clouds are gray like smoke and from the glow of the moon you can see that each kind of cloud passes through the sky in gaps in the moonlight like a sailboat gliding through the open ocean or like running water. Bright and beautiful open sky. There is no wind.
    The place is a pub and it is quiet and calm and clean like the night and it will be so on every given night. It is always the same as the moon is always the same. Outside the walls are lined with rough logs, maybe oak. The bottom half is stacked with maroon bricks. Inside the walls are the same. A darker wooden sign displays the name lettered black written in cursive and rimmed in gold, beautiful in any weather and on any night, Lamb’s Place.
    Through the pull door you find the place is one big room but it is broken up into two sides. One side of the place houses a clear and cheerful cherry colored floor with the wood bar and wood barrels. The other side of the place houses a thick maroon colored carpet and on the carpet soft cushions on a soft couch and facing the couch is a long stacked bookcase and in the middle a fireplace. They are separated by what seems to be a natural line made up by the maroon carpet and the cherry wood floor. When you walk in you see clearly the line down the center of the place that is cutting the room in half and breaking it apart allowing you to choose one side or the other.
    From the line down the middle there is a hallway and before the hallways is a larger stack of wood on the maroon carpet side and in the halway is the bathroom and presumably an office for the place’s owner. The bar itself is beautiful too. A heavy slab of maple with a top glossed in a coat of thin waxy glass. The lights from the ceiling stay dimmed and only three beers can be taken off the tap. Those are two heavy beers and one light beer and they are always fresh and nice. A large box fridge is off in the corner filled with ice below and metal racks above stacked with beers of every kind you could imagine. On the bottles are a layer of frost. You can have any beer, any beer at all. A soft humming emits from its belly that you can only make out when no one is here but that is seldom. Next to the fridge is an old payphone that looks like it doesn’t fit in at all or ties the entire room together.
    Tonight, the barman drops a log in the pit and comes back and the fire cracks and pops heat in the air and adds glow to the place. Warmth and comfort. Like you get when you visit home. The old payphone sitting in the corner. The number dialed by wives from memory, calling for their husbands. Some calling drunk, some calling crying and some not calling at all. Some called asking for them back, some thanked Tom for taking them. It is the type of place that you know who you’d find there and what stool they’d be sitting and they might know you and your preferred sip or even how much you owed from the last stay. Whiskeys and vodkas and gins sit in row behind a long mirror after the old payphone. In the reflection are four younger men enjoying the place. They are great friends by one way or another. Depending on which you ask. All men who drink are friends.
    I saw him win a grand on a coin flip before. And then he did it three times in a row. He’s got a horseshoe up his ass! Laughter echoed in the air. All else is quiet except for the snap of fire and running of the tap.
    Nah nah. That’s why we love old Jimmy G isn’t it? Ain’t that right Charlie?
    Charlie Leftfoot tipped his glass back until it was empty. Love him as much as you hate him. He raised the empty glass to Jimmy G and gave a smile and laughed a laugh that sounded more like a cackle and he kicked his left leg up and the left leg was fake. Plastic.
    Another, the barman said.
    Not one, I need four! said Charlie Leftftoot and he slapped the table. The barman smiled and poured the drinks.
    The barrman has been here for some years and he knows all the men who come and go and the ones that stay longer than they should and he knows each what every man drinks and what he habits and he is good at his job. He keeps the beers flowing, particularly the stout that three of the four here prefer. He wears a clean white button down and black tie and a black apron that covers his black pants and he moves with grace like a boxer and when he speaks he brings the mood level. Not low but level, keeping things moving and steady and sane.
    The other four stools at the bar are empty and on the other side with the maroon carpet is a last man who sits huddled near the fire. The fire crackled. The barman brought that old man another drink when he saw he was empty. He is good at his job. Crossing from the maroon carpet to the cherry wood. He came back behind the bar and let a round of stouts run as his other guests were nearing the bottom.
    Say, Tom. This man asked before he downed his glass. Why’s old Frankie over there never got to pay but we do?
    Tom kept his eyes on the climbing stout. Well, Russ.
    He took the glass away and let the tap shut in unison, not letting a drop be lost like a good leader does with water on a hard journey and he placed it in front of Russ. Eyes watch the foam settle and rise up along the side of the glass like the stroking of a harp. A wonderful melody in the right setting. A soothing sight. A sight to remind you of home.
    If you know the right people, or if the right people know you. You get by drinking for free.
    Tom gave a little nod as if helping Russ understand that there was some underlying meaning here. Or maybe something that they didn’t understand about that old man.
    And you don’t pay so well anyways, Russ, Tom said and he raised an empty glass before he turned back to his craft of filling glasses.
    Russ waved off Tom and wished him away but he would wave him back soon enough as a man never wants to be alone. His friends laughed and cheered on Tom.
    Well. Back to that anyways. What were we saying?
    What? The rodents or the luck?
    The luck.
    Best way to get rid of a rodent is to drown it, says Charlie Leftfoot.
    Not if it can swim, said Tom.
    They laughed.
    They get mad at you if you release it. So drowning them, it’s the easiest to do. For the rodent, I mean.
    A cat is not a rodent, said Howard.
    It depends who you ask, says Charlie Leftfoot. You ever smell cat piss?
    Now how you know what cat piss smells like Charlie? asked Jimmy G.
    Hell. You smell it and you just know.
    Drowning them is good. Tom the bartender stood in front of the four. It’ll get the job done most times. But the best way was what me and my old man did way years back when he was still alive. He had grabbed himself a bottle of beer and now he took a sip and added, rest his soul.
    Tom had everyone a full drink and he went with the story. What he did was this. We had this lil opossum breaking in and eating up the garden like you wouldn’t believe. Eating up my old man’s cucumbers and tomatoes and all that. Tom waved his arms showing the extent to what the creature ate and what they grew in the small backyard. That wasn’t even what drove my old man off though, Tom said. He would have let him get a little food, sure it’s a garbage dwelling rodent, but everybody’s got to eat, right?
    All four of them nodded.
    Well, every night he ate, the little rodent left a little piece of shit that the thing would leave in the same spot every night. The same exact spot right in front of the cucumbers every night. Almost like it was letting us know he was there and he was eating good. So you could imagine how that drove my old man every morning, especially after the poison wasn’t working cause it kept coming back and the city would do nothing about it. Drove him right down mad.
    Tom laughed and the listeners did so too.
    So what we did was caught the thing in one of those little cage traps and we pulled the old minivan into the garage with the thing in the cage in it right, Tom started laughing again and he took a breath and started. We started her up, the minivan, and shut all the doors and windows of the garage, had it sealed time and we came back about fifteen minutes later and the deed was done. Tom clapped his hands together and there was a silence and then the crack of the fire and then someone laughed a little until everyone laughed.
    How about that? A fine way to kill a pest. Never thought of that. Course yah gotta be careful you don’t run in there yourself too early before it’s aired out.
    More laughs and then they settled like the drinks in the belly. Tom set Howard a glass on a square cork coaster.
    What about you Howard? How’s your old man? he asked.
    A little. Howard sipped the fresh beer. Here and there, he said. Good days and bad days. We’d go to ball games back then. But not as of late.
    He used to come in here a lot.
    Howard nodded his head.
    My pops wasn’t really outdoorsy, said Russ. Well. there was this one time, when we did go out on this boat near the lake, we were fishing all day and night and just drinking beer. And we were having a really good time and it was really good...
    The words poured from Russ like someone trying not to lose the spotlight or someone scared of the spotlight. I was younger too, he said, so it was really cool of him to let me do that. Have some beers when we fished.
    Anyway, I couldn’t catch nothing though and he couldn’t either but we had the beers and it started pissin rain and we were paddling back in and I left a line dragging behind because why wouldn’t yah and I wanted to get one with my dad. He stopped and took a sip and saw at least three sets of eyes on him and he swallowed another gulp.
    And when we got out to pull up the boat, I went for the line and this big weight was on the end and I started pulling and pulling and took this trout in. Was a lil fighter that one. Russ grinned and held up his arm as you would showing a trophy fish. Only thing we got that whole day, just before we reeled in. Or maybe it bit way back out. It was the only fish and it was raining hard and good but it was a nice day.
    What’d you do with the fish? Couldn’t cook it cause the rain right? asked Jimmy G. Stored it or let it go?
    Well, Russ said. The fish wasn’t a porker by any means and by means I’m more of a whaler myself... anyways, we already had camp made up under some nice tree cover and had some tarps overhead too. So you believe we got a fire going and skinned that fish and cooked it nice and good along with some beans and tortillas.
    Well. That’s not bad at all, said Jimmy G. A good end to the day.
    What about you Charlie? says Russ.
    Charlie Leftfoot put his eyes down and then he picked them up as if he remembered something he had to do. I actually never liked my old man. Was just a drunk asshole. He raised his glass. To the drunks, he said and he drank.
    Going back to what we were saying, how about a rabbit? Rabbits are one of the worst things for a garden, said Jimmy G. Hard to kill a rabbit though.
    Rabbit is no rodent either! Next thing you’ll be saying a dog is a rodent.
    Again. Depends who you ask, said Charlie Leftfoot.
    Dog’s no rodent. Don’t say that again, said Russ and Frank stared at them too or maybe he had been since Tom’s story but now it was all quiet.
    Charlie Leftfoot pressed this. Hey. Say what yah want and drink up, Jane. A couple beers with someone who talks how you don’t like is the best way to fix the problem. He kicked his fake leg up into the air. Either with words or fists after those couple go down. One way or another it’s getting better. He laughed the cackle laugh and raised his glass to his friends and they all drank and Russ drank a second after.
    Well. Back on the bender. Here’s to it.
    Five days for me now.
    Five? Hell. I’ve been goin for 40.
    40 days of drinking the stupid juice? asked Jimmy G.
    40? I’ve been going since I had three and a half in the alley in eight grade.
    Laugher and clink of glass.
    I guess you’re about damn right.
    Looks like we’re back on the horse.
    It’s better than walking.
    Better wet than dry.
    The men drank.
    The bender never stops if you think about it. It’s all about just how you look at it, said Charlie Leftfoot. Like that’s why I drink a bloody in the morning, for the tomato juice. It’s good for me, he kept on laughing. Same thing with orange juice!
    Charlie, you say that Jimmy G is so lucky, huh? Well. Get this. Russ looked around the bar to make sure no one else was here that could have the story deliver ill fortune. When the coast was clear he said, I once got a blowie on a painting job.
    Laughter started up again like a storm rolling in and some thought the claim a lie and did not laugh and would ride out the storm that way.
    Bullshit.
    Nope. Swear. Call it four years ago when I was doing a lot of those community cluster jobs. When I had the in with Lewis and those lads.
    But hey, I’m not that lucky. Jimmy G said and everyone ignored this.
    I still say no, let’s hear it.
    Shit. Howard’s heard it before. Back me up.
    Howard shook his head yes and kept to his drink. All eyes went back on Russ.
    Well. Like I said. Was about four years back.
    About, said Charlie Leftfoot.
    Was about four years back and doing this solo house in a rich little subdivision. This was a rich little family, you remember. Just me on it and a good price for it. Not a bad project and had a good price. Two easy rooms, same color as before. And the living room. He stopped and sipped his stout. Tom put another few down and took some empties behind the bar to soak and rinse.
    And I kid you not, this lady, this young mom... whew, Russ whistled and stretched his hands, she was a looker, blonde, stay at home type and she was lonely, I could tell she was lonely off the bat and it was hot those days so she’d wear shorts after two days of flirting and being friendly. On that third day, he cleared his throat. When I was finishing up the final room, you know, taking the tape off, getting my supplies together, making everything look good, I’m talking the final steps right?
    And it was just the two of us in the house like I said. Kids off at school or something, husband working. A classic who done it! So anyways she came in just did it. She came into the room and she said to me, she said to me from the doorway, have you ever heard the one about the lonely house wife and the painter? And I said, no mam, but I’d love to hear it. And she said, I’m a better shower than a teller. And later that night the husband dropped off cash for me. Talk about a goddamn day.
    There was a moment when the story ended and whether true or not, the idea and the image and lust for that exact scene was there in everyone’s head. And when Russ took another swig. Charlie Leftoot slapped the bar almost giving the cue and laugher and ruckus was present again. Frank chuckled next to the fire, Tom smiled and dried off more glasses.
    You son of a gun. You son of a... whew! Charlie Leftfoot whistled and kicked up his left foot. Mr. Tom, get this man another drink please.
    The place applauded Russ and Tom did so too and presented this drink like Russ were a king, laying it gently down on a folded napkin and bowing as he sidestepped away.
    I’ll need one too, now that I look. Actually, Tom, you know how it goes. Keep ‘em coming until my head hits the table. Then bring me two more! He slapped the bar again and was laughing without waiting for the others to join in and they were.
    The laughter settled with the drinks and Charlie Leftfoot asked the bar if they ever heard about the gambler. None have. Now Charlie leftfoot cleared his throat.
    Well. Just like myself and like some next to me, he stopped the story and stared at Jimmy G, we like to gamble and as we all know, a tough profession to be in full time but nevertheless I am a hardened veteran. He winked at no one. We got this guy a couple towns over. Real real bad with his money and he’s a man who is bad with his money who never had much money to begin with. He was the type that if you got a drink or two in him he’d have to bet and he’d lose the bet. You would bet what he didn’t bet. So much so that the wife finally caught on and said you gamble anymore, I’m gone. Me and the kid. Outta here, adios muchacho.
    Charlie Leftfoot took a sip. Well. As we know habits are hard to break and that night the man finds himself at the casino and after about an hour and some shots of whiskey later he is drunk and broke and he’s got nothin but three bucks in his pocket. Couldn’t even get a cab so he starts walking on home feeling sorry for himself and down and drunk but he can’t even rush the walk because he knows what waits for him.
    Along the way he sees a pub and what else does a man like him do? All he knows. So he goes in and with the last two bucks and some change he ordered a final drink. A grand finale. And when he’s sipping that grand finale, his head began to spin and he sees this large jar behind the bar filled with money. Easily over a thousand he reckoned. So the gambler asked the barman, who isn’t as near as classy as Tom here, how does a man get that jar?
    Easy now, said this barman to the gambler after hearing the rumble and hunger in his voice. He pointed to a big built fucker like a truck over by the door, kick the bouncer’s ass, he said and he pointed to the back door rusted and faded, rip the rotten tooth from the guard dog’s mouth chained in the alley, and, he pointed upstairs, well, last, there’s a nasty old woman who lives at the top. Doesn’t like anyone and we’re all waiting for her to die. A wicked old witch. Go up there and show her a good time.
    All eyes are on Charlie Leftfoot and he stopped and drank again. So, what’s he do? A man does what he needs too. He whooped the bouncers ass in the front of the whole joint, he came back with a ripped shirt and a bloody and puffy face but he won. He went out toward the back and all you hear is shouting and barking and growling and then finally some whimpering.
    The gambler came back in, bleeding and bitten and limping. He looked at the bar man and he looked him right in the eye and he says, so where’s the lady with the tooth?
    No one said a word, perhaps processing the story, perhaps they didn’t get it. And after that moment laughter boomed and boomed more than ever in the night.
    Did he ever get it settled with then wife? asked Howard after things softened.
    Hell if I know, Charlie Leftfoot motioned for another drink, some stories aren’t supposed to end. Or were just not supposed to know how the end goes. It won’t be the same for you.
    Hey Charlie, Jimmy G smiled behind his tall glass of beer. Instead, why not let us hear how you lost the leg again. Always an adventure with that one. He laughed.
    Charlie Leftfoot’s face dropped and was wiped from emotion for a second but it is unlikely that anyone saw this except maybe Tom who sees all and knows all and he is good at his job. Charlie Leftfoot instead smiled at his lucky friend and he decided to tell the story. It goes that the tale is different each time like a fisherman telling how big his fish is. Few know how it really happened.
    Oh. Jimmy G. You do know me too well. Since it is a fine evening, with a full moon and a nice night. But there is something in the air. He sniffed like a hound. Funky. Or maybe it’s just sweet smokey fire in the air. Or Russ. He snickered. Why not bless the place with the tale of how the old leg ran off? Want to tell it?
    I prefer when you do. Jimmy G raised his glass. Cheers.
    Cheers, Charlie Leftoot drank a large gulp from his glass and motioned to Tom for another.
    Well. As you know my work took me all over. All sorts of projects. About six years ago. Night just like tonight it was. And we were out and about and doin some field work, you know gathering data and all that good fun. He drinks. Some real scientific shit.
    And anyways, we were up around this cliff, maybe sixty feet high and just me and two ladies and another guy. He stopped and winked at Howard. Anyways, the guy slips and is hanging on. Dangling there in mid air, his bag and everything else go crashing below. He’s screaming, panicking which is the one thing you can’t do.
    So me and one girl get on one end and fasten this rope right and we can’t loop it to him cause he can’t stop screaming and flailing like an idiot. And finally, we hook him and as I’m turning back the help hoist him back up, bang! There I go.
    He sipped his beer with hungry eyes on him, Jimmy G only smiled behind.
    Well. Not yet. We got him up smooth and simple once he calmed down. But turns out when we were all getting our breath and resting, this boulder was rolling down for some damn reason and decided to crash right onto my leftfoot. Mangled the hell outta it, broken bones sticking outta my flesh, mashed toes. You ever stub your toe? Try all of them. Nastly looking thing it was. And they called it in but no way anyone could get to us that quick. And it was bleeding. Let me tell yah. Lots and lots of blood. Looked like a bloody stump of a thing.
    So what we did was I took out a pint of whiskey you carry for such reasons and I took some swigs and one of those girls took the machete and chopped it off. He sipped his beer slow and casual and then made a karate chop with his arm. Chop. Chop. Chop. Off the leg went. Never knew whiskey to be so sweet as it is until that day. And afterwards, me and that chop chop chop lady celebrated and lived happily ever after.
    Tom laid down another round. Quite the story he said and winked at Jimmy G.
    Tom, don’t let him fool yah. He’s a mechanic! They laughed and Charlie Leftfoot went red in the face. Some dumbass didn’t set the car jack up right and it came down on his leg. Was an ugly sight. Him crying and all.
    Now hang on, don’t you know, I heard a tiger got him on a safari in Africa, said Russ.
    Piss off yah both. Stories the story for a reason. And you know quite well that I did some damn good research out in the field.
    Yeah...field work in any bar from here to Mississippi.
    Is that how it really happened then, Charlie? asked Howard who had never heard one of the tales told from Charlie himself but heard what he thought actually did happen.
    And Charlie Leftfoot knew this and put the ends together and he got serious in the face again.
    That’s what they say. Why? What did you hear?
    Nothing, said Howard.
    Cmon.
    I didn’t hear anything.
    Really, what you got? What do they say about me on the job?
    Nothing, man.
    Well. Say, cmon then Howard. Give us a story of your work if that’s what you’re getting at.
    No, we want a good mood in here.
    Nah nah. Give us one. The place is always a good mood. Give us a good story for good mood folk.
    You don’t gotta.
    Let him speak.
    He doesn’t want to.
    Let him speak god dammit.
    Howard looked at the group. Alright. I’ll give yah one. Early one I had. He had a full beer in front of him but by the time the story was done he asked for another.
    So this was back, maybe 15 years ago. Like I said was early on the job. Hadn’t had many cases yet but that was good cause it let me focus more on what I did have. Hard workin with kids, you know. He drank remembering cases he wished he could forget.
    So this one it was this family, small little family. Mom staying with a guy with her son and daughter. Had nowhere else to go. Son was maybe ten, that’s who I met with. The daughter was a couple years younger. He was quiet. Small. Didn’t speak much but we colored and drawed a played a couple games and after a couple meetings he opened up more as kids do. A lot of it has to do with trust, like a consistency, maybe that you’ll be there.
    So anyways. I get on and find that the guy they live with will be drinking too much and he often gets over handsy with the wife but not that kinda handsy. And he’ll whoop the boy and then maybe come after his sister. But not that kind of handsy with her. He’ll be out and drinking or he’ll drink at home and usually the mom tells the kids to hide when he’s home so she’ll be the one to take it. Howard drank.
    But after a couple of these, the boy doesn’t like it and he tries to get the dad. Got to do something right? Eventually someone has to do something, right? So this boy snuck up behind him and tried to hit him with this wood bat. Didn’t work out and he got whooped pretty bad. I know it was the bat, I saw the kid after but the report was the kids got jumped when he came home. That was the story.
    Now, nothing you can really do about all this. Because no one really cares about just another poor family with the drunk guy beating the mom and the boy and doing god knows what to the sister and they can’t even do anything about it themselves.
    He drank more than half the glass and Tom placed another round down. The mood felt like someone had lowered the lights.
    But the boy did have something he loved. In all this he had something to get him through the days. Cats, little kittens, a stray must have birthed some weeks back. Some black and white cats. They were cute. And the mom wasn’t around much so the boy would feed those little kittens out back. They lived in the alley first but then came into the yard. The boy grew attached to these kittens and helped raise them. He’d tell me about them, he named them but I don’t remember the names. I remember he said they made him happy. But the guy doesn’t like cats as you can imagine, let alone cats staying at his place.
    Howard emptied his glass and gulped his new one.
    So what’s he do? Like you say Charlie, the best way to do it is drown them. The boy comes back from school one day and sees them floating in the bucket. Three little cats. Dead and drowned....The fucking bastard. Howard slammed a fist and shook his head but kept going. But anyways, the beatings go on and I can’t do much but talk or listen to the kid. I would like to have killed that guy, slit his throat truth be told. But true justice is often misunderstood. Or mislooked.
    And as these things go, this continues. And like I said, I can’t do much if you’re the mom or me, after all the guys letting them stay here and he gives money for the food. What else can they do? Not much yet some say something can always be done. I lost hope on that. And so a couple weeks or so after the cats, one night, like normal, the guy comes back ready to go and the mom is in the room, ready and trembling. Waiting. She heard the door slam and him making ruckus and then there was a thump and then nothing.
    She waited and waited until finally she came from the room and laying in the kitchen she saw the man and her boy sitting on the ground. He sat cross legged and there was a thick pool of blood that flowed from the tile to the carpet. In her son’s hands is the wooden baseball. The sweet spot of the barrel was bloody. He sat cross legged and calm. The boy caved the man’s skull in, he had been doing pushups for all these weeks. The mom went over and grabbed the bat from him and didn’t say a word.
    When I got there, the blood had seeped into the carpet. He had a bruise on his knee and that must be where the boy got him first. They sent the boy to some facility and I signed and closed and passed on his file, which means that’s that. Howard stopped. He spoke words that almost begged to stay in and not be known to the world.
    And after some weeks or months I see the mom and daughter and where they are at. This little one room place, dirty and run down in a bad area. Nothing good to eat around, some shit hole. No better off. A place filled with empty cabinets and an empty fridge. Funky faucet water that ran in spurts. He stopped and looked at his friends. Funny what sticks with you after all these years. God damn, God damn that guy. Howard shook his head. He tilted his glass back and went for the fresh one. The others followed suit.
    God damn, said Russ. Sorry brother.
    Nothing to be sorry about, that’s life. Just another storm.
    Hell of a storm.
    Ain’t it funny, sometimes, says Charlie Leftfoot.
    Yeah. It really is, said Howard and he raised his glass and didn’t wait or look for the others to join him and he drank.
    Reminds me a little of Russ’ fridge, nothin but a jar of pickles and a box of saltines in that place, said Charlie Leftfoot but only Frank laughed from behind over the crack of the fire and Jimmy G shook his head.
    Well. People are messed up, can’t change nothin about that, said Tom.
    The men agree and they raise a glass to the fucked up world and the darkness in it.
    First death in my life was a fucked one, said Russ. God damn house fire. He drank and spoke like a man rushing to get something off, let go of something he’s carried for years.
    Was this Uncle I was close with, he said. My dad’s brother. I was young, man. Shit maybe eight or nine. House set fire and they all got out. Safe and all. My uncle and his wife and kids. But the dog, man. The fucking dog. I remember it. So long ago but I can remember it. I mean it was a great dog but why’d he have to go in for it? I’ll never understand it. Neither made it out. God damn. God damn. He went back in for the dog. God damn that dog.
    Russ wiped his eyes and drank and gathered himself and his friends patted his back and spoke words of encouragement which is all you can do. And still it is better to weather the storm with company. Frank came over and sat at the bar two seats down from the men.
    Here you go, he spoke with a rough voice and sounded like he should clear his throat but he never did. He slurred. Years back was down near Chicago. Had this thing with this guy. Mean mother fucker but a pussy. All talk. All bark, right.
    He stopped and drank a glass that Tom placed for him.
    So I had it in for the guy and had good reason to have it in for him and so I waited for him to leave this pub one night and I’m hiding behind this dumpster, right, holding this two by four, much like that kid was with the bat, he said to Howard. And when the guy went by, I whacked him across the back but didn’t get the head as hard as I wanted and he fell forward and got up and I had no choice there. I took another swing at him with the wood and he ate it with the shoulder and split the two by four. We went at it. I got him some and he got me and well, like I say, he was a big mean fucker so eventually he was standing over me and hitting me square on and all I could do was reach up and grab him by the sack and I squeezed and twisted and wouldn’t let go. Frank grinned.
    Now he kept on smashing me but I kept tight and fellers, you can’t do nothing for long with someone squeezing your nuts. I give him props for how long he stood after that though. Or hell. Maybe he liked it. But finally, he gave in and I gave him a good kick in the head when he fell over in a daze and pain and exhaustion. I kicked him again in the ribs and I took out my cock and pissed on him and when he realized what was happening he tried to get up again but I kicked him down again twice more in the head and then I pulled out my blade and clipped his nuts. I clipped his nuts, like they do to the dogs. I tossed them on his belly and sat and smoked and waited till the cops came. Mean fucker was squirming and screaming, howling. I watched him bleed out right there behind that bar. I’d still piss on his grave too if he had a proper one. And I was a free man later that night too. After I sobered up, of course.
    There was a quiet for a moment, maybe because of the brutality of the story, maybe because they didn’t know Frank could talk like this. Maybe there is nothing to say. Jimmy G found something.
    Why’d you do it?
    What? Frank started to go back by the fire and across the line to the carpet and stopped and turned. What you say?
    Why’d you do it?
    Because he killed my fucking dog. So I clipped his nuts and slit his throat, he said this while staring at Russ.
    After this Frank sat down and looked at the fire and Tom shook his head and the mood was in fact ill all around.
    Well.
    That was rotten.
    It’s all rotten.
    Why not give us a story, Jimmy G? Asked Charlie Leftfoot.
    Yeah. Give us one. You’ll bring up the mood, said Russ.
    Yeah, like I said, Jimmy G has been lucky his whole life.
    At that exact moment, the payphone cut through the air.
    Never a bad day in his life. Charlie Leftfoot smiled wide and he was drunk.
    Oh piss off. I’ve got stories. Good and bad ones like everybody else.
    Oh yah, first I’d heard of them. Never unlucky, this guy.
    Drop it, brother.
    Nothing ever bad happens to young Jimmy G! Jimmy G with the family, Jimmy G with all the luck! All the love! Charlie Leftfoot raised his glass and shook his shoulders as if dancing and he drank. And next to the payphone Tom’s face flushed and he looked at Jimmy G. He cleared his throat.
    It’s Mrs, he said.
    Jimmy G looked puzzled and he took a gulp from his glass and walked to the phone. He was thinking how it was not quite that late. With the phone to his ear he heard the others talking behind him first and they have moved onto another topic.
    The mood shifted. He heard a voice fast and crying on the other end of the line. He did not understand. Gibberish or something foriegn. Mumbles like someone talking underwater. He does not understand or perhaps he cannot bring himself to and he let the phone fall and dangle and he heard Tom ask him if everything’s all right. He heard Tom ask him, what’s wrong? Something drained from his face that says death or maybe doom.
    No, but he cannot say.
    When Jimmy G passed his friends, his companions, his comrades, his face was white like a ghost and they asked if everything was alright but he did not say and he did not look at them and he can’t do anything but leave the place. Charlie Leftfoot told him he was only giving him a hard time.
    Howard was on his feet looking like he might follow, Russ drank with his head down. Frank watched the flickering fire. Jimmy G walked out the doors of the place and into the night. And then they all go to their drink as that is all you can do. The world spins.
    Outside the moon was gone. Little sounded. A light mist fell in the air. A faint glow was in the air that had to be from the moon but he could not find it. Like something out of a fairytale. Jimmy G stumbled forward down a path. He was drunker than he remembered. He would like to drink more. He saw dead gray grass begging for a sip and he saw clouds rush like a waterfall above him. A light from the moon but he cannot find the moon. He watched the mist but he couldn’t feel it. He wondered if it reached this far down. He would like to drink more. He should quicken his pace but he does not. He moved slowly instead and after a while he was barely walking at all and doing so with ease, in no hurry. A man walking with nowhere to go. Or perhaps avoiding the inevitable.

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