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River Rats

Bill Tope

The rising sun shone brightly through the
window of the Way Station restaurant as
the two river rats met, just as one was
entering and the other was exiting the
small diner.

The first rat, just leaving, was Mick, a seedy,
dissolute fellow with a three day growth of
scraggly beard and bilious green eyes. The
second rat, Peg Leg, was characterized
foremost by his eponymous lower limb and
by an inky black eye patch worn over his left
eye.

Both had stringy, shoulder-length,
dirty brown hair and each were clad in a
sleeveless t-shirt: Mick sported the
traditional white wife-beater, while Peg Leg
wore a blue shirt with “I Love Wisconsin”
emblazoned across the front. Various
tattoos and sprigs of hair dotted their bare
arms and shoulders.

Both men were smoking putrid brands of
cigarettes, which might have been more
noticeable had they not each had rank
halitosis engendered by copious amounts
of garlic, onions, and rotting teeth. The
Sen-sen hadn't stood a chance.

Mick!” growled Peg Leg in greeting.
Peg Leg!” answered Mick in the same
odious whisper. The two men embraced
awkwardly, at the same time furtively
searching the other's back pockets,
purloining one another’s wallets. They
each stepped back, grinning stupidly.

What're you up to, Mick, inquired Peg Leg
with little interest. He had Mick’s wallet, so
prudence told him that now was the time to
scram. Still on the 'ol Miss, Mick replied
with equal indifference. His mind likewise
told him told him it was time to scoot. It
mattered little in the scheme of things: both
men’s wallets were profoundly empty.
However, appearances counted for
something.
How long's it been? Mick asked his fellow
river rat.
Last time I seed you was near on three year
ago, answered the Peg.
Whut happen' to your eye? asked Mick. That's
new, ain't it? Peg Leg automatically touched
his patch, nodded somberly. Yeah. I was doin'
this broad down in Vicksburg and her old man
come home; I hadda' beat him down.

Mick nodded sagely. But, continued Peg Leg,
not before he poked me inna' eye with his
Bic pen. Peg Leg shook his head, remembering.
So, he dotted your eye, Mick suggested. This
remark didn't seem to go over that well with
Peg Leg, who huffed.

He recovered quickly, however, and asked, How
many young-uns you got now, Mick? Mick began
counting on the fingers of his left hand, eventually
switched to the right and was about to take off his
shoes when he said, Nine, I think. Peg Leg
cocked a brow, asked, You ever marry any of
them girls? Mick nodded his head.
“Yeah,” he said, “three or four.”
“What are they?” peg Leg inquired further, “boys
or girls?” Mick nodded again.
“Yeah, mostly.”

“You ain’t still on the river, is you?” asked Mick.
“Of course, what else would I do?” answered Peg Leg.
“Ain’t you afraid you might go over, with that leg?”
“Wood floats, Mick,” Peg Leg pointed out. Mick
shrugged; Peg leg had him there, he thought. “Well,
listen, Peg Leg, I gots to run,” said Mick, his eyes
running lasciviously up and down a 70-something
female at a nearby table. “Yeah, I hear ya, Mick,”
said Peg Leg, glad to be rid off his erstwhile fellow
river rat.

Before they left one another, they exchanged a
complicated handshake which was comprehensible
only to other river rats, then took their leave. The
bell tinkled as Mick left, but not before he had
scooped up the tips left by a previous patron. As
he took his seat, Peg Leg likewise appropriated
the silver and bills left by the prior occupant of
his table. “You gots to watch that Mick,” Peg Leg
told the waitress who filled his cup. “He’d steal
flies off a blind spider.”

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