Friday, November 9, 2012

9TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/9/12

Bingo Boy - 9TH post

Ricky was trapped in the toilet when it happened. He couldn't see, but he heard it all. Most times he used the toilet out front. They had two. No problem. But they made penni pasta in a blush vodka sauce for dinner tonight. Too much cream. Too much dairy. So now they had a regular poop and toot parade. Flabby assed old wimmen in loose, worn stretch pant squeezing their cheeks together as they fast walk to the toidy. Think it's on You Tube. But I don't know too much about all that electrical stuff. You don't know me. I'm a different ghost. But don't worry about it. I'll introduce myself later. 

Jimmy came. He came running in. You know, just shy of breaking into a trot, right down the aisle toward the podium. Shoots a look up at Uncle Patsy, the number caller. Patsy motions with his head back toward the room behind the mirror.  He don't miss a beat. Lemme tell you that. B, eleven! B, eleven! Regulars yell out 'chicken legs!' They got knick names for everything. 

Jimmy trots up the steps, opens the door and enters. He really wanted to smash it against the paneling. That's his favorite trick. Used to make a torn up hole right where the doorknob meets the wall. Since John's been working here (he's handy) you don't notice. He's got these little pre-cut squares of plywood  and he krazy-glues them in place. You know, gotta prepare for eventualities in a place like this. 

Ricky wanted to come out of the toilet, but he couldn't. So he sits down on the lid with his hands pressed over his ears. You see things like this on TV or in the movies, but not in real life. Not unless you like around here. Marty was eating his platter. He actually likes that penni pasta, sauce thing. Jimmy goes over and swats the plate off the desk, right onto the floor. You know, he's a tough guy for seventy one. Like Burt Reynolds. Like Burt Reynolds from how he was in BOOGIE NIGHTS. That's how he is. Members Only jackets. Sleeves pushed up. Same hair, only his ain't no toupee. OK, so he wears one a those thin, little 'absorbent pads' stuffed down his tightie-whities. Not like he pees himself. But sometimes a few drops get loose on  him. And he wears these gabardine pants, you know. Don't need no bull's eye. Don't need no 'X' marks the spot. 

Marty goes to say something. He goes to wipe his face. But Jimmy does it for him. Smacks him clear off the almost broken, high-backed, 'executive' desk chair. Lands right on his tailbone. And he got a bad tailbone to begin with, from like a skiing accident at The Concord years ago. Tries to crawl away. But Jimmy starts kicking him and kicking him. Grabs his collar. Pounds him right in the face. Nose is broken. You know that. Sure some of the noise leaks out onto the 'floor'. But Patsy knows what to do. Turns up the volume and announces a cover-all game. Them bingo wimmen quiet as hell for a cover-all game. Turns up the volume on the machine that blows the little balls around and what do you know...noise all gone. 

Marty's heaving. He's gasping and wet fartin' all over the place. Yells 'no, no' no.' Jimmy starts muttering something in his Rooskie-Ruskie talk. I don't understand that shit. Grabs Marty's wrist pulls off his watch. Not the good one. Not the Rolex. But still worth like eighteen hundred dollars. Kicks him once more, right in the liver, or the spleen, or the guts, or whatever the hell that is and runs out. This time he does smash the door against the wall, only it don't break through that piece of plywood. A few players look up. But soon as Patsy calls the next number they're re-mesmerized, pickled in smoke  and dazed like old lady junkies. 

Ricky opens the door. He looks. He sees Marty struggling to get up. Goes over and helps him settle back down in the chair. He's sobbing. He's crying. Tries to push Ricky away. Mumbles - 'lemme alone..lemme alone..lemme alone.... Ricky gets him a can of coke from the kitchen, pops it and pours some in a styrafoam cup. Marty's wrist bleeds from where Jimmy yanked off the heavy, gold, snap-shut bracelet clasp. More like a scrape than a cut. Marty gulp the soda and sits there in silence. Then he looks at Ricky.... And his eyes say it all... Them steakhouse dinners make sense now. Ricky understands.

He remembers something Marty said back over the hearts of lettuce salad and blue cheese dressing..... 'You know the bastid's in the country without any papers. They'd never let him in the regular way. He got a record. Got a record from over in Kiev. And you know what kind a prisons they got over there. No papers. No nothin'. No taxes. No license. All the money he gets comes through me. And if he disappeared, who'd even look for him? Nobody. Like a ghost he is. Just like a ghost. They wouldn't even know he was gone.'.........And then Ricky remembers all the bills he's gotta pay. And he remembers the leaky roof and how bad he wants out. Three heartbeats later, for the first time in his life, he starts to get the feeling he could kill somebody. 

Later, after they close up, he can't drive home, 'cause Jimmy slashed all the tires. Not just his tires, everybody's tires.  So he has to walk, eight blocks through what the cops call 'vampire wonderland.' Thank God for the cold. Thugs don't like no cold. Not this early in the year. A month or two from now they'll be used to it, but not now. So he and Little Chrissie keep to the shadows. You know, you can tread real quiet with sneakers on. Ten minutes later they come to her place. He's gonna sleep there. They made it all up. Too dangerous ridin' the bus back to his place. Not this late. Not from here. So they go inside and lock the door, both dead bolts and an old chain latch too. Grandma's upstairs watchin' TMZ or something. She knows there's a guy downstairs. She knows that. So she don't come down. Baby's sleeping too. Little Chrissie takes him in the kitchen. She microwave's a couple hotdogs. Ricky likes all-beef. She ain't got that, but it's all right. It's more than all right.  And they kiss to the hum of the little, microwave fan. She look cute doin' 'wifey' stuff. That sort a turns him on...


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