13TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/11/12

BINGO BOY - post 13

It is still me, Lawrence, the thespian ghost. My how these streets remind me of The Seven Dials, a notorious slime pit in London. I was born there. Came here as a young man. Ninety six, I think...seventeen ninety six. Baby London, they used to call it. Already respectable in size. Throw in the Northern and Southern Liberties and over two hundred thousand people called the place home. Fine, cobbled thoroughfares. Black shiny street lights. Lit by lamp-lighters, of course. You remember the Robert Louis Stevenson poem 'bout O' Leary the lamp-lighter and all that? A very gracious time. them what 'ragged' for a living... the criminal element, populated narrow, little warrens by the docks. Theaters, museums, inns, hotels... we had the best. You know, the term 'ladies who lunch' was coined here by Ben Franklin, in reference to the gentlewomen congregating in the hearth room of Olde City Tavern. And that place was never just a tavern. It was always more than that. Rather like what The Twenty One club was to Cholly Knickerbocker's town during the nineteen twenties. 

I saw it all, from arguably the premiere stage of the English speaking world. Ahhh, what a place. Bowdlerized Shakespeare, contemporary melodramas. We did everything. I can still see the cast cards. Squires, Ladies and Gentleman, the role of Oberon will be performed by that esteemed interpreter of The Bard, the Honorable Mr. Lawrence Pennyfeather. I had rooms at The Sussex House and a sophisticated and quite 'dear' (meant expensive) body servant from Martinique ran the establishment. Look, I was planning to talk of my death, but things are moving fast. And whatever force it is that governs such things has seen fit to put me here, on a windy damp street, upon smooth grey cobbles, before thin, hard domiciles, for desperate, scared people. 

The Little-Chrissie-Family lives inside. She, her grandmama and a pudgy, little gurgling baby boy. One other person lodges there as well, the Israelite paramour, Ricky. I suppose it references a more obscure biblical name. But don't hold me too that. Now the grandmother keeps her own council, preferring to watch a magic-talking-screen alone in a small chamber next to the baby's. True, she does scurry down for occasional tins of tuna fish and sardines. Who knows? Perhaps she's part cat. But all they get are quick, fleeting smiles and quiet how-yeh-doin's..... She doesn't want to jinx it. This one seems promising. No prior arrests. No substance abuse issues. No mewling bastards. Now nothing has been said. And Ricky, the dear, clueless boy, is completely unaware of the web being drawn about him. Could be he likes it that way. Went back to his place for drawers and linen. Things like that. But he lives here now. You know, even a derelict house on a street like his should fetch at least a hundred thousand dollars if sold. The grandmother was keenly aware of that. What she didn't know how much more they might, conceivably earn. So the somewhat roughened, though still basically attractive matriarch retired to her digs for Jay Leno, while Little Chrissie and that Ricky bathed the baby. 

The bathroom was warm and slightly steamy. Pink and blue tiles from the nineteen fifties, a more-or-less 'recent' addition, reflected hard, white light from two bulbs screwed into a 'Lucy' era fixture. Ricky and Little Chrissie knelt on a pink, shaggy rug, as she de-pantsed the little fellow and lowered him into the comforting water. ......... What's a matter with the baby!? - said Ricky...... What? What do you mean? - said it's mother...... His 'thing'! His 'thing'! His 'thing'! It's all screwed up. What happened? Was he born that way? What'd they DO to him!?......... Little Chrissie examined the appendage in question, but found no fault in it. She said - What are you talkin' about? There's nothing wrong with the baby....... But then she began to blush and giggle, as she nudged him with her elbow...... You mean because he's not 'cut' - she said. You mean because he's not circumcised. That's all. This is how he was born. You were born the same way too, you know. Ain't you ever seen one straight from the box? ......... I don't know - goes Ricky. I never looked. And stop laughing. I was scared. I was afraid for him. Do you mind?......... Well, she didn't, because she kissed him. Just a quick, little peck. Kept both hands on babykins at all times, as he clapped and splashed and gurgled in his bath. And ten heartbeats later, upon direction from the mother, Ricky rolled up his sleeves and had his first lesson in how to wash a baby. 

Such a sweet, domestic scene. How sad that two thirds of them would soon find work in the burgeoning  murder industry.

Later, after the sweet, little bundle was tucked into his Iron Man crib, the two bath givers went downstairs to watch TV. I think it was Jay Leno too. Tobey Keith, if I remember correctly. And during the song, Ricky turned to Little Chrissie and said - You know, I had an uncle who used to be in the rackets........ Really? - said Little Chrissie. What's he do?........ Sold hot bras and girdles off the back of a truck in South Philly. I used to help him....... She grins. Obviously not too impressed...... Hey, he was a numbers writer too, you know. - Ricky said..... Yeah, which ones, 36B or 38D - she goes.... But he just watches the screen........ Little Chrissie says - I've already done a killing....... He looks.... She adds - You're not from around here, so you wouldn't know. But I'm the one. I killed Little Jo-Jo............ Ricky goes - No. come on. Who was Little Jo-Jo?..... He used to live down the street. - she says. Had a moron friend. Used a be an idiot, but his mom got him lessons. Every time I went outside, that sloppy moron'd go 'pinch her boobies! pinch her boobies!' or 'grab her tube-top! grab her tube top!'.......... Ricky goes - And?........ And the God damned little bastid would do it. - she says. So one day I go 'look, Jo-Jo, why you do me like this all the time? Come on, lemme take  you for a walk. Lemme take you for some candy. Come on. Down the corner. Come on. I can be your friend. So we go and I boost a chocolate Easter egg with all this peanut shit inside it. That's why I boosted it, 'cause a the peanut shit........ Why? - said Ricky. He had an allergy?....... Yeah, he had an allergy, a bad one, a really bad one. Man, that little monkey dropped dead in less than five minutes............ Jesus, - goes Ricky. What'd the moron kid do?....... What? He got himself a new monkey. That's what he did. - said Little Chrissie........... Wait a minute - says Ricky. What were they to each other?......... She goes - I don't know what they were to each other. That was their business. Alls I know is they were a big, moron slob and his little, God damned monkey......... Ricky goes - Monkey? Monkey? You mean like a monkey, monkey?........ Little Chrissie goes - Yeah, a monkey, monkey. Christ, what the hell did you think?........... They lapse back into silence, watching some guy get his chest waxed on Jimmy Fallon. But two minutes later, Ricky goes - How'd that monkey know what the hell 'pinch her boobies' meant?...... She says - How the hell do I know. Ain't you ever seen any a them smart, National Geographic monkeys?...... A 'light' goes on. He nods..... Now they're watching Chelsea Handler and Jimmy play PASSWORD with two audience geeks warned before hand not to have like a personality. You know only 'stars' got those.

Little Chrissie goes - So we're really gonna do it? Not because we like it. Not because we believe in it. Not because we're like that. But just for the money, I mean?.......... Ricky swallows and whispers - Maybe. I don't know. I hate doing something violent like that. I really do.......... They snuggle in the flickering TV light and she goes - Well, who says it has to be violent?

A siren wails in the distance, as they stare back at the screen. A little lizard was selling insurance, I think. I don't know. They weren't paying attention...

______________________________________________

12TH NANoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/11/12

I come from the theater. I come from south of here, from a special place filled with dreams. My name is Lawrence and yes, I am one of The Ghosts of Philadelphia. Oh, they'll tell our story one night... like CATS, without the whiskers. You can see my name on old dry yellowed boards, hidden by the dust of many moons. In rooms where no one goes down in the darkest ancient basement 'neath a pile of long forgotten pantaloons. 

My time on the stage came in the early days. Dolley Madison gave me a glove. And I danced with lacquered ladies and tumbled with the clowns. Did magic with a cauldron filled with doves.

The Walnut Street Theater was a palace then. And strange enough, It's still a palace now. But when the curtain falls to kiss the boards each night, Oh how we ghosts step forth to take our bow.

And I wander. And I see the life that swirls about me on the streets. Some have cinders, others gold. But now it's time to watch the play unfold. Three people sit inside a car parked by a Dunkin Donuts. But none of them have sugar on the mind. Marty sits up front, stares out the window. While Ricky and Little Chrissie sit behind........ OK, I'll stop the Broadway Melody now and get on with it. Please forgive me. An actor never dies. And now, I am a narrator.....

Marty says - I meant it. I was serious. I meant every word........ Ricky goes - Yeah, but do you still mean it now?......... Marty thinks for a moment and goes - Look, all I know is I want the bastid to die.......... Little Chrissie says - No, Marty, you're not kiddin'. For real?......... Marty says - Yeah 'for real.' FOR REAL! FOR REAL! FOR REAL!........ Ricky says - Keep quiet. The place is closed, but keep quiet. And Marty, how much?.......... Marty asks - What? You mean how much I would pay you? Like I said. Like I said. Twenty five thousand when it's done and fifty thousand dollars a year for three years........ Ricky goes - That is not what you said. You said fifty thousand dollars when it's done and a hundred thousand dollars a year. That's what you said. We heard. You said it. You said it.............. Marty just sits there, but Little Chrissie chimes in - Lemme ask you something. How come you just don't get some thug on the avenue to do it for like ten thousand dollars? I hear stories. You could get somebody. Why not just do it like that?......... Marty exhales and says - What? You think I didn't consider that. I did. Had the kid picked out and everything.  But then I started readin' the papers. I read 'em real careful, all about trials, all about killings, all about everything. And I learned shit...... Ricky goes - What'd you learn?......... Marty says - For ten thousand dollars you get caught.  You gotta make it so they want to keep their mouths shut afterwards too. And the dumb fucks 'round here think they're cowboys. You know how they talk. You hear 'em when you go to that Texas Weiner place during your 'lunch' break. God, how could you eat in there?......... Little Chrissie goes - I happen to like hotdogs. Do you mind. And why don't you do it yourself? Just come up behind him one night with a little twenty two and go pop-pop-pop. No more a you, you dead bastard......... Because I got kids. I got kids. And their father ain't no killer - says Marty.......... Ricky looks at Little Chrissie. She just sits. She got a kid. He hugs her and holds her close.......... Look - says Marty. I thought he was givin' me a good deal. I thought he was the proverbial extortionist with a heart of gold. I'm a dope. I'm a dope. I know it. He just wanted me to front for him. So I, like an asshole did. Only now he wants more. He wants a lot more............. Ricky says - What's he have now, a gang? Who are them Ukrainians? What's he got, like a 'crew' now?........ Marty goes - He ain't got no 'people.' He ain't got no gang. They're wannbes. He gives 'em a few bucks, makes 'em feel big. That's all. That's all. Finds 'em in those Russian restaurants he goes to..... busboys, anybody........... Ricky goes - What? And like they can't be dangerous?............. Maybe. Maybe - says Marty. If they was loyal. But they ain't loyal. If he disappeared they'd go move on to something else. Nah, this is just like an internship  for them............ Little Chrissie says - What's he got on you? Jimmy, I mean........... Like   you can't figure it out? - goes Marty. He knows everything. He knows about the shills. He knows about the fixed games. He knows about all the books. And he knows how long I been climbin' on Big Chrissie in the room BEHIND the back room. His name ain't on nothin'. Just me. It's all me. And not just the cops, not just the government, not just the I.R.S.. You think I want my wife to find out? Like I told you. I got kids.......... Little Chrissie goes - So do I, Marty. So do I..... And Ricky goes - You must be afraid of him. You gotta be......... Marty sighs and goes - He's crazy. He's a psycho. Who knows what he'll do. But if it comes from nowhere, if it's like a big surprise, what the hell is he gonna do? You know them two Ukrainians ain't with him everyday. They got family. They got family up in Brighton Beach. That I know. And he's a ghost. He's a ghost. It's true. He's a ghost. No records. No name. No nothin'. If he dies, who the hell is even gonna know? Who the hell is even gonna care?............ Little Chrissie goes - Marty, you want Big Chrissie to have an abortion? That's what she's sayin'. I mean, I just wanna know. I just wanna know......... DON'T ASK ME ABOUT THAT! - he yells. Are you two gonna help me, or what? Where the hell else would you two ever get money like this? Answer me that!

But they don't answer.  So Marty turns the key and quietly drives away, revealing a few squashed donuts under the car. 

Four heartbeats later three dusty pigeons bob over and have a feast...

______________________________________________

11TH NANoWriMo Novel In A Month episode 11/10/12

Bingo Boy - post 11

Jimmy and Marty didn't talk. Marty stayed in the back room all day. His ribs hurt. His jaw hurt. His eye was black. You know the wimmen out there would a seen. They can sense what's going on. And we say 'wimmen' but it's not all wimmen. Some old men come in too. Retired guys. Widowers. A few hubbies meet their wives after work. They have pizzas delivered to their seats and THEN they eat the free dinner platters. Sometimes a few young kids in their twenties show up. Sure they'd rather be at a casino, but forty dollars don't pay for too much gamblin' time in them joints. Here they can play all night.  Know what this place is?... A baby sitting service for compulsives. They smoke. They eat. They gamble. Hot-cha-cha. 

But the new guys, the ones from Odessa walk around like they own the place. Hands in pockets. Chins thrust forward. They look. They look. They look. Sometimes they mutter away to each other in Doctor Zhivago talk. And they laugh. Oh, and they know where the money is. How could they not? Jimmy tells them. One palmed a stack a bills from the table. You know, when the kids are counting? Marty's there when they do it. He watches. But they don't steal. Muscles wanders in and out too. But the Odessa buy stole. And Jimmy saw it. The Odessa guy grins. Jimmy grins back. Who's gonna stop 'em? Marty don't do nothin'. Just keeps his head down and makes like he's lookin' over receipts. You know, like from the food supplier, or utility bills. You should see what he's driving now. A friend, or a cousin or somebody sells used cars and he borrows one from the lot. Every few days something different. No more big Caddy, or whatever it was he had. Now it's Carollas and old Ford Taurus'. Dirty ones too. Lucky he don't get bugs. 

And then, fast as they come, the Odessa guys leave. Jimmy too. Guess they skimmed enough for one day. Oh, and you wanna know where they're gone with it? Sugar House.... the Sugar House Casino, right on the edge a Center City. Jimmy plays craps. I don't know what them Ukrainians play. Boy how they must love stealing from 'the Jew.' That's what they call him. Only they say it 'Yid' or 'Zhid.' What can Marty do? Less money is better than no money.

The kids go back in to help him count part a the take. But records don't mean anything now. Not his books. Not the charity's books. Not the tax man's books. Not that they ever meant much. The accountant cobbles it all together anyway. But at least one set was accurate. 

Marty looks like he's gonna be sick. Ricky says - Marty, you OK?...... Little Chrissie looks up too. But Marty don't say nothin'. He just nods and stares. Then he mumbles under his breath. He goes - Please, help me get rid of him. Please, help me get rid of him...... And he looks. He just looks...... right at them. Nobody says anything. The shift comes to an end. Ricky still stayin' with Little Chrissie til he gets his new tires. They go eat something at a little diner...a real little, old fashioned diner. Slide into a cozy booth at the back. When life is tough, 'cozy' means a lot. 

Little Chrissie says - All right. So tell me. How bad do you have it?....... He says - Well, my house is fallin' apart. My car's a wreck. And I only got fifty dollars a week  for food..... She says - What do you get?..... He says - OK, here's the list. It don't change. Every week. The same thing. Store brand bread. Store brand peanut butter. It's all store brand, so let me just rattle it off.. cornflakes, milk, cheap, mushy, cat food style tuna, cheap, watery, salty spongy ham and trans-fat-acid-rich cookies. No soda. No coffee. No ice-cream. Once in a while some spaghetti sauce to pour over noodles or rice. And for 'health care,' a bag a carrots for a dollar and a bottle of imitation Tums for two dollars and ninety nine cents. Wintergreen, my favorite. Oooo, just like candy. Did I say the dollar a bottle unbuffered aspirins too? That's for my heart. They're my 'I hope these headaches aren't a stroke' medicine....And you, what do you get?

Little Chrissie goes - Same as you. Maybe a pack a hotdogs every once in a while. But that you already know. And don't forget, I have to buy baby food, baby formula, baby clothes, baby sneakers and baby diapers too.

Ricky goes - Don't your baby daddy help any?...... She goes - Nope. He don't do a God damned thing. And his low-life mother should burn in hell........ Ricky goes - I'm just sayin' now. I'm just talkin'.  What Marty says. What Marty wants. I mean about Jimmy and all... would you do it? Like in your head, do you ever think you could do it?......... Little Chrissie swallows a french fry and says - I don't know.... Ask me tomorrow when I run low on Kotex. I gotta but that too, you know...

And then the waitress smacks down the bill.....

_____________________________________________

10TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/10/12

The little, narrow rowhouse was quiet. All them traffic noises and sirens stayed put on the big streets. This one was off to the side and tucked in by itself. Ain't got no lawn, jus' a bitty place for like a bush and maybe somethin' else. Little Chrissie and her grandma did like to keep things in order. Floor was old. Guess it's some kind a vinyl. 'Sposed a look like off white stones. I don't know...maybe. Ain't no big space. Must be rough cookin' a turkey in that little oven. But it clean. Look like a Leave It To Beaver kitchen, if Leave It To Beaver was poor. 

Ricky watch her make them hotdogs. Bell go off. She take 'em out. Get the rolls. Not rolls, really, these more like plain, white bread shaped like rolls. She say - What you want on yours?..... He say - I  don't care. Whatever you got is all right...... So she give him mustard, the real yellow kind and some sweet pickle relish. Cooked three hotdogs, actually. Cut third in half and fixed it up so they could split it. Table got two chairs. He take one. She take the other.  Them little spaces is OK, 'cause cozy feels good too. 

First they take a bite, chew it up and look at each other.  Little Chrissie say - Is it all right? I ain't much of a cook. Hotdogs, oatmeal and Auntie Anne's bake-at-home soft pretzels........ Ricky say - What else do you need? .... Then she grin. Then he grin. If you listen real hard TV noise from upstairs drifts down a little bit. Sound like Jay Leno. Mister Never-You-Mind do like television, even though it come long after I dead. Dead eye see too, you know. Ain't no back-a-the-head for dead eyes. Less them what got the dead eyes wants there to be. Baby sleepin' too. I know 'cause I jus' seen him. He all right now. Breathin' good an' everything. If y'all got real little ones and they say they had 'company' some night, believe 'em. Everybody likes babies, 'specially dead folks.

Little Chrissie say - So, you ready be a killer?... Then she laugh a little and shake her head..... Ricky swallows piece a hotdog and says - That depends...... Depends on what? - she say...... He go - On how much it cost a fix my roof...... She give him half a bag a barbecue potato chips. But it not the big bag. This one got like three and a half ounces. Cans a cold soda is for in the living room, after. They watch kid what come on after Jay. His name 'Jimmy' too, 'cept he ain't the one they thinkin' 'bout killin'. Kiss a little bit on the couch, but not too much. Pictures of her dead folks make it not such a good smooch an' tickle place. Gandma fix up little room in the back. It tiny, maybe seven by ten. I seed hard shell-eatin'-crab tables almost as big. Got a bed. Got a chest. No little lamp, jus' a florescent circle on the ceiling. Floor wood. No rug. When they go up he say - This for me?....... She tug him back a little and whisper - No, this is....... So he climb in wit' her. Front room big, but that been split up. Half for grandma and half for baby. Sheets is cold. All he got on is them bitty, cotton man-panties what folks wears now. She got a soft, little tan brassiere an' tiny lady-panties what look like jock-strap for a eunuch. First they lay quiet. He don't know what he 'sposed a do wit' a baby and a grandma so close by. But she do. Little Chrissy start rubbin' his stomach. He got nice little stomach. Does 'crunches' on a floor, front a television at home. He do push-ups too. That just how he is. She likewise got a real interestin' body. Little waist. Round bootie. Chestesses very interestin' too. 'Bout two minute later they all of a sudden get tired a them outfits and pull 'em off. Guess that big, ole puffy quilt thing warmer than it look. Grandma snore a little bit. But they doan care. They doin' other things...

Next day at work, Marty lay it all out. This what he tell 'em. He go - Fifty thousand dollars now, plus half what I give Jimmy every year...... Ricky say - How much you give him?..... Marty go - 'bout two hundred thousand dollar and that fifty more than I keep for myself..... How you figure it all out? - say Little Chrissie.... It come to me in a dream. - he say. My father walk out a 'frigerator and go ' fifty thousand dollar and hundred thousand dollar a year three times.' Then he grab a piece a pumpernickel bread and go back inside. Guess he want the butter..... Ricky say - And that's it?..... Marty slowly nods. He look like he ready a cry. Place all quiet. He close it down a hour from four to five, when shift change. Give 'em time to clean up the lunch mess. Drink somethin' cold. Evacuate they bowels. Big Chrissie not in yet. John out front baggin' trash. Other kids playin' 'round. Marty go - Well? It be happenin' to somebody what already a ghost. Not like nobody gone come lookin'..... Then he gets even quieter and adds - An' he do deserve it. He a hater. You know that. Nazis... Auschwitz... babies. An' Chrissie, he think you jus' a cheap, little tramp......... Nobody talks. They just sit. Look like they mesmerized by the sound of a vacuum cleaner from out in the 'hall.'

But when Jimmy shows up a little later, he got two guys wit' him. Greasy, black, leather jackets... Black pants... Soft, leather. slip-on shoes. They his 'crew.' Straight off the plane from Odessa. And them what knows 'mafias' know how they do in 'Odess''....

Even 'Muscles' looks....

______________________________________________

  

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...

_______________________________________________

8TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/8/12

So that's  how it went. Marty dropped hints. He said stuff. He whispered. Nobody else heard. Nobody else saw. He made 'eyes' at them. Hinted what it's like to have money...real money. And you know he keeps the heat up in there, 'cause it makes them 'bossies' sit longer. Gets cold at home. Heat costs money. Old man yells. He got a blanket. He got his beer. What he care? Wife don't wanna watch no ball game. She says so. Gets cursed. Tells her to go to hell and buy her own television set. So she runs out to where everybody knows her name and gets drunk on low ball gambling endorphins, plus a few salty, soft pretzels and a lot a coffee.

Jimmy makes the coffee when he's here. Likes it strong. Likes it 'Europe style.' 'Kava' they call it where he comes from. Thick, rich, black. And I don't know how his false teeth keep from getting stained from all that coffee. Maybe he paints 'em? Who the hell cares. But Marty cares. He's gettin' scared. Jimmy wants money. He wants real money. Trouble is, so does Mrs. Marty. So he gotta figure out which one gonna stick a knife in him first. Little Chrissie sees him. She sees him cry. Buys a steak sandwich. Don't finish it. That is very weird for him. Then he just crumples it up in the oily paper and throws it in the waste basket. She takes it out and knots it up in a plastic bag from the supermarket. You know, the rats and mice would smell it otherwise. And they work with enough rodents as it is. 

Big Chrissie gettin' crazy too. Mutters to herself. Drops quarters. Gives out too much change. Look at her. Face gettin all damp and greasy. That girl puttin' on weight. She look sloppy. OK, OK, OK, so she used to look just a little bit trashy. But trashy and sloppy are two different things. Yo, weren't they part a the seven dwarfs?

Jimmy took the title to Marty's car, a Lexus, a big one, seventy thousand dollars. He wanna sell it. And Marty gonna let him, 'cause he knoiw he owe Jimmy more than that. Tell Mrs. Marty it no good. Tell her he gettin' rid of it. . She say - What you gettin' instead?..... He say - A cancer..... She say - That's nice.

Little Chrissie finally take her boy to a doctor. He look him all over. Wanna sell her circumcision operation real cheap. Say look like baby gone need it. She say - Thanks, we'll think about it....... He say - You want him have pee-pee trouble?..... She say - Ain't got no pee-pee trouble now. What you talkin' 'bout?......... Doctor say - Nuthin'........ He know she not gonna go for it. Give her a permission a buy drug note. Tell her she gotta give girl in office a hundred and twenty five dollar...... Only he don't say it. Sign say it. Hundred and twenty five dollar price for them what ain't got no insurance. Lucky everything don't go that way, or nex' you gonna need I-wanna-buy-a-egg insurance. You know people gonna grab and rob less you tell 'em not to. That jus' the way world is..... But baby do get mostly all better. And grandma only gotta mush up wit' two lousy old bastids a pay for it. 'Mush up' like a glorified lap dance and she don't mind that too much. 

Ricky gotta get that roof fixed. Water go glub, glub. glub. He gotta bucket in back room to catch it. I not talkin' 'bout what percolate down through bathroom floor. I talkin' 'bout what come in through the roof. Gut say he patch it all up real nice. Only cost seven hundred dollars. Roofer and doctor mus' be cousin....

Marty take 'em back to the steak house. They feel funny, but they do like steak. You know how it is. Marty start talkin' 'bout Mussolini again. Say it nice that kids like them know 'bout history. Say mos' kid think 'IL DUCE' like some card in Puerto Rican deck or something...... They just look at him an' eat. Ricky got New York strip steak this time. Cost two dollar more than before. Little Chrissie got petite lobster tail on a side. Look like a crawfish what got o-beast to me, but she like it. Cost four dollar more than last time. Red table cloth still clean, though. That a good sign....

Then Marty say outta the blue - You know Jimmy know lot about history too. 'Specially European history. 'Specially 'bout the nineteen forties......... Ricky just say - Yeah? (he got his malf full)........ Marty say - Yeah, he know all about it?........ Little Chrissie go - How old that Jimmy?....... Marty go - He seventy one year old. He old enough. Bastid raised by God Damn fuckin' Nazi collaborator. A guard..some pervert..in a death camp....... Ricky go - Whoa, which one, Auschwitz?..... Marty go - No, worse... Treblinka... the pervert son of a bitch.

Little Chrissie go - Lemme ask you something. If you're a Jew, how can you stand to work with him?........ Marty go - I'll tell you later. Remember, he not the uncle. He jus' the nephew. But he jus' like him. you should hear how he go when he get drunk. An', Chrissie, what? You think only Jew should have trouble puttin' up wit' that?..... She looks. She gets it. She got a baby. She know how it is.

Then Marty just break down and cry. No noise. Just put his face in his hands and cry. Couple in next booth look over. But Ricky cover up. He say - Man, some people get 'cryin drunks' like nothin'..... Couple look away. Then Marty pick his head up and sniff. Chrissie wipe some snot off wit' her red napkin. It polyester. It wash out real good. Two heartbeat later Marty laughin'. Waiter go buy. Marty say - 'scuse me, can we see the dessert menu?

They eat strawberry short cake. Pieces real big. Like wedding cake for midgets. It taste good, but night still 'funny'..... more funny than last....

Marty start whisperin' under his breath - Jimmy should die...Jimmy should die... Jimmy should die...... Ricky say he gotta shut up, 'cause lady in nex' booth lookin' again.....

_______________________________________________

7TH NANoWriMo Novel In A Month episode 11/7/12

Bingo Boy - post 7

Ricky sits in his living room. It's cold. The heat's set on sixty degrees. There's one of those little swirly low watt light bulbs in a small lamp by the sofa. But the room is dark. A thirteen inch Daewoo color television sits rigged up to one of those little converters. That's how he gets TV. Not cable, this is free TV, the equivalent of free, government cheese. If it wasn't for PBS, it'd be torture. OK, so he likes The Voice too. But most of it is shit. Plinko is OK. Look, I'm just one of the narrators. I'm just a ghost. My name is Evelyn. How ya doin', kid? Nice to meet you. I used to live right off the 'avenue.' Frankford Avenue. You know, where the bingo place is. My street was all right. Neat, little houses. Nice porches. Row houses, but better. We kept up. Didn't have like a lawn. But there was a little place for flowers and a rose bush. Them lousy dogs used to pee all over it. And every month it got worse and worse. You know you can't say nothing. One word and they'll kill ya. Pit bulls too. They got pit bulls. Mean ones. Big ones. Strong ones. And swattin' out big turds is like what they're known for. I tell the guy - Excuse me, but could you keep your dog off my plants?... OK, so I said 'your God damn lousy dog.' Is that any excuse for he and his brother-in-law to bust into my house and bash my skull in? Kids cried for a week. My daughter up in Levittown is still sick over it. And she got type two diabetes. My husband was already dead, so his head was OK. Boy, was he surprised when I showed up. I said - Well, are we still married?...... My mother-in-law, she was a real bitch, made a big stink. She says - Keep walkin', you sloppy bitch you. He ain't married to you no more!.... But then she remembers where she is and shuts up. Don't wanna get evicted. So she just sits there suckin' on her cigarette and givin' me dirty looks..... Are we back wit' each other? I don't know. I guess so. But what was I tellin' you?.. Oh, yeah, Ricky. Things is bad for him. Things is real bad. I tell him he should sell the house and get out a there. He don't know it's me. He don't know me as Evelyn. I'm just like a little voice. His mom don't like me. She says - Look you, loud mouthed bitch, where the hell is he supposed to go!? The husband sits quiet. He don't wanna fight..... And I know what she means. It's not like he's gonna get a lot. What, a hundred thousand or less? An' he ain't even gonna get that. Place needs at least twenty thousand dollars worth a work. Lemme tell ya, nobody helps anybody. Chrissie, the little one, wants a move too. And she ain't even got no house to sell. Place belongs to her grandmom. She ain't gone no where. She like a whore. You know that? Not guys off the street. A list. She had a list. Big guys. Big names, like bosses from the gas company, executives. You know, all in nice suits. They wore nice suits. Had a whole set up down in the cellar. Clean...it was real clean. Walls all white. Floor all shiny. Jail cell in a corner. Like an actress, a game player. you know, them tight leather outfits and bustiers. Did I say it right? One a those whip women. Like Madonna, or Lady GaGa, only wit' out no big record deal. Made money too. Most of it went bye bye at the casinos. But she still got some. Not much, but some.

Ricky wants a sell a few toys, last ones he got from the old days. Computer says they worth maybe twelve hundred dollars all together. But nobody gonna give him that. So he sittin. He thinkin'. He watchin' Charlie Rose. They talkin' 'bout the election. Country got problems... Everybody got problems. Ricky eats pre-packaged, supermarket cold cuts for dinner. Slimy 'smoked' turkey meat... Spongy, watery ham. Least it protein. Least it not peanut butter. He try callin' Jewish Family Service. They give him a name. He goes, talks to a guy what sells light bulbs to storekeepers. Don't that sound scrumptious? Guy say Ricky can help sell 'em. Guy say he make maybe thirty thousand...maybe. Bingo joint better'n that. Marty pay minimum. Yeah, he jus' pay minimum. But you gotta remember all them tips. Ten dollar payout, he gets a dollar. Twenty five dollar payout, gets him three dollar. And they got payouts every four or five minutes. Yeah, them other bingo kids get some a the tips. And them shill bitches don't tip nothin'.  But still, if Ricky pocket like six or seven tip an hour, that come to least fourteen or fifteen dollars. Wit' his regular pay, that make twenty two dollar. One day give him over a hundred thirty. An' the tip part is under the table. You  gotta be like substitute school teacher make money like that. Plus they pay more taxes. Payin' taxes is shit. In that way, Mister Never-You-Mind is a -'publican. Yeah, it been me the last few minutes. Can't you tell? 

You know Jimmy, the old guy, the Ukrainian guy, slap Marty sometime? Call him names. Put down his beliefs. Spit in his face. But Jimmy got the money and Marty need him. Not so much no more. Needed him back when they started. Needed the money then. You know bingo license cost money. You gotta spread it 'round real good, if you want one a them. Jimmy like a silent partner now. Only lately he not so silent. Lately he getting worse, like a boss what on Doctor Phil. An' bingo girls not like how he pinch they ass cheeks and grab they breastesses. Not like he politely ask permission or nothin'. He jus' do it like he at a buffet. Old wimmens playin' laugh. Cough up snot wads and laugh. They go - Oh, Jimmy! You so bad! You so bad!....Then he call 'em lousy names and they laugh some more.

Marty want a kill him. He do. He really wanna kill him. Don't know how. He scared. Still believe in God and all, but he wanna kill him. Think 'bout all kind a things. Shovel to the head. Set him on fire. Push him off a bridge. Everybody gotta dream. Right? Got reason for it too. Got big reason. I tell you later.

Now he eatin' supper. Ricky wit' him too. So's Little Chrissie. They at some steak house. I like how steak house smell...salty and hot and good. They got a booth. It warm. Squeak when butt move over it. Got bread on the table.... Eye-talian style bread. Little candle in little red glass, candle house. It not a real candle. It like a battery flicker candle. But it look all right. Red table cloth clean too. 

Marty chewin'. He eatin' real fast. Chompin' on salad (wiff blue cheese dressing). Shakin his leg. You know, that mile a minute tremblin' thing they do when they nervous?.. Then he start talkin'. Then he go - I mean it. I mean it. I mean it. I been meaning to do this for weeks, ever since you two first started. You're good kids, good workers and you deserve more than I can afford to pay you........... Then he get real quiet. Kids don't know why they there. But free steak is free steak. An' it do taste good.......... Marty think for a minute, gulp some wine and say - Jeeze, wouldn't it be great if we didn't have to  put up with an asshole like that God damn Jimmy? What do you think about that guy? What do you really think about him? I mean is it me? Is it just me? Am I crazy, or what?

Ricky says - No, you're not. You're not crazy. I hate him too. He is not one of my favorite people. He curses us. He insults us. Jew this and Jew that. Zhid this and Zhid that. He knows I hear him. He don't even care. And this one (pointing to Little Chrissie) is 'the leetle whore.' God I hate his voice. No... he is not one of my favorite people.

Marty scootches over (it's a 'u' shaped booth), leans in and whispers - What do you mean 'not favorite? Like Adolph Hitler 'not favorite,' or Jerry Lewis 'not favorite'?

Ricky eats a real good, ripe, cherry tomato, slathered in dressing and goes - I don't know. Maybe like a Mussolini 'not favorite.'.............. Little Chrissie goes - Yeah, like Mussolini........ They been drinkin' a lot a wine. But that OK, 'cause Marty brung 'em in a taxi..... Don't want nobody seein' him drivin' them 'round in his car...... He don't want nobody see nothin'...

_____________________________________________