(Published in 1999)
PART SIX
So we’re walking down the street, kicking at the trash on the sidewalks—seems like there flattened plastic cups everywhere—when Ray grabs my arm and pulls me into another sleazy bar.
My tastes run towards the clean, well-lit drinking establishments at this point in my life, like the lounges at Holiday Inns—shit like that—but I’ve spent my share of time in places like Marlene’s. It’s like, music on the weekends, drugs all the time. Good jukebox, nice looking chicks, drugs all the time.
So there I am, all fucked up—don’t know if I’m coming or going—and sometimes I think Roy is walking us right into a police sting operation of some sort. Then the Percs wave through and he suddenly becomes this magical spirit merely showing off to impress me. Showing me how to find the Hole-in-the-Day and other indispensable lessons for a life on the road. Stuff you need to know to be free.
Time goes by, and I’m trying to have some fun, I swear to god. But I just can’t get into it. These chicks that Roy is hot on are sisters; I thought they were Indians at first. Turns out they’re Italian Jews, name of Stolten. Goes to show you never can tell. I get kind of interested in the older one (Ava) for a bit, but after about thirty minutes her drugs kick in and she goes from being stupid to moronic in an instant, and I feel kind of sick. Kerouac must of been in more interesting bars than this…. Pretty soon I can’t take it any longer; shit is building up. I tell Roy to meet me outside, without the women.
He gets out back. I’m taking a piss by the dumpster. You spend a lot of your time pissing by dumpsters in my style of life. “Roy, my friend,” I say, shaking it off and sticking it back. “I need your expert help. And I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Seriously folks?” he cracks. “My fellow American, you have my ear.”
“Roy buddy, oh mystical guide to the Hole in the Day, I’m going to tell you something. No, never mind, I’m not. Changed my mind on that one. I do need a car though, Roy. A car that no one’s going to notice: Mr. Workaday’s car. I really need to get out of this place, you see. I’ve got some really pressing business just a few hours away from here. The fuckers aren’t answering the phone. I need to get up there right away before—ah—in case something’s wrong. What can you do for me, pal?”
“Why don’t you just rent a car, Don? There’s plenty available, even up this far north.”
“I don’t have any credit cards, my friend. Master Card and Visa run the world, partner, and if you ain’t playing their game, you ain’t renting no fucking car.”
“Man of the world like yourself, Don, you don’t carry any plastic?”
“Don’t act so goddamn surprised. How many cards you got?”
“I had a bunch, a few years back when I was working at the casino, but I’m afraid the accounts have all been temporarily severed from my possession. I guess they expect you to pay the money back.”
“Yeah, ain’t it a pisser—banks and their gall.”
Roy sighs softly and stares up at the almost full moon. I watch a rat scamper underneath a shiny blue Chevrolet. Down the way a car horn bends its searing note to the intoxicated neon night.
All of a sudden, Roy says, “Shit…. I left my bag inside with Trudy and Ava. Those whores’ll steal me blind.”
He takes off for the door.
(To be continued)
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