In late January of 1978, with football season over and hopeful Christmas tree lights throughout the vast northern winter darkness switched off in defeat, full-time cabdriver, sometime card shark Keith Waverly witnesses the violent abduction of a local street hustler. Later, when the man is found with his head ventilated by bullet holes, Waverly is dragged into a world of high-rolling gamblers, crooked politicians, violence and really bad weather, with only his wits and his new girlfriend to pull him out.
CHAPTER 8 – Acid Reflux
Excerpt 7
I drove to a spot on Fifth Street across from the Boulevard Lounge, walked across the street and started searching for Johnny Wells’ big Chevy. Found it in the back parking lot, nose-up to the rear door of the bar in a spot marked Management Only Violators will be Towed.
The blood pounded in my head.
I thought about going back inside but put the kibosh on that. I was too fucked up. I considered standing outside by the backdoor but a cold and relentless freezing drizzle was coming down—and even I knew enough to stay out of the rain.
I had to talk to Mary and say my piece. That was what Stephanie wanted.
The fuck did I care what Stephanie wanted?
I owed Mary.
Why is that?
Because she said she loved me.
Did she show any love on that stage tonight?
I don’t know.
She’s doing hard drugs. There’s a warrant out on her. She can’t be trusted.
What am I doing here then?
I don’t know.
I should leave.
But now there she was.
Out came a steady stream of people. I watched Mary peel off to the side, reject an overzealous fan and stop alongside Wells’ car. She leaned against the bricks of the building, pulled a cig from the pocket of her most-likely-new black leather jacket, and fired up. Took a big drag and blew smoke into the rain. Then a deep pull of fresh air, holding it in for a few seconds, head tilted back.
I followed her gaze up to the streetlight. Shining, blinding, raindrops fell. I was almost to her before she saw me. Shock and a wry, groggy amusement played over her tired features but she still looked sexy in her black stockings and burgundy thigh-high skirt. I tried to say something but she beat me to the punch.
“You fucking loser,” she said with a snarl. “What are you doing here? You didn’t want anything to do with me. I’m a stripper—remember? And you’re just so damn good, aren’t you. Ain’t it that the same old story. Ain’t that how it is.” Her voice was metallic, like a spoon rapping on a counter top. “Now I got a real man, so why don’t you split before he comes out and kicks your ass. I don’t want him thinking I’d have anything to do with someone like you.” She pawed the ground with the toe of her knee-high black boot and looked away from me.
“What the hell are you talking about, Mary? You expect me to believe that shit? Or is this some weird way of punishing me for your own delusions?”
Coherence wasn’t coming easy for either of us.
Mary scowled and spit out her words: “You don’t have to have anything to do with me if you want—that’s fine.” There was moisture welling in the edges of her eyes and my chest was about to explode. “Why did you come here? Why did you do that to me?” Her voice cracked.
“I don’t know. Something came over me. I was drunk. The band was weird. My brain broke. Why do we need a reason? How about this thing with you and Wells? What about all those things you said about him before? They’re not true anymore? Stephanie told me a few things about Johnny, like he’s a baby raper, for one. Or maybe you knew that. Did you know that?”
“Steph’s just making that up because she wants Johnny back.”
“Popular guy for a grease ball. Why don’t you just split, Mary? Get out of this town for good.”
Who was saying these words? I wondered. Who was making this body move?
Surely not me.
“Steph is just saying it because she wants to be where I am. I’m tired of running. And Johnny gives me things—things I like. And I make good money. Everywhere I go—everyplace else—I always have to leave.”
“That’s such bullshit. How can you even say that? Can’t you see what Wells is trying to do?”
“Somebody looking for me?”
Wells was standing there in the rain sneering, his narrowed eyes locked on me. He flashed that thin and viciously gleeful grin I‘d seen once before. He was wearing the same ugly leather jacket and the same pointy-toed boots as that time at the Castaway. Screw baby raper, this guy was a killer. Crazy Harvey Dornan knew it but could no longer tell anyone about it.
I stared in Wells’ face like a drunken fifteen-year old defending his first love from the neighborhood bully. “Yeah, I am,” I said with as much bluster as I could muster.
Then his gloved left hand flashed out like a snake’s tongue and crushed my nose. My knees slammed down on the wet gravel. I spit blood and tried to clear my head. I’d been expecting the right hand. His fists were like lead. Then a boot crashed up into my chin and I saw green and red stars and everything went fuzzy. Too gone to beg for mercy, gang.
Goodbye, goodbye, I’m diving into this puddle.
Sounds and voices now—lots of voices—and scuffling in the gravel. Johnny was yelling. Mary was close to hysterical.
Out of my one good eye I saw some bikers dragging Wells back toward the door of the bar. It was Big Dog and Frank and some pals. They formed a ring around Wells and wouldn’t let him get to me.
Then a kind-eyed man in a light-colored golfing jacket helped me up off the ground and held me steady. He tried to keep from getting blood on his jacket but I think some got on there. “You’re in rough shape,” he said, studying me with concern. “Maybe you should go to the hospital.”
“No, man, I’m all right,” I wiped away blood and mud and bits of gravel from my face with my sleeve. “That asshole just straightened out my crooked nose for me, that’s all.” I was about to puke on the guy’s nice jacket.
Pain of a different kind surged through me when I caught sight of those hurting brown eyes staring out from behind a row of cars. I saw tears through the rain.
“Why won’t you leave Johnny and I alone?” she yelled out, just a hint of panic at the back of her throat. “You know how it is. Why don’t you go away, you weirdo?” Then she gave me one last sad look that made me think this wasn’t over yet, turned and walked quickly back into the club.
The show must go on.
Dead Low Winter available on ebook at all online bookstores.