and had a little nip.
After all, there was still the Red Sparrow and Cindy Bass. I took out a coin and flipped it: heads, Red Sparrow; tails, Cindy Bass. It came up tails. I smiled, leaned back in my chair and thought about her: Cindy Bass. Nailing it.
32
Well, to celebrate my progress as probably the greatest detective in L.A. I closed the office, took the elevator down and hit the street. I tried walking south, did, hit Sunset Boulevard and strolled along.
Problem with Sunset, in my neighborhood, there weren’t many bars.
I walked along. Finally found one, half-a-class place. I didn’t feel like sitting on a stool. I took a booth. Here came the waitress. She had on a mini-skirt, high heels, see-through blouse with padded brassiere. Everything was too small for her: her outfit, the world, her mind. Her face was hard as steel. When she smiled it hurt. It hurt her and it hurt me. She kept smiling. That smile was so false the hairs on my arms rose. I looked away.
“Hi, honey!” she said, “watcha havin’?”
I didn’t look at her face. I looked at her midriff. It was exposed.
She had a little paper rose, red, pasted across her bellybutton. I talked to the paper rose.
“Vodka and tonic with lime.”
“Sure, honey!”
She minced off, trying to roll her buns attractively. It didn’t work.
At once, I began to get depressed.
Don’t, don’t, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take. Everybody was screwed. There were no winners.
There were only apparent winners. We were all chasing after a lot of nothing. Day after day. Survival seemed the only necessity. That didn’t seem enough. Not with Lady Death waiting. It drove me crazy when I thought about it.
Don’t think about it, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take.
The waitress arrived with my drink. I put down a bill. She picked it up.
“Thanks, honey!”
“Wait,” I said, “bring me the change.”
“There isn’t any change.”
“Then, consider your tip included.”
She opened her eyes large. They were blank.
“What’re you, a god-damned cowboy?”
“What’s a cowboy?”
“You don’t know what a god-damned cowboy is?”
“No.”
“That’s somebody who wants a free ride.”
“You think that up yourself?”
“No. That’s what the girls call them.”
“What girls? The cowgirls?”
“Mister, you got a bug up your ass or what?”
“It’s most probably ‘what.’”
“MARY LOU!” I heard this loud voice, “THAT ASSHOLE GIVING YOU
TROUBLE?”
It was the bartender, a little guy with beetle brows.
“Don’t worry, Andy, I’ll handle this asshole.”
“Yeah, Mary Lou,” I said, “you’ve probably handled a lot of assholes.”
“WHY YOU COCKSUCKER!” she screamed.
I saw Beetle Brows vaulting the bar. Good trick for a guy his size.
I slammed my drink down and rose to meet him. I ducked under his right and dug my knee into his privates. He dropped, rolling on the floor. I kicked him in the ass and walked out onto Sunset Boulevard.
My luck in bars was getting worse and worse.
33
So I went to my place and drank and there went that day and that night.
I awakened about noon, eliminated some waste, brushed my teeth, shaved, mused. Didn’t feel too bad. Didn’t feel too much. I got dressed. I put on an egg, let it boil. I drank a glass of half-tomato and half-ale. I let the egg run under cold water, peeled it, ate it and then I was as ready as I would ever be.
I picked up the phone and got Jack Bass at his office. I told him who I was. He didn’t seem happy with me.
“Jack,” I told him, “remember that Frenchman I told you about?”
“Yeah? What about him?”
“I got him out of the way.”
“How?”
“He’s dead.”
“Good. Was he the one?”
“Well, he was in contact with her.”
“Contact? What the hell you mean by that?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Try me, Belane.”
“Listen, I’m trying to nail Cindy’s ass. That’s why you hired me.
Right?”
“I don’t
After all, there was still the Red Sparrow and Cindy Bass. I took out a coin and flipped it: heads, Red Sparrow; tails, Cindy Bass. It came up tails. I smiled, leaned back in my chair and thought about her: Cindy Bass. Nailing it.
32
Well, to celebrate my progress as probably the greatest detective in L.A. I closed the office, took the elevator down and hit the street. I tried walking south, did, hit Sunset Boulevard and strolled along.
Problem with Sunset, in my neighborhood, there weren’t many bars.
I walked along. Finally found one, half-a-class place. I didn’t feel like sitting on a stool. I took a booth. Here came the waitress. She had on a mini-skirt, high heels, see-through blouse with padded brassiere. Everything was too small for her: her outfit, the world, her mind. Her face was hard as steel. When she smiled it hurt. It hurt her and it hurt me. She kept smiling. That smile was so false the hairs on my arms rose. I looked away.
“Hi, honey!” she said, “watcha havin’?”
I didn’t look at her face. I looked at her midriff. It was exposed.
She had a little paper rose, red, pasted across her bellybutton. I talked to the paper rose.
“Vodka and tonic with lime.”
“Sure, honey!”
She minced off, trying to roll her buns attractively. It didn’t work.
At once, I began to get depressed.
Don’t, don’t, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take. Everybody was screwed. There were no winners.
There were only apparent winners. We were all chasing after a lot of nothing. Day after day. Survival seemed the only necessity. That didn’t seem enough. Not with Lady Death waiting. It drove me crazy when I thought about it.
Don’t think about it, Belane, I said to myself.
It didn’t take.
The waitress arrived with my drink. I put down a bill. She picked it up.
“Thanks, honey!”
“Wait,” I said, “bring me the change.”
“There isn’t any change.”
“Then, consider your tip included.”
She opened her eyes large. They were blank.
“What’re you, a god-damned cowboy?”
“What’s a cowboy?”
“You don’t know what a god-damned cowboy is?”
“No.”
“That’s somebody who wants a free ride.”
“You think that up yourself?”
“No. That’s what the girls call them.”
“What girls? The cowgirls?”
“Mister, you got a bug up your ass or what?”
“It’s most probably ‘what.’”
“MARY LOU!” I heard this loud voice, “THAT ASSHOLE GIVING YOU
TROUBLE?”
It was the bartender, a little guy with beetle brows.
“Don’t worry, Andy, I’ll handle this asshole.”
“Yeah, Mary Lou,” I said, “you’ve probably handled a lot of assholes.”
“WHY YOU COCKSUCKER!” she screamed.
I saw Beetle Brows vaulting the bar. Good trick for a guy his size.
I slammed my drink down and rose to meet him. I ducked under his right and dug my knee into his privates. He dropped, rolling on the floor. I kicked him in the ass and walked out onto Sunset Boulevard.
My luck in bars was getting worse and worse.
33
So I went to my place and drank and there went that day and that night.
I awakened about noon, eliminated some waste, brushed my teeth, shaved, mused. Didn’t feel too bad. Didn’t feel too much. I got dressed. I put on an egg, let it boil. I drank a glass of half-tomato and half-ale. I let the egg run under cold water, peeled it, ate it and then I was as ready as I would ever be.
I picked up the phone and got Jack Bass at his office. I told him who I was. He didn’t seem happy with me.
“Jack,” I told him, “remember that Frenchman I told you about?”
“Yeah? What about him?”
“I got him out of the way.”
“How?”
“He’s dead.”
“Good. Was he the one?”
“Well, he was in contact with her.”
“Contact? What the hell you mean by that?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Try me, Belane.”
“Listen, I’m trying to nail Cindy’s ass. That’s why you hired me.
Right?”
“I don’t
Similar Books
