twenty-seven

Traffic was awful. I barely had to step on the gas at all. I drove the crosstown distance mostly using the brake pedal and the bit of forward momentum offered by the drive setting on the van’s transmission. I didn’t crash and completed the first leg of the odyssey without incident. I was proud and surprised.

I pulled up to what seemed to be some type of garage. A man in eyeglasses began screaming at me for blocking his driveway. Al was a tall man with one leg, his pants altered with the empty side neatly folded and pinned just above where the knee had been. There was a crutch beneath his armpit and his long, rectangular face was tinted jaundice yellow.

Par for Lou’s course, Al was not expecting me. Nobody in Lou’s world outside himself ever expected anything. His whole operation was run on a whim, on impulse and the assumption that things would always go his way in the end. No coordination or prearrangements were needed because Lou was certain that everyone else would anticipate and understand his needs through some form of telepathic communication. It was a system that proved to be an abject failure, malfunctioning every step along the way.

I tried to explain to Al who I was, who sent me, and why I was there, but he wasn’t at all interested in hearing me. His lone concern was to get my van the fuck away from his driveway. This meant parking two long blocks away because my attempt to double park on the West Side Highway was met with the wrath of the evening commuters. I locked up the van and walked back to deal with my new friend Al.

My timing was incredibly bad, my visit a terrible inconvenience, and Al was holding me personally responsible. There was disgust and disdain in every word he slung at me.

“What the fuck do you think, that I’m at every asshole’s fucking disposal? . . . I don’t want to hear it . . . I don’t run a fuckin’ clinic that’s open to the public without appointment! . . . Do I have to fuckin’ cater to every jerkoff, dopehead, and drug addict?”

This went on as I followed Al through his warehouse and toward his ringing telephone. I was to blame for everything wrong with his life, including the mental deficiencies of his nephew and probably also his missing leg, which I began to think was several pounds of flesh exacted by the universe for some heinous crime he’d committed against nature.

“Cuntlapping faggots!!!” he exclaimed after answering the phone only to discover that he was too late. He banged the phone down and with rage-shaking hands reached for his cigarettes. He turned to face me and took a long drag. By the time he exhaled he had calmed down a little. I once again explained to him why I was there and who sent me.

“I shoulda fuckin’ known. The blind leading the fuckin’ blind.”

“Yeah,” I said with a little chuckle.

“Well, what are you standing here for? Bring it in” was his reply.

I asked if there was anyone to help me unload.

“Yeah. You’re looking at him.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. I didn’t want to offend him so I just said, “Okay.”

He looked away from me and bent his mouth into a thin, crooked grin. “Yeah, right. My numbnuts nephew is on his lunch break.” He took another deep inhale and coughed loud. “You’re gonna have to wait for him if you can’t bring it in by yourself.” His words came out mixed with long trails of smoke.

“I can’t lift it by myself,” I confessed.

“Isn’t it on casters?” he said, but I didn’t know what he meant so I just shrugged. “The amp. It should be in a case with casters on the bottom. Little wheels.”

“No, no case with wheels. We used a dolly when we brought it down from his apartment.”

Al shook his head, smiling sarcastically. “Your boss does everything bass-ackward, you know that? I was supposed to get the case too. That was the deal. It’s always some shit with him. That’s why they call it dope . . . you know what I’m saying, right? I should send the fucking thing back.”

I was happy that the verbal abuse had stopped so I agreed with him.

“Okay, pull it into my driveway and let’s see what’s what,” he said as he walked me to the door, steady and nimble for a man on one leg.

I was able to drive the van the two blocks back to Al’s pretty easily. I felt some new confidence in my driving ability and thought that maybe I had underestimated myself and what I was capable of. Al was waiting beneath the open garage doors. I got out of the van and walked around to its back doors.

Al was giving the van a good once-over. “I like your truck. What do you charge?”

“For what?”

“For hauling. I need another backup ’cause my main guy is retarded and my backup is a borderline moron. What do you charge?”

I didn’t know how to answer his question. I didn’t even know if I was getting paid for this at all. Lou didn’t mention money. I asked Al what he paid his regular guy as I opened up the van’s rear doors.

“Depends,” Al replied as he came around to look inside at the giant amplifier. He shook his head.

“I can’t believe that jackoff forgot the case. Can you bring it by later?”

“Sure,” I lied through my teeth.

“Course, I’m not gonna pay you extra ’cause that was part of the deal. That’s his fuck-up, not mine.”

“Of course,” I said matter-of-factly. Al and I were on the same side now.

“Arright. Close it up and lock it. We gotta wait for my nephew.” Al sighed heavy. “Let’s go relax till dipshit gets here. You like root beer or Pepsi?”

“Root beer.”

“I got orange too. You like orange?”

“I do. Thanks.”

“Nehi, not Crush. That okay, Hopalong?”

Al had one leg but I was Hopalong.