…suicide ain’t nothing but a shortcut to where you would of probly wound up anyway…
Monroe D. Underwood
It was pushing midnight.
Wallace came over with another bottle of Old Washensachs.
My tenth.
Or fifteenth.
Give or take a few.
Wallace said you got anything going just now?
I shrugged.
I said I was on a case earlier today.
I said I blew it.
I said my client was very satisfied.
Wallace gave me a look and went away.
I lit a busted Camel and listened to Old Dad Underwood and Shorty Connors discuss bowling.
Old Dad Underwood said lift is of the utmost importance in bowling.
He said you got to raise your bowling arm very high so you look like the Statue of Liberty.
He said of course you must be careful not to raise your other arm in the same fashion on account of people will think you are being held up and they will call the police.
Shorty Connors said it is unwise to raise your bowling arm very high until you have rolled several balls.
Old Dad Underwood said I never roll several balls.
He said I just roll the same ball several times.
Shorty Connors said if you raise your bowling arm very high before you have rolled several balls you are likely to wind up with a rupture.
Old Dad Underwood said for your information a rupture is no longer referred to as a rupture.
He said a rupture is now referred to as a hernia.
Shorty Connors said well no matter how you refer to a rupture you can bowl a whole mess of games for what it costs to get a hernia fixed.
A big red-faced guy came in.
He glanced at the sign above the third booth.
He walked over to me.
He said I’m looking for Chance Purdue.
I gritted my teeth.
I said there’s more to it than that.
I said you are also standing on his toe.
I said try to get off as soon as possible.
I said it hurts like hell.
The big red-faced guy got off.
He grinned apologetically.
He said sorry.
I said two minds with but a single thought.
I grabbed my foot.
The big red-faced guy sat down.
I unlaced my shoe.
I said Jesus Christ you’re heavy.
The big red-faced guy said I’m Suicide Lewisite.
I took off my shoe.
I caressed my toe.
I said there there baby.
Suicide Lewisite said I’m head coach of the Radish River Possumcats.
I put my shoe back on.
I said I think you missed your calling.
I said you should be smashing grapes in some winery.
I said preferably in Upper Maroovia.
Suicide Lewisite said we’re a minor league football team.
He said we blew our opener to Rhubarb Ridge 52-0 and we lost the next one to Sassafras Valley 51-0.
I said well cheer up.
I said already you’re showing improvement.
Suicide Lewisite said may God be with us when we play Cranberry Creek Saturday night.
I said I didn’t know God was interested in football.
Suicide Lewisite said oh he just got to be.
He said how else do you explain eighty thousand perfectly normal people coming out in a blizzard and paying ten dollars a copy to get double pneumonia while watching a game none of them understands which is played by a herd of overgrown numbskulls pursuing a ball that won’t even bounce straight?
I said I suppose I’m expected to ask how come they call you Suicide.
Suicide Lewisite said oh it ain’t compulsory or nothing like that.
He said but almost everybody does.
I shrugged.
I said okay how come they call you Suicide?
Suicide Lewisite said because suicide is a time-honored tradition in the Lewisite family.
He said the only Lewisite that didn’t commit suicide was my grandfather.
He said my grandfather got killed by a truck when he was five years old.
I said wait a minute.
Suicide Lewisite nodded and threw up his hands.
He said Purdue all I know is what they told me.
He said I’m the last of the Lewisites and last night I opened all the gas jets in the house.
He said this morning I learned that the gas company had terminated my service two weeks ago.
He said I’m inclined to believe that this may explain the recent soggy condition of my French toast.
I said that’s not all.
I said it may have had an adverse effect on your coffee.