After a Taco Bell dinner, Steve made a last stop at The Cue. A farewell to the old place. Bye to the ex-wife, bye to the pool hall. Bye to life as he knew it.
Only not bye to the thought of Ashley and Superlawyer thrashing around. It hadn’t taken her long. One thing about Ashley, she knew how to get the right things in life. He had been her only glitch, apparently.
Steve thought about it for only two seconds, then ordered a pitcher of Bud. He rented a rack and set up at the table in the back. He didn’t bother with a glass. Just drank from the pitcher and shot pool.
The balls on the table were the scattered remnants of his life. He made up a game. The harder he hit them, the better it would be. Every pocketed ball would kill a voice in his head.
Only the voices just seemed to get louder.
So he ordered another pitcher.
Somewhere along there a guy asked him if he wanted a game. Steve said sure and tried to roll the balls without rolling on the floor. Shots faded into other shots. The Cue got cut out with a saw and put on a slow-moving roller coaster. The green felt of the table got fuzzier. Time moved too fast or didn’t move at all.
And then, out of nowhere, this voice came into his ear. “A hundred you owe me,” it said.
“Mh?” Steve looked for the source and saw a guy who looked familiar, only he was moving back and forth in front of him, sometimes looking like two guys, twins, and big. He had a smell too, like sweat, like body odor. Or maybe, Steve thought, that’s me.
“A hundred,” the voice said. “We played for a hundred.”
“Hunnerd?”
“Yeah. Pay up.”
Pay up. That got his attention. “I din’n play for no hunnerd.”
“Yeah you did, and you pay me now.”
“Don’ got no hunnerd, why don’ I buy you a beer?”
The guy threw his cue on the table — Steve heard the sound of it, like thunder — then grabbed a hunk of Steve’s shirt and started dragging him toward the rear exit. The movement wasn’t a good thing for a stomach full of Taco Bell and beer and Steve thought he was going to lose it. Either way, he wasn’t in any condition to resist.
In a few seconds he was out in the back lot, then pushed up against the wall.
“Now you pay,” the guy said. He put his hand on Steve’s head and smashed it against the bricks.
Lights out.
Then swirls of light, and voices, and Steve feeling he was on his back and he knew he was inside The Cue again and a couple of guys were tending to him. And he smelled like . . . oh no, all over himself.
“You deserved it,” Gincy was saying.
Steve was lying on his sofa, head feeling like it was part of an Abe Lincoln rail-splitting contest. The guys at The Cue had made the call for him, and Gincy, loyal Gincy, had gathered him up.
Cleaned him up. Undressed him and threw his vomit-stained shirt and pants in the washer downstairs. Stuck him in the shower and gave him some oversized pajamas and made him lie down.
“I know,” Steve said. “What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t thinking, that’s the point. How much money did you have with you?”
“Huh? I don’t know.”
“He emptied you. At least he left your wallet and credit cards.”
“He cleaned me?”
“I put a couple of twenties in there for you, to tide you over.”
“Gincy, you didn’t have to. I’ve got some money in the bank.”
“Did you gamble with this guy?”
“I guess.”
“You were tanked up! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about my frat brothers.”
“What?”
“My fraternity in college. Tappa Kegga Brew.”
“Very funny.”
Steve sat up. Abe put an axe through his head. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Easy there, big fella,” Gincy said.
Steve rubbed his eyes, then his temples. The axe stayed in, chunked down through his brain and behind his eyes, and hit the water.
Steve cried into his hands. Couldn’t stop.
He felt Gincy next to him, then an arm around his shoulder, squeezing hard.
Steve fought to speak. “What . . . am I . . . gonna do?”
“Just be here,” Gincy said. “That’s all for now. That’s enough.”
For one night, it was. Gincy sat with him until Steve was cried out and finally fell asleep on the sofa.
Dreamless.