“HOW WE doin’ tonight?” I say into the mike. The Hole is packed as usual. Sosh is holding court as always with all the uniforms and disciples who think he’s the shit.
It started raining an hour ago, around ten o’clock, really coming down. The Sox barely got their game in before the storm hit out of the blue. If it had come sooner, maybe Gio would’ve been spared the shellacking the Astros gave him.
The cops who got caught in the rain on the way to the Hole are shaking it off, nursing shots at the bar.
Next to the stage, they put a bucket to catch drops from the ceiling, a decent wet spot. I gesture to it. “Looks like the Hole in the Wall might have a hole in the roof.”
They like that, a little warm-up.
“Hey, Morty, I’d lend you a hand, but I haven’t had such good luck lately with roofs.”
That one works. Most everybody knows about Prince Valentine from K-Town. And Carla’s and my adventure with the lookouts on the roof in Little Village last night, not that much more than twenty-four hours ago, is still the talk of the place.
“Most people, they climb onto a roof, the one thing they’re thinking is, ‘Don’t fall.’ Me, I’m thinking, ‘Duck!’”
Sosh raises a glass to me, makes a comment to his friends.
“Hey, Sosh, am I holding up one or two fingers?”
He flips me just one, the middle one.
“Lanny, he don’t count so good,” I say. “Just kidding, Sosh. You just had poor intelligence. Same thing the nuns at Brother Rice used to tell you.
“Next time, just remember, Sosh: the number of lookouts on the rooftop equals the number of alimony payments each month.”
The crowd likes it. Soscia’s an easy foil.
“I know what you’re thinking—you can’t believe Sosh couldn’t make it work with his wives. When he got married the first time, he told me, he never knew what happiness was till he got hitched—but by then, it was too late.
“The second marriage, though—you’d think he would’ve known better. When the minister asked her to say a few words about him, she said, ‘Overweight and cheap.’
“Which isn’t fair!” I add, raising a hand. “When the check arrives, Sosh is the first one to put his hand in his pocket. The problem is, it never comes back out.
“No, seriously. Sosh will pick up a bill. He’ll pick it up and hand it to someone else.”
We laugh at what’s true.
“Sosh is so cheap that when his second wife wanted a pearl necklace, he gave her a piece of string and told her to start a collection.
“He’s so cheap, he won’t even pay attention.”
I can do these all night.
“He ordered free-range chicken for dinner because he thought it didn’t cost nuthin’.
“Ask Sosh if he has change for a twenty. He’ll give you a quarter.”
I hit the bar when I’m done. The bartender has a bourbon waiting for me. He says the coppers like it when I do a few minutes, so this one’s on the house.
That’s me, the funny guy, the comedian. The comedian who’s killed three perps in the line of duty in the last week. Ha-freakin’-ha.
“I forgot you had a sense of humor.” Marsha Flager takes the seat next to me.
“You did? It’s my most endearing quality.”
She raises her hands. “Didn’t mean to offend. Don’t shoot me or anything.”
“You’re safe; we’re not on a roof.”
She takes a long, hard look at me, then slides a manila envelope out of her bag and into my hands.
“Are you sure you’re safe, Billy?” she asks. “Because after reading what I just found, I’m not so sure.”