Skin and Bones

Chapter 1-2

It was a slow day in the Nickel. Most weekday afternoons were. A couple of unemployed mill workers sat in the corner by the window drinking draws and arguing about who should be playing quarterback for Toulouse High.

From his barstool Downing said, “You think that old bastard will croak ’fore his term’s up?” He was smiling. His broken front tooth seemed to be looking at Lou. He pointed up at the television news which was showing Ronnie with some damn commie. They were all smiles, but Lou figured under the surface they were plotting extermination on both sides. He shrugged. He wasn’t a voter and politics are for smart people, not bartenders. He preferred reruns of Bonanza.

“Look at him, bullshitting those Ruskies. Goddamn Republican is going to get us into another war,” Downing said, reaching down the back of his jeans to scratch his bony a*s. “He should have croaked when that crazy sonofabitch shot him.”

Downing exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke through his nostrils and it settled over the mug in his hands making it look foamy and lethal. Lou imagined Downing taking a hearty swig, his already screwed up face contorting, his buttery yellow eyes rolling back in his skull, a long agonizing gasp, and his corpse hitting the filthy wooden floor like bag of hammers.

Downing laughed.

“I see you grinning over there, Lou. See, we have something in common. You want the old bastard dead too. It’s for the common good.”

“Yeah, it’s plenty fine with me when an old bastard dies for the common good.”

The front door swung open and in walked a couple of girls, a tall brunette in a short skirt that showed off legs that went all the way to her a*s and a short redhead trailing apprehensively behind her. The redhead’s boobs bopped up and down under a tight red sweater. From where Lou was standing, he was able to gauge Downing’s expression. The old man looked at the tall one and smiled. When he saw the short one his grin widened like he was the wolf fixing to have a go at Little Red Riding Hood.

The tall one stepped right up to the bar. Now Lou’s boss was also the owner of the bar and he had one steadfast rule–when attractive young girls come into the Nickel, they’re of age, even when they aren’t. Sexy young things are good for business; keep the old wolves coming back.

The girl flattened her skirt and tucked a b*a strap. Lou sighed and nodded. She gave a sideways look at Downing. She sat down on a barstool like she’d done it a thousand times in a thousand other beer halls. She nodded toward the stool next to her but her friend stayed back.

“What? You afraid of heights?” She glanced at Lou and smiled. Her friend took the hint and sat down.

Lou dumped the butts from the ash tray and asked, “Okay then, what can I get you ladies?”

“We’ve had a hell of a day at the office,” the tall one said.

The redhead was chewing her bottom lip, the fresh coat of lipstick coming off on her teeth. Lou would have bet a week’s pay that she wasn’t even old enough to drive.

“Well, how about a pair of amaretto sours?” She looked at her friend and the redhead nodded.

Lou went to fetch the drinks. It didn’t really matter how attractive they were. If they looked like they just got off the Virgin Express, Downing was sure to make a play. He planted himself on the barstool next to the redhead and commenced his usual line of bullshit faster than green grass through a goose.

“Well, my, my, my. I haven’t seen such pretty girls in this old barn in years. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t never have to buy a drink.” He smiled. The tall brunette returned it. The busty redhead swallowed hard.

“Lou, you put these girls’ drinks on my tab.” He slapped a fifty-dollar bill down hard in his customary fashion. “All night long.”

Downing offered them a smoke. The brunette accepted. The redhead shook her head no, but her friend elbowed her in the ribs and she changed her mind.

Lou placed drinks in front of them.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Joe Downing’s my name. That there,” he said pointing to Lou, “Is Lou Aberdeen. He’s a real peckerhead but we tolerate him.” Then he set to laughing like an i***t. The girls looked at Lou like they didn’t know whether they were supposed to laugh or not. Downing took the opportunity to crane his neck in an effort to get a look down the redhead’s sweater, which came down to a V between her breasts.

“So, what are your names?”

The brunette c****d a thumb in her friend’s direction and said, “This is Eunice.” The redhead shot her a look. “And I’m Desiree.”

The three guys by the window had swung their chairs around so they could see the action at the bar. One of them held up an empty pitcher and Lou filled a new one. He didn’t want to miss anything so he hustled it over to them.

“Cuties aren’t they,” said a middle-aged guy named Alan, a regular who had a few rough edges but was a joy to have around compared to Downing. “How long until one of them knees him in the grapes?”

Lou shrugged, “What’s the over-under?”

Alan looked at his two friends. One of them said, “Can’t be more than twenty minutes.”

“Nah,” Alan said, “Mother Theresa don’t have the patience to put up with that crusty old asshole. He’ll wear them out pretty quick.”

Lou returned to his post behind the bar. He enjoyed nothing better than watching an attractive young woman dump her drink—paid for by Downing—on Joe Downing.

“I’ll tell you girls what I’ll do,” Downing said. “I’ve got a couple puppies, cute little Australian Shepherds. Damn cute little dogs. I just don’t think I can sell them because they’re kind of the runts of the litter. If you girls want to come out my place we can have a drink out there, and I’ll just give them to you.”

“Wow,” said Desiree, “That’s really nice of you. I love puppies.”

The redhead turned so quick Lou thought her neck might snap. She glared at her friend.

Desiree changed the subject. “And these drinks were really nice of you too.” She held up her empty glass. Downing saw it and shot Lou a look.

“You’re falling down on the job, Lou. These girls need a fresh one and don’t skimp on the booze. You gotta watch him. He’s a tight ass.”

Lou went about making two more while Downing pressed his invitation further.

“You should see them little balls of fur. Any person who don’t like a dog just ain’t all there in my book.”

The juke box fell silent, giving the girls an out. Desiree hopped off her barstool and dug in her pocket for change.

“I run that juke box over there. My money goes in, my tunes come out,” Downing said, adding, “But I’d be happier than a puppy with two peckers if you’d come over and help me pick out some tunes.”

She agreed and half way across the room he slipped an arm around her waist. Her friend groaned.

Lou placed a fresh drink in front of her. “I hope she doesn’t pick any of that bullshit country music. I’m so tired of Red Sovine.”

“She won’t.”

“Good to know. So, what do you think of him?”

“He smells like he sleeps with goats,” the girl said, taking the cherry out of her drink and pulling it off its stem with her teeth. Then she slipped off her barstool and crawled up on the one her friend had been sitting on.

The opening bars of Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them” perked up Lou’s ears. If the old man hadn’t been buying the girls drinks, Lou would have put them on the house just for saving him from that goddamn cheese-wiz country and western.

“Told you,” the redhead said.

A moment later, Desiree came prancing back, alone. She frowned at the change in the seating arrangement. “You can be a b***h if you want, but remember he’s buying.”

The redhead snatched the cherry out of her friend’s glass and popped it in her mouth. “So, where is he?” she asked.

“The restroom. And you’re never going to believe this!”

“You’re in love?”

Desiree gave her the finger.

“No smart a*s,” she said in a loud whisper. Lou turned around and pretended to be washing some shot glasses. “He just offered me some pot!”

“No,” the redhead exclaimed.

“I mean, I’ve never even smoked pot. My brother does. I’m pretty sure he does anyway. I mean, he’s the one that turned me on to Pink Floyd. Doesn’t everybody who listens to Pink Floyd smoke pot?”

The tables had turned and Lou was the one wearing the wolfish smile. The old bastard suddenly seemed to come into focus with a whole new clarity. Lou laughed and the girls looked over at him, surprised somehow that he was listening to their conversation.

“It’s a bar, not a public restroom, girls. You mind your own business in the pisser. You mind everybody else’s in a bar.”

“Did he try to sell you some grass?” asked redhead.

Her friend laughed, “Hell no. I guess back in the day girls didn’t buy their own pot either. He wanted to give me some.”

The redhead clicked her tongue and said, “Free drinks, pot, and a puppy, you’re in love with the world’s nicest guy. It’s all too good to be true.”

“And you’re the C-word.”

The redhead shrugged.

And like all things that are too good to be true, this one came to a screeching halt, but the girls were arguing under their breath about the merits of milking the situation for all it was worth and didn’t notice. In had walked a cop. Lou felt his heart skip a beat.

Trying like hell to act casual, he snatched the towel he’d been pretending to wash the shot glasses with and made for the girls’ drinks, hoping to hide them in it before the cop could get a good look at them. As soon as he made his move, both girls pulled them back.

“What the hell?” the brunette said.

“I’m not done with this,” the redhead chimed in.

The cop cleared his throat and the Booze-Hound-Bobsy-Twins turned in unison to find him smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“May I see your identification, ladies?”

He held out his hand.

“We don’t have them,” Desiree said. “But we were just leaving anyway.”

“Yes, you were,” the cop said, “with me.” And then he turned to the guys over by the window, who were watching the proceedings with rapt attention. “The Wooden Nickel will be closing early today. You best make sure you’ve got a sober driver because some of my associates are on their way.” He was enjoying himself.

To Lou he said, “I watched these two young women come in here and thought to myself, surely old Lou will send them right back out on their ear. And I waited, and I waited, and I waited. And now you’re in deep for selling alcohol to minors.”

He picked up the brunette’s Amaretto sour and sniffed, nodded and asked, “What are your names girls?”

The redhead said, “I’m Bethany Lane.”

They all looked at Desiree who answered slowly, “Bernice Sloane.”

“You two girls are going to have a little talk with me and your parents, and maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky, and your records are clean, that’ll be all. Otherwise, you might get to have a long talk with a juvee officer, or maybe a judge, or maybe both.”

The guys by the window quickly chugged their beers. The Floyd wrapped up and Wings went into “Band on the Run.” Joe Downing stepped out of the restroom with a big old s**t-eating grin that slid right off his face like it was made of stone. Lou thought about ratting him out that very moment for the w**d, but he figured the girls would deny it. It didn’t matter because as soon as the thought came to him, the cop turned his attention Lou’s way with a diatribe about the law and underage drinkers and all of that. Lou stood behind the bar, possibly for the last time, and pretended to take it all in, but in reality, he was looking over the cop’s shoulder at Downing whose bowlegged stride carried him out the door with the quickness and agility of a man half his age.