Their job’s to get you in. Sometimes though, they’ll just rob you.”
They made their way past the decrepit buildings and to a wooden structure with a painted sign out front that said “Bayou.” The bar was just a mass of dirty tables with drunken men yelling. The smoke was so thick you could barely see in front of you and the floors were sticky. A few worn prostitutes were placed throughout the bar and every few minutes one would walk to a back room with one of the customers.
Bill walked over to a table filled with American men. There were five of them and he grabbed two chairs and sat in one. Eric sat in the other and looked over the men.
They were all vets. The ones that didn’t wear the faded jackets still wore their dog tags. All of ‘em except one who was in a wheelchair. He was the youngest too, Eric surmised. The man saw Eric staring and looked over to him. “What’chya starin’ at faggot?” the man said. “Nothing,” Eric said. “Yeah, well keep your faggot eyes to yourself.” “Cool it Jim,” Bill said. “He’s all right. This is Eric, from LA.”
Eric watched as Jim stared at him, and then looked away. He grabbed a shot glass full of a thin black liquid and finished it without flinching. “Jim was hurt in Iraq,” Bill whispered to Eric as he leaned over. “Got home, and his wife had herself another man.” “Same thing happened to a friend of mine.” “Shit like that happens when you’s away for two years and you got a nice young wife at home.”
Eric looked over to Jim and watched him order another couple shots. He downed them as well and began laughing and joking with the man sitting next to him. Eric saw a colostomy bag on the back of his wheelchair. He looked to the other men; one was missing an arm and had his sleeve folded up to his shoulder. Another had deep scarring over his face. One, a white guy with a crewcut, appeared uninjured, but when he turned to the left, Eric saw a deformation in his skull. It made his head appear caved in, as if part of it was just missing.
“I gotta go,” Eric said, standing up.
“We just got here,” Bill said.
“I gotta go,” was all Eric managed to say as he walked outside. He left the bar and began making his way back. The young boy grabbed his arm as he walked past.
“You come,” the boy said.
Eric ripped away from his grip. “Get the fuck away from me!” he yelled. As he stormed off, the boy looked at him, puzzled at his reaction, and then began looking around for the next tourist.
CHAPTER
22
Eric spent most of the next day sleeping, getting up only once to use the bathroom. He waited until nightfall to climb out of bed and change into some clothes.
He met up with Ray at the park and they walked across the street and waited on the corner of an intersection, smoking cigarettes and watching the traffic. Every man or woman in a business suit that walked by would peak Ray’s attention and he’d ask them for change in his broken Thai.
Dak pulled up in a red Subaru, the door handle on the driver’s side missing. There was a purse on the passenger seat and Ray grabbed it and dumped the contents onto the sidewalk. There were twenty baht inside and he kept ten for himself and gave five to Dak and Eric.
Eric sat in the backseat, staring out the windows at the rainbow of lights from the restaurants and bars that were just getting into full swing for the night. The air stunk of exhaust and even at night he could see the black clouds of pollution hanging over the city like pus over a wound.
“Do you have a gun?” Ray said, not turning around as the car pulled onto a highway.
“No,” Eric said.
Ray pulled one out from a holster on his leg and handed it behind him. Eric hesitated, and then took it. It was greasy in his palm and heavy, bits of dried black residue falling out of it. “You sure this works?” Eric asked. “It’ll work.” “What about you two?”
“Don’t worry about us. You just keep an eye out. Me and Dak’ll grab the money. If anyone makes a move on us you shoot.” He looked back, his eyes cold. “You ever shot anyone before?”
Eric glanced up at him, and then back down at the gun. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, turning back around and throwing his cigarette butt out the window.
The bank was a small brick and glass building in between a restaurant and a mechanic’s shop. They pulled the car in front and looked in through the large windows. There were three tellers; two women and a young boy. A security guard sat at a desk, reading a magazine and sipping cola. “You get the guard,” Ray said to Eric, “we’ll handle the tellers.” He looked to Dak and then back to Eric. “Ready?” Dak nodded and pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from underneath the seat. Ray reached into his waistband and came out with a. 45. “Let’s go,” Ray said.
They left the car engine running and the doors open while they rushed into the bank, Ray leading the way with Dak behind him and Eric in the rear. Eric ran to the guard as the tellers started screaming and Dak began yelling instructions in his gruff voice.
Eric pointed the gun at the guard’s head and the guard raised both his hands. He started trembling and speaking in Thai. Eric couldn’t understand him, but knew he was begging from the sorrowful tone of his voice.
“Don’t worry,” Eric said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Eric looked over and saw Dak forcing a teller to stuff money into a plastic bag and Ray had his gun to the back of the head of the young boy and was yelling something at him. The entire space seemed to be filled with nothing but screaming, bouncing off the walls and floors, heavy in the air like a weight.
The guard said something and went to stand.
“Don’t move!” Eric shouted. The guard held his hands higher and started mumbling, tears starting to form in his eyes. “Sit down! Sit the fuck down!” He grabbed the guard by the shoulder and forced him back down into his chair.
“Let’s go!” Ray shouted, bolting for the door.
Dak struck the male teller in the face with his elbow, knocking him cold, and ran out. Eric reached for the guard’s gun, ripped it out of its holster, and followed them out.
They dove into the car and the tires screeched as Dak tore away from the curb and onto the busy street. He turned a corner on a red light and started driving on the opposite side of the road into oncoming traffic, the cars honking and swerving to avoid him. Eric held tightly to the seat, his knuckles turning white. But Ray was hollering with excitement and banging his fist against the roof of the car in celebration.
They heard sirens but were far enough away that it didn’t matter and Ray started laughing uncontrollably. Even stoic Dak cracked a smile and chuckled. Nothing in what they’d done struck Eric as funny.
They eventually merged with traffic, disappearing into the crowds. They drove for about an hour before stopping at an upscale hotel on the west side near the river. The lobby was all Persian rugs and marble busts. There was a huge abstract painting on the wall, red and black paint spattered randomly across a canvas. It appealed to Eric. Ray paid cash and flirted with the desk staff and they got a room on the fifteenth floor with a balcony overlooking the churning water.
They ordered hamburgers and fries from room service, Dak ordering Thai pasta with spices so hot they made Eric’s eyes water even though he was sitting across from him. They finished their meal and started on beer and champagne as they sat around the dining table and counted the money.
“How much?” Eric said.
“Works out to about sixty thousand dollars,” Ray said, impressed. “So, that’s like what, twenty grand each?”
They divided up the money to the last and then proceeded to get drunk. They turned on music and the television and Ray called an escort service and had three hookers sent over. They were younger girls, in their early twenties, and Ray had them strip as the three men sat on the couch and watched. Ray, unable to control himself, tore at his clothes and jumped on the girls, slobbering kisses over them. Eric didn’t move, he just watched and drank, the alcohol dulling his senses and repressing his libido. Dak rose and walked out on the balcony to smoke.
“He’s a fag,” Ray said, caressing one of the girls as she kissed another. “I wouldn’t call him one to his face
