'Z says you been working with him,' I said.
'Since he moved in here,' Henry said.
'How's that going?' I said.
'Fine. I got a couple rooms here I keep, case I need to stay late, or whatever.'
'You're too old for whatever,' I said.
'Depends how often whatever comes my way,' Henry said. 'Lately I've been trying to cut back to one a day.'
'Successfully, I'll bet.'
'Sure,' Henry said. 'Anyway, Z's got a lot of potential. And it looks cool to the ladies for me to be boxing with the Big O.'
'I like his potential, too,' I said.
'He's quick,' Henry said. 'He's very strong. And he's a real good athlete, you know? He picks everything up quick. Got a woman here, teaches martial arts, she's been showing him a few moves. He doesn't mind learning from a woman. He gets it at once, and . . . he's amazing.'
'And he's tough,' I said.
'Absolutely. He'll work himself until he gets sick.'
'He wants it,' I said.
'Whatever it is,' Henry said.
I picked up another donut.
'You know what it is,' I said. 'You used to want it, too.'
Henry smiled.
'I got it,' he said. 'He juiced?'
'He was,' I said.
'Has the look,' Henry said. 'He needs to get off them.'
'I'll make the suggestion,' I said.
Zebulon Sixkill VII
The club was in Hollywood, and the haul back and forth from Garden Grove was long. So when his month of grace ran out, Z got a one-room apartment on Franklin Avenue, from which he could walk to work.
The club had a fancy front facade with a scary-looking black guy named Deevo working the door. He had a Mohawk, and a scar on his jawline. Z worked inside, where there was a long bar, a lot of waitresses in short skirts, and a small stage upon which nude women danced and did stand-up comedy. The crowd was largely male. But there were always some couples there that got heated up by the naked performers. Many of the people who came were regulars, including a famous movie comedian named Jumbo Nelson, who was there several nights a week, usually with young women, and a tall bodyguard in a black suit who used to lean on the bar near Z and watch Jumbo.
Z had been working the club for six months when, on a crowded Friday night, with a heavy rain coming down outside, Jumbo Nelson slid his hand up the dress of a dark-haired woman sitting at the next table with a male companion.
'Hey,' the woman said, and slapped at his hand. 'You see what he done, Ray?'
'I seen,' Ray said.
He stood and walked to Jumbo and grabbed him by the collar. Z started over, but the bodyguard got there first.
The bodyguard said, 'Ease off, pal.'
Ray picked up a beer bottle from Jumbo's table and swung it against the bodyguard's forehead. The bottle broke and the blood began to run down the bodyguard's face. Z arrived and gave Ray the same kind of forearm that he had used to ward off tacklers. It put Ray down. Deevo arrived, and he and Z got Ray on his feet and walked him out with the wronged woman behind them screaming that they wanted their fucking money back. Deevo stayed outside and put them in a cab. Z came back in and put a folded Kleenex over the cut on the bodyguard's face. He taped it in place.
The bodyguard said he'd get it stitched later, after he drove Jumbo home. Later, on his way out, Jumbo gave Deevo and Z each a one-hundred-dollar bill. He also gave Z a business card.
'I like your style, Tonto,' Jumbo said. 'Gimme a call, might hire you.'
