might be “Car Wash.” Roman stares out the front windshield, eyes still focused on the bar’s front door. I try to picture happy endings and all I get is the nightmare image of Yvonne. There is no happy ending anymore and all I want now is to go home. I want to leave NewYork, I want to be with my family and be safe again and forget.
– Will you help me?
Roman is silent.
– Will you still protect me from Ed and Paris and get me off the hook with the cops? Will you still protect me?
Roman scratches his earlobe and nods.
– Nothing changes. Get the key and bring it out and I will help you. But do it now and do it quickly. Dawdle, and we’ll have to come in.
I pet Bud, climb out of the car, and cross the street over to Paul’s.
They’re listening to Black Sabbath. Edwin loves Sabbath. He has all the CDs from the original lineup loaded into the jukebox. It’s his party music. I take a look through the little window set into the door and, sure enough, it’s a party.
Edwin and Lisa are on the bar. Edwin is doing push-ups and Lisa is sitting on his back. A small group of regulars is gathered around them, keeping count, shouting out the numbers as Edwin pumps up and down, showing no sign of strain or stopping. From the door I can see Wayne, the ex-marshal, and his hippie girlfriend, Sunday.Also Cokehead Dan and Amtrak John. It’s an after-hours party and, by the huge lines of coke Dan is cutting on the bar, I’d say it’s not ending anytime soon.
I look at Roman’s car. The Russians have gotten back in, and I can’t really see anyone. I give a little wave and the headlights flash back at me. I take out my key, unlock the door and go in.
Paul’s was a Thai restaurant until Edwin bought it. He gutted the whole thing and rebuilt from the floor up. The place is just a long hallway, about four yards wide and twenty deep, with a bar running down the right wall, an elbow-high ledge running down the left and thirty stools scattered between. The bar itself is an antique Edwin bought at an auction, as is the mirror behind it. He put in hardwood floors and an old-style tin ceiling with insulation and another plaster ceiling above it so the noise wouldn’t bother the landlady, who lives right upstairs. It works great.
Edwin is a bit past fifty but still built like a tractor. I’ve watched him carry a full beer keg on his shoulder up and down the cellar stairs. He’s still grinding out push-ups as I walk down the bar, apparently going for a personal best. The crowd is reaching a crescendo with the count and Edwin is finally slowing down.
– Forty-three! Forty-four! Forty-five!
His record with Lisa on his back is fifty-three. He did around fifteen once with Amtrak on his back, but Amtrak weighs about 280. With nobody on his back Edwin can do push-ups until everyone just gets tired of counting.
– Forty-nine! Fifty! Fifty-one!
The natives are really whipped up. “Children of the Grave” has just started screaming out of the juke and Lisa is giggling uncontrollably on Edwin’s back. She tries to take a sip of her greyhound, spilling it down her chin. Edwin is now shaking and grunting. Sweat is racing down his face and arms.
– Fifty-two! Fifty-three!
Edwin gulps air and Lisa gets down a big slug of vodka and grapefruit juice as he ratchets himself up again and again and again.
– FIFTY-FOUR! FIFTY-FIVE! FIFTY-SIX!
The record is shattered and Edwin collapses on the bar. He rolls to his back, tumbling Lisa to the floor behind the bar, where she lands, still giggling. Edwin gasps and shouts.
– Reward me! My just due! Reward me!
The gang applauds and cheers. They pour beer into Edwin’s open mouth and dig bills from their pockets to throw at him.
It’s a good party.
Edwin spots me when he boosts himself back up on the bar.
– Sailor! Thereya are,yafuck!
Everyone turns to see me, and they send up a new cheer.
– SAILOR!
They all toast and take a drink.
– Sailor,how goes it?
– Hank. How’s ithangin ’, Hank?
– Did you see the fucking Giants game, man? Mets, man, it’s all about the Mets now.
Edwin vaults down from the bar and rushes me. He wraps his arms around my middle, lifts me from the floor and squeezes. All the air rushes out of me and I make little squealing noises.
– Yalittle girl,ya little fucking girl. Get the beat shitouttaya andya quit!Yalittle fucking girl.
His arms are locked around the wound and my arms are pinned to my sides and I can’t get enough air to tell him to let me the fuck down.
– What’s a matter, little girl? Looks like he’s gonna cry here.
Edwin starts to swing me around and around. Everyone is crazy, laughing. Amtrak shakes up his beer and sprays me with it while someone else pelts me with peanuts. Lisa picks herself up from behind the bar and sees the action.
– Edwin! Edwin, forchrissake, Edwin, put him down. EDWIN!
She walks over to the juke and pulls the plug.
– Edwin, for fuck sake put him down, he just had surgery.
Edwin stops spinning and sets me gently on my feet.
– Oh, fuck! Fuck, Hank, I’m fucking sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking, man, I’m just glad to see you, man.
– It’s cool, Edwin, I’m, man, I’m really glad to see you, too. It’s great to see all y’all.
This sets off another round of cheers and Edwin grabs me by the back of the neck and shakes me a little. He’s totally fucking loaded. He’s got booze-sweat pouring out of his skin and his pupils are pinned up tight from the coke and the whole place reeks of weed. He steers me over to the bar by my neck and waves to Lisa.
– Set ’em up,Leez. Gobblegobble, Wild Turkey all around, all around.
Lisa grabs the bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and starts filling shot glasses while everyone packs around us at the bar. Someone turns the music back on, but it’s not Sabbath anymore. There’s a wind sound and a bell and the opening organ notes to Elton John’s “Funeral for a Friend” fill the bar. I put my mouth close to Edwin’s ear.
– Edwin, man, I need a favor.
He looks at me and nods and smiles.
– Sure, sure, man, anything.
– No big deal, but that little envelope I gave you to put in the safe the other night, I need it now.
– What?
– The envelope, man, I need it.
– Here, drink. Drink!
He shoves a shot glass into my hand and pushes it toward my face.
– Edwin, man, I can’t really drink anymore.
– “Can’t really drink.”Hear that?Motherhumper was in here falling off his stool other night. Now he can’t drink.
– Seriously, Edwin, I need to get into the safe, man.
– Fucker quits on me without, I might fucking add, the traditional two weeks’ notice and he won’t have a drink with me.
The group is into it, egging him on and yelling for me to drink.
– Edwin, man! This is important and I’m kind of in a hurry.
Edwin looks to his audience.
– The man is in a hurry.A hurry! Well, you better hurry up and drink that drink, man.
Another cheer.Everyone is holding their shots aloft, chanting.
– DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!
– Edwin, please.
