Not Dogs, Roosters
ii

"Oh." She felt a little silly, as she often did when he used his teacher voice. But she had promised to be helpful tonight and so she would be. "Do you need me to show you where it landed?"

Jim nodded and walked around the table, the back of his hand trailing the edge. "About here?" He asked her.

"Um, yeah." She moved his hand from where it rested a few inches to the left. "This spot." Then she showed him where it had ended up, watching his face but all she could see was that he was thinking.

"I'll use the first cue."

"Will I put this other one away?" She held up the second cue.

"Sure, unless you want to learn some stuff while we're at it." Jim heard some people stepping up and the last thing he wanted was an audience. Perhaps they would think he was just teaching her if he showed her some shots too and they would drift away again, whereas the spectacle of a blind man trying to play pool might well attract an unwelcome audience.

"I'd really like that."

"Well, let's start with basics. Come." Jim held Christie around the waist while she bent over the table. He showed by example how to hold the cue and then, checked her grips at each end, running his fingers lightly over her hands. He shook his head and patted her hands.

"You're too tense, Christie. When you hit a pool ball, you need to be relaxed or the tension will translate into a wobbly ball. Where is your drink?"

"Here."

"Drink it all, quick." She grimaced and drank, then giggled. It reminded her of their courting days when they'd go 'slumming' quite a bit and he'd show off his skills at pool or show her off at the bar. She would drink quickly to rid herself of the nerves she felt at going out into unfamiliar territory, sometimes with people she would not normally have associated with.

"What you giggling about?" he whispered into her ear. "You having fun?" He put on a scandalized voice.

And she giggled more; it was rather like when they first went out, he was all over her, hands on her hips, lips on her ear. In those days, he had been able to send another man away with a glare and his jacket swinging open to reveal his badge or his gun.

She turned and looked him in the eye, then dropped her gaze. It seemed unfair sometimes that she could look at him and he couldn't look back. "It's like when we first met." She whispered back keeping her little sadness out of her voice.

"Mm, wanna go parking on the way home?" he used his old line.

"Win me a game first, Jimmy, win me a lota games." She returned her old line.

A wistful look traveled across his face and disappeared under the more usual visage he wore since the shooting; not exactly blank but calm and ready, showing nothing. He blinked slowly, as if avoiding eye contact. "Well, let's see if I can manage the basics first hey?"

He showed her the different weights of shot; what you would use for a close shot, one where you wanted depth or one that had to bounce swiftly off a cushion before it hit its mark. "Most newcomers to the game just hit too hard too often. Especially in the early stages you're trading speed for accuracy."

"And later?"

"Once you know what you are doing, you can be accurate and forceful, but it takes a good eye."

Every shot he showed Christie, he also took: straight shots, cue shots, draw shots and stun shots. All the basics and slowly one at a time until she got it right. As he showed her, reviewed the fundamentals himself, and tried them again, the idea that this was beyond him faded. Maybe this wasn't another thing he had to accept or replace.

In the beginning he'd estimate where the ball ended up, walk around the table and she'd place his hand on the ball to show him the exact location. After a while, he felt confident that her grid calls were fairly accurate and the image in his head was solid. With the cue ball, she'd tell him where it was on the grid, then he'd hold his hand above the place she named and she'd move it if he wasn't accurate. He'd need some concessions, but maybe not too many, maybe he could do this. His mind fired up, his concentration sharpened and he felt a cool calm shift into gear replacing the adrenaline of the first moments.

Christie hardly remembered a shot. The differences seemed minor to her. After all, they were basically chasing little round balls around a table. But the feel of her man's hands on her, guiding her, moving her into position and leaning over her as she leaned over the table… Christie could feel the wine thrumming in her veins and found herself moving back, bumping into Jim, pretending it was an accident. She could see by the smile on his face that he wasn't so sure. She flirted with her husband in a way she hadn't done since well before he'd been shot.

Their time on the table was up too soon and Christie led him to the bar where she had a second wine. It didn't taste that bad after all, and he had another beer.

"Do you think we'll get back on a table again tonight?" she asked. She wouldn't mind some more of that closeness, but then, perhaps going home right now would be the best way to take advantage of the mood they had built.

"How would I know?" He voice was a little harsh, his expression incredulous. She did this so often, asked him how she looked, where something was, things that shoved it in his face. Then his expression softened. She didn't mean to, she just didn't think. Besides, it was his problem not hers and he shouldn't take it out on her. "Sorry, ah, can you see small stacks of money on the edges of the tables?"

"Yeah, on some."

"That's players marking their spot. So if you can see a table with no little pile, we can tag it." He held out a stack of coins. "Just match their amount."

The only table without several stacks lined up was the one in the centre. Jimmy wouldn't like that, she knew, he hated the thought of anyone watching him when his blindness showed. But he wouldn't know if she didn't tell him and she had had fun and he had said he was eager to see if he could still do this. "Can I help you little lady?" A short biker with a beer gut sauntered over when he saw her watching the table. She plastered a smile on her face to cover the disgust she felt.

"Um, well, I was wondering if my husband and I could have this table when you were done."

"Which one's your husband?"

Christie clenched her jaw. These places were so macho. It was always about the men; women here were basically ornaments. She smiled again. "He's the blonde police officer at the bar."

A bigger version of the man in front of her stepped up. "Table will be clear in about twenty minutes," he pointed with his beer at the first biker, "when I've finished wiping the floor with this little runt." The big man's voice wasn't as rough as his buddy. Under there somewhere was a cultured man. "You and your husband can have the table then if that suits."

Christie nodded and watched as the biker did a double take at Jim. Christie was used to such looks; it usually meant someone had just realized he was blind. "Your husband, he looks kind of familiar. Have you two been in here before?'

"No. We just thought we'd try this place, you know?" She smiled again and cocked her head.

He leaned over her, closing the space between them and whispered, "I wouldn't mention that he's a cop out loud Miss. It's not exactly a ticket to popularity around here."

"Thanks." She felt absurdly grateful to this man. She found it hard to look him in the eye. His arms drew her gaze instead. His tattoos were almost mesmerizing; snakes, coiled around his muscles, defining them, and making them even larger.

She looked away. Jim must be wondering where she was. He was sitting straight up and no longer facing the bar. "Thanks."

The big man smiled; she noted good, even, clean teeth. He nodded and went back to his shot.

Christie hurried back to Jim.

"That took a while." Jim had always been the protective sort, fairly jealous. She wondered if prompting a little jealousy would work in her favor tonight. No, probably not.

"It took while to find a table," she lied. "About twenty minutes the man said."

Jim nodded and picked up his beer. "How about we go watch and learn some more before we give it another go?"

She picked up her wine, he held her arm and they took seats that overlooked the table where the bikers played.

Heads together she described what she saw; he explained and predicted shots. His smile was wide and genuine. She hadn't seen him like this for a long long time. "You're really getting into this."

"Yeah, it's good." He took another slug of his beer. "You know that night Tom and Marty took me out to the bar and we watched the basketball game?"

"Hmm." She remembered him coming home nostalgic, something about missing being out with the guys. But he was such a homebody these days; she didn't think he wanted to go out. She dragged her thoughts back to what he was saying.

"It was really good of them to invite me, and even though I know they were trying to get me to spill about Karen and her boyfriend, I really felt included but…"

"Mm?" she prompted.

"The game, I ... I just couldn't see it. No matter how well I listened and with Tom's comments. And…" He shook his head and then stretched his neck. "… it was a let down."

Christie was a little skeptical. What did he expect? "But with this?"

"This is different. I can see the whole table in here." He tapped his forehead. "For example, the shot he's about to take; I'm imagining him playing it long, he's right down low near the green and doing it really slow."

Christie watched the action unfold just as Jim described. It was almost creepy." Yeah, how did you know?"

Crack! The balls flew.

"It went in the top pocket and now he's about to tap his cue on the ground."

"Jim, that's amazing." Christie really was impressed. "How…?"

"He's probably top speed player here, so he could afford to take that risky shot. Chances are he would." Jim took another sip of his beer. "Lucky for me the rules of this game include calling every shot you intend, ball and pocket."

"Yes, but how'd you know he'd tap his cue?"

"He does it every time he's happy with a shot. Watch." Jim gestured to the table where the big man was shooting again. The ball rolled up to the pocket and tumbled in slowly. His frown turned to a smile and he put his cue to the floor with a light double tap that Christie could see but not hear.

"And you knew he was happy because you heard it go into the pocket."

Jim smiled and raised his glass to her. "It's pretty easy to follow. Feels good."

She put her hand on his and kissed him on the cheek. "So now I'm going to have to go trawling the pool halls to find you and Hank late at night?" she teased.

"I wish." He snorted. "I still need the blow by blow description." He gestured toward the table. "Can you imagine Big Boy here being happy to filling me in?" he asked, using her nickname for player #1 who was winning the game easily.

She laughed, "No, you're right."

"So you won't have any trouble finding me, 'cause you'll be there." He kept a straight face. Finally the image of her goldfish mouth made him laugh. He forgot to duck and she hit him square on the shoulder.

"How're you going trust me now, when I tell you what he hit?" she teased back, whispering in his ear, but his attention was back on the table in front of them, his head cocked and his brows drawn together in concentration.

"Christie, is that the last one now?" Jim demanded. "They've only got the black to sink right?'

"Yep, and he's trying it now."

"With a Masse?"

"What?"

"The cue almost vertical?'

"Yeah."

She watched and he listened, the silence thickening as the player readied. Crack! Thwok. The sounds of the ball hitting the pocket and sinking were unmistakable.

"Nice shot." Jim's voice projected a little further than he intended.

"Thanks." The words came from someone walking up toward them. "Your table I believe, Madam?"

Jim smiled tightly and cocked his head. Men had always flirted with his wife. It never seemed much of a threat before, but now, when he couldn't judge the look in their eye, when all he had to rely on was their voice, he wondered if it was such a good idea to bring Christie to a place like this. He checked his weapon behind his back and listened carefully.

Christie blushed. "I hope you don't mind that we were watching - Jimmy's been teaching me and…" The smaller biker nodded to the man in front of them, grabbed his leathers and helmet, and walked off. She lost her train of thought; the remaining biker was studying Jim closely.

"Jimmy?"

Jim frowned uncertainly, "Jim Dunbar, and you are?" He held out his hand. A handshake was another way of weighing up someone he didn't know, and gave him a pretty exact positioning.

The man took his hand but did not let go immediately. "Jimmy from Red Hook?" he asked.

Jim held an open expression on his face. "And you are?" he repeated.

"Cracker Jack." Belatedly remembering his manners the man let go of Jim's hand and turned to Christie. "Ah, Jack Benson. Nice to meet you ma'am."

"Christie Dunbar." She shook his hand too, surprised to find it pleasantly cool and dry.

While his wife and Cracker Jack made pleasant acquaintance, Jim remembered the man. Big, beefy, an ace at pool, he couldn't get much more than that from his memory. Jim had only had one run in with him; Jim had won a big game and wondered what he had brought down on himself when he was invited to met up behind the pool hall. But it turned out the big man only wanted to request that Jimmy stay off his turf and win his money elsewhere. Easy enough to comply with.

"May I have a word, Jimmy?"

Jim sighed. "Maybe some other time. I said I'd show my wife a few-" Jim started to turn away.

"Jimmy, please?" The man did not sound angry or tense, a bit whiney perhaps. Jim relented.

Christie had taken up position beside him, holding tightly to his arm, just like when they dated all those years ago. He smiled down at her; she had no way of reading the situation. When it came to men jostling for pecking order, she was quite blonde.
Christie squeezed his arm. "Honey, I'm going to visit the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute."

Jim hesitated.

"I'll be fine, sweetie," she reassured him.

Jim nodded. He couldn't very well say no. "Okay, Honey." He moved back to the chair he had vacated and sat up on the tall stool.

"Don't you remember me?" Cracker Jack asked.

"Sure, I remember you."

"You didn't recognize me. You've been sitting here watching for what, half an hour?"

"Jack, I …" Jim massaged his eyes under his glasses and then removed them, his gaze floated somewhere over Cracker's right shoulder. "Jack, I can't see you so, no offense alright? Christie's never met you and so while it looks like I've been sitting here watching you, in fact I've been watching a game between Big Boy and Swifty." He tried to add a laugh, but it came out pretty weak. "That's what Christie named the two of you."

"You can't see?" Cracker Jack stared at Jim's eyes. "Wow. Well, you hide it well. I never realized." Jim could feel the man's hand moving across the space in front of him. Fuck, he hated when people did that. Jim nodded and moved to get off his chair.

"No, wait. Your wife is still in the bathroom and your game can wait a few minutes, for old time's sake?"

"Old time's sake?" Jim was incredulous. "Last time you saw me you threatened to shove my cue up my ass if I ever showed up in your hall again."

"Yeah, but that was before I found out you were a cop."

"Lucky." Sarcasm dripped from Jim's words.

"Yeah, I probably would have done it if I'd known." Cracker laughed a big belly laugh and slapped Jim on the back lightly. "Things were different then. We were kids and this was my turf you were playing in. You were winning money that was supposed to be mine."

Jim smiled. "That ten grand hurt, huh?" Jim had won some serious money in those days. But it was better than being on the take and he thought of it as moonlighting.

"You have no idea." Jack pulled a sleeve up and revealed a long twisted scar than ran from elbow to wrist. "I got this because I couldn't pay the debt that ten G's was supposed to pay."

"Got what?" Jim grimaced.

"Oh. Here, see." Jack grabbed Jim's hand and brought it to the long ugly scar. Reluctantly, Jim felt the twisted and puckered skin. "It's tattooed over, snakes, to try and hide it, but…"

With a blank face Jim nodded and withdrew his hand. Then he leaned over and said in a loud hard whisper. "Jack, don't grab a blind man like that; it's really quite unnerving." He held his anger in, but really wanted this conversation to end.

Cracker Jack was silent. Jim wished he could see if the man was enbarrassed or angry. A nerve in Jim's jaw started jumping. He listened but could not hear Christie's steps. "Can you see my wife coming back?"

"Yeah, she's chatting with the bar maid." Cracker Jack turned back from checking the bar, and dropped his voice, he sounded embarrassed. "Blind? Like totally blind? Shit I thought you meant … I don't know… you just couldn't see properly or something. Imeanyour wife said you were still a cop and ..."

Jack eventually managed to shut up, feeling like an idiot. "What happened?"

"I got shot."

"Your eyes look fine."

"In the head."

There was some silence while Jack digested this information. "You still on the streets?"

"Yeah, I'm a Detective."

"Wow."

At least he didn't say he thought it was stupid. Jim raised his beer and took a slug. "You probably shouldn't been seen talking to me."

"Nah, I don't hang with the same crowd now. Saw too many of them go to jail. Shit you probably put them there."

"Murderers?"

"Some but no they mostly went in for theft, rape, you know."

Jim gave him a sour smile. "Then I probably didn't send 'em."

"You're a homicide detective?'

"Yep."

"Wow." Renewed respect showed in Jack's voice. "Here's your lady coming now. So what are you two doing tonight?"

Christie stepped up and put her arm around Jim. She looked at him fondly. "Jimmy's showing me how to play pool."

"Well, you got the best teacher. You know this man was the best hustler I ever saw."

"Don't listen to him Christie, and keep your hand on your purse." Jim quipped. Christie was back, he'd done the crappy conversation, and now he was going to get to strike some balls again.

Jack's belly laugh roared again. "Hey, Jimmy, you better use that table if you don't want to lose it."

Jim stood, "Come on, Honey, ready for more?"

"Sure." She put her arm in his hand.

"Good to see you again, Jack." Jim nodded at the biker and followed his wife to the table.

TBC