Dead Flowers
Chapter Nineteen
---------------------------------
Mark
Don't you know it's hard running a bar? Two-Bit and his lazy ass doesn't do shit and I gotta keep this place running. It's hard, man, trying to keep this place running by selling drinks to the low-lifes of Tulsa when they could just as easily go to a bar a block down than my bar. So's I gotta do some extra-work. For now, until I get more buisness, I have to do some work on the side.
Poker games start up at 5 a clock in the back of Benny's, one of the other bar's down the street, but the heavy stuff don't start till about eleven. I come in at eleven. I haven't been playing here very long. I'm used to hustling games in some of the joints on the other side of town, but the stakes are bigger here and that's how I like it. This is where Benny and some other big shots play. I can't stand Benny. He laughs too much and spits up some when he does it. He's eating some french fries and ketchup and I keep having to wipe red specks off my fucking arm. But he seems tough. He doesn't like me either really, but I'm just a kid so he doesn't bother with too much. Usually.
We were playing, and I wasn't doing too bad. I wouldn't of come down here if I didn't think I had a shot. I'm not stupid. I've been playing since I was, what? seven? For money since I was thirteen? These big shots think they know everything and got half of this town rigged and maybe they do, but I was playing to win. I told you I needed the cash and I wasn't lying. I mean what I say.
And so's I got some winnings piled up already, and Seymour, he asks me how buisness is coming. I says just fine and he says, well if I'm doing so good why am I trying to make money here? And I says, I'm not trying, I'm doing it, and lay down my hand and Seymour goes out. Seriously, he says, you having problems? You just a kid. I say, Benny's playing, too, is Benny having problems, Seymour? And that's when Seymour says "a little bit" and Benny flinches but then tells Seymour he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about and he needs to shut it before he shuts it for him. And then Benny lights a cigarette and deals the next hand.
I'm right beside Benny so I'm the last one to get my cards. I watch every person and most of them are good enough not to bluff. I don't bluff. But these guys don't know that. Last time that I had a bad hand, I itched my middle finger against my index finger real causally looking. I had been about to flip Seymour off for this cute remark he made earlier-he got's a big ass mouth-but stopped myself. Had to have self control around these people. Well, I got a decent hand, but I know since I look for bluffs, they must, too. So I rub my fingers over each other barely on my left hand while I lay my cards down with my other hand. I think Carl might have picked it up as a bluff. Nothing goes past these guys.
A couple bets later, and it's just me and Carl. I see him on his last raise, and the last card is flipped and we turn over our hands. He let's out a smirk before he looks at my cards. I end up with three jacks and a pair of deuces and he's got a pair of queens. I beat him.
"Son-of-a-bitch." He mutters. "Son-of-a-bitch." Carl should've been smart should've kept his mouth shut. But I guess he wanted his ass kicked. Ya know, not just in poker. He says, "Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" And he's yelling it louder and one guy tells him to sit down and Benny smiles and Seymour says, "What's wrong?" Carl yells "That fucking cheater!"
"I didn't cheat." I say plainly. Not in this hand anyway. Anyone can see he's just mad because I beat him. Anyone can see that. I pull at the money in front of the table and Benny takes his cigarette and slams it down into my hand. What the fuck! I grit my teeth.
"There's a despute over the money, you can't just take it. Carl here says he deserves it, don't you Carl?" Benny lifted up the cigarette and I can feel my skin burning. None of the other guys say nothing. They're just sitting there.
But Carl nods. "Yeah, he cheated. It's my pot, my money." Fuck him. My hand is still over the money. "Punk ass, give me my fucking money."
"It's my money." I say.
"You know what, you know what, I can't stand you kid, come in here, cheating, and stealing our money, like you been doing, running that fucking bar. You're underage kid, you know that, and Benny here, Benny's a retired cop and there's only so much he can let go on..."
And he kept talking and I knew what the fuck they were saying. They were gonna try and close my bar down. And Benny, a fucking ex-cop? I knew I hated him. Motherfucker.
Carl reached for my money again and I lifted up my hand and let him grab the shitty dollars and picked up Benny's glass ketchup bottle, smashed it against the side of the table, and fucking slapped the broken bottle into Benny's fat fucking face.
And after fucking jumping me, and throwing me into the street, the next day motherfuckers reported that my bar was being ran by someone underage and assault.
------------------
Bryon
I could hear police sirens. The sound made me want to vomit. I kept walking and went inside my house and shut the door. I knew what was going on. I heard. Charlie's was closed today. And people were talking, said Mark was going down. The police knew what had been going on, he had hit the wrong person last night, but he hadn't been booked yet. They were looking for him.
The police pulled into my yard, and their lights were still flashing. I could see it through the window. Two officers stepped out and walked up to my door.
I got up from my kitchen table and opened the door.
They flashed their i.d.'s at me.
You think they'd get that people realized who they were from their blue get-ups and the cars that said POLICE and made that really loud noise.
"Do you know anything about the fight at Benny's last night or Charlie's?"
"Gee, officer, do you have a suspect?" They were looking for Mark, and thought I'd know.
"Don't fuck with us, son. You gonna tell us what we need to know?" His hand grazed a billy stick wedged into his belt.
I looked into the parking lot, at the lights flashing, and I stared into those lights and I didn't blink. I remembered the last time I had seen the police, dragging Mark from me and I had just stood there... I wiped my eyes. "I didn't mean to..."
"What?" One of them said.
I looked up. And then I confessed to beating up Benny and running a bar illegally.
Chapter Nineteen
---------------------------------
Mark
Don't you know it's hard running a bar? Two-Bit and his lazy ass doesn't do shit and I gotta keep this place running. It's hard, man, trying to keep this place running by selling drinks to the low-lifes of Tulsa when they could just as easily go to a bar a block down than my bar. So's I gotta do some extra-work. For now, until I get more buisness, I have to do some work on the side.
Poker games start up at 5 a clock in the back of Benny's, one of the other bar's down the street, but the heavy stuff don't start till about eleven. I come in at eleven. I haven't been playing here very long. I'm used to hustling games in some of the joints on the other side of town, but the stakes are bigger here and that's how I like it. This is where Benny and some other big shots play. I can't stand Benny. He laughs too much and spits up some when he does it. He's eating some french fries and ketchup and I keep having to wipe red specks off my fucking arm. But he seems tough. He doesn't like me either really, but I'm just a kid so he doesn't bother with too much. Usually.
We were playing, and I wasn't doing too bad. I wouldn't of come down here if I didn't think I had a shot. I'm not stupid. I've been playing since I was, what? seven? For money since I was thirteen? These big shots think they know everything and got half of this town rigged and maybe they do, but I was playing to win. I told you I needed the cash and I wasn't lying. I mean what I say.
And so's I got some winnings piled up already, and Seymour, he asks me how buisness is coming. I says just fine and he says, well if I'm doing so good why am I trying to make money here? And I says, I'm not trying, I'm doing it, and lay down my hand and Seymour goes out. Seriously, he says, you having problems? You just a kid. I say, Benny's playing, too, is Benny having problems, Seymour? And that's when Seymour says "a little bit" and Benny flinches but then tells Seymour he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about and he needs to shut it before he shuts it for him. And then Benny lights a cigarette and deals the next hand.
I'm right beside Benny so I'm the last one to get my cards. I watch every person and most of them are good enough not to bluff. I don't bluff. But these guys don't know that. Last time that I had a bad hand, I itched my middle finger against my index finger real causally looking. I had been about to flip Seymour off for this cute remark he made earlier-he got's a big ass mouth-but stopped myself. Had to have self control around these people. Well, I got a decent hand, but I know since I look for bluffs, they must, too. So I rub my fingers over each other barely on my left hand while I lay my cards down with my other hand. I think Carl might have picked it up as a bluff. Nothing goes past these guys.
A couple bets later, and it's just me and Carl. I see him on his last raise, and the last card is flipped and we turn over our hands. He let's out a smirk before he looks at my cards. I end up with three jacks and a pair of deuces and he's got a pair of queens. I beat him.
"Son-of-a-bitch." He mutters. "Son-of-a-bitch." Carl should've been smart should've kept his mouth shut. But I guess he wanted his ass kicked. Ya know, not just in poker. He says, "Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" And he's yelling it louder and one guy tells him to sit down and Benny smiles and Seymour says, "What's wrong?" Carl yells "That fucking cheater!"
"I didn't cheat." I say plainly. Not in this hand anyway. Anyone can see he's just mad because I beat him. Anyone can see that. I pull at the money in front of the table and Benny takes his cigarette and slams it down into my hand. What the fuck! I grit my teeth.
"There's a despute over the money, you can't just take it. Carl here says he deserves it, don't you Carl?" Benny lifted up the cigarette and I can feel my skin burning. None of the other guys say nothing. They're just sitting there.
But Carl nods. "Yeah, he cheated. It's my pot, my money." Fuck him. My hand is still over the money. "Punk ass, give me my fucking money."
"It's my money." I say.
"You know what, you know what, I can't stand you kid, come in here, cheating, and stealing our money, like you been doing, running that fucking bar. You're underage kid, you know that, and Benny here, Benny's a retired cop and there's only so much he can let go on..."
And he kept talking and I knew what the fuck they were saying. They were gonna try and close my bar down. And Benny, a fucking ex-cop? I knew I hated him. Motherfucker.
Carl reached for my money again and I lifted up my hand and let him grab the shitty dollars and picked up Benny's glass ketchup bottle, smashed it against the side of the table, and fucking slapped the broken bottle into Benny's fat fucking face.
And after fucking jumping me, and throwing me into the street, the next day motherfuckers reported that my bar was being ran by someone underage and assault.
------------------
Bryon
I could hear police sirens. The sound made me want to vomit. I kept walking and went inside my house and shut the door. I knew what was going on. I heard. Charlie's was closed today. And people were talking, said Mark was going down. The police knew what had been going on, he had hit the wrong person last night, but he hadn't been booked yet. They were looking for him.
The police pulled into my yard, and their lights were still flashing. I could see it through the window. Two officers stepped out and walked up to my door.
I got up from my kitchen table and opened the door.
They flashed their i.d.'s at me.
You think they'd get that people realized who they were from their blue get-ups and the cars that said POLICE and made that really loud noise.
"Do you know anything about the fight at Benny's last night or Charlie's?"
"Gee, officer, do you have a suspect?" They were looking for Mark, and thought I'd know.
"Don't fuck with us, son. You gonna tell us what we need to know?" His hand grazed a billy stick wedged into his belt.
I looked into the parking lot, at the lights flashing, and I stared into those lights and I didn't blink. I remembered the last time I had seen the police, dragging Mark from me and I had just stood there... I wiped my eyes. "I didn't mean to..."
"What?" One of them said.
I looked up. And then I confessed to beating up Benny and running a bar illegally.