Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,63
meet you finally.” He gave Ashley a kiss on the mouth and walked inside like he owned the place.
“Congratulations,” Steve said.
“We just started going out,” Ashley said.
“Oh? How many times? I don’t usually do the kiss-and-I’ll-fix-us-a-drink ’til the fifth date.”
“Steve—”
“Are you up to fix-me-a-sandwich-and-take-off-your-clothes?”
“Don’t act this way.”
“Who’s he a partner with?”
“How do you know he’s a lawyer?”
“He almost tripped over his ego on the way in.”
“That’s not fair. You don’t know him. He’s a genuinely nice guy.”
“Unlike your former husband?”
“I’m not going to do this. We can be nice to each other, can’t we? You’ve said you’re changed, and I’m happy for you, and I hope you’ll meet someone who will make you happy, too.”
“Let’s all be happy.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. Well.” He didn’t know whether to shake her hand or give her a noncommittal hug or let her make the first move. They stood like topiary hedges, swaying a little in the breeze but fixed to the ground.
“Later,” Steve said finally. He walked past the Lexus with the black leather interior and out to his Ark with the coffee-stain interior and drove away.
45
Steve made a last stop at The Cue. A farewell to the old place. Bye to the ex-wife, bye to the pool hall. Bye to life as he knew it.
Only not bye to the thought of Ashley and Superlawyer thrashing around. It hadn’t taken her long. One thing about Ashley, she knew how to get the right things in life. He had been her only glitch, apparently.
Steve thought about it for only two seconds, then ordered a pitcher of Bud. He rented a rack and set up at the table in the back. He didn’t bother with a glass. Just drank from the pitcher and shot pool.
The balls on the table were the scattered remnants of his life. He made up a game. The harder he hit them, the better it would be. Every pocketed ball would kill a voice in his head.
Only the voices just seemed to get louder.
Somewhere along there a guy asked if him if he wanted a game. Steve said sure and tried to roll the balls without rolling on the floor. Shots faded into other shots. The green felt of the table got fuzzier. Time moved too fast or didn’t move at all.
And then, out of nowhere, this voice came into his ear. “A hundred you owe me.”
“Mm?” Steve looked for the source and saw a guy who looked familiar, only he was moving back and forth in front of him, sometimes looking like two guys, twins, and big. He had a smell, too, like sweat, like body odor. Or maybe, Steve thought, that’s me.
“A hundred,” the voice said. “We played for a hundred.”
“Hunnerd?”
“Yeah. Pay up.”
Pay up. That got his attention. “I din’n play for no hunnerd.”
“Yeah you did, and you pay me now.”
“Don’ got no hunnerd, why don’ I buy you a beer?”
The guy threw his cue on the table—Steve heard the sound of it, like thunder. The guy grabbed a hunk of Steve’s shirt and dragged him toward the rear exit. The movement wasn’t a good thing for a stomach full of Taco Bell and Steve thought he was going to lose it. Either way, he wasn’t in any condition to resist.
In a few seconds he was out in the back lot, then pushed up against the wall.
“Now you pay,” the guy said. He put his hand on Steve’s head and smashed it against the bricks.
Lights out.
Then swirls of light, and voices, and Steve feeling he was on his back and he knew he was inside The Cue again and a couple of guys were tending to him. And he smelled like . . . oh no . . . all over himself.
“You deserved it,” Gincy said.
Steve was lying on his sofa, head feeling like it was part of an Abe Lincoln rail-splitting contest. The guys at The Cue had made the call for him, and Gincy, loyal Gincy, had gathered him up.
Cleaned him up. Undressed him and threw his vomit-stained shirt and pants in the washer downstairs. Stuck him in the shower and gave him some oversized pajamas and made him lie down.
“I know,” Steve said. “What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t thinking, that’s the point. How much money did you have with you?”
“Huh? I don’t know.”
“He emptied you. At least he left your wallet and credit cards.”
“He cleaned me?”
“I put a couple of twenties in there for you, to tide you over.”
“Gincy, you didn’t have to—”
“Did you gamble with this guy?”
“I guess.”
“You