Dave Zeltserman - Small crimes

'We've got a new crop of girls since you've been here last. That's Cindy on stage. Man, I tell you, she could hurt you.'

I looked around the room. There were maybe a dozen guys sitting around the stage and another ten scattered at tables. I didn't spot anyone I knew. I took a long drink of my ale and then turned back to Earl. 'You're still playing good music,' I said.

'Yeah, what can I tell you? I'm stuck in the early eighties. The girls, man, they're constantly giving me shit about playing their own music for their sets. Fuck that. I'm playing what I want to listen to. But for you, any request – just name it.'

'Seger's good,' I said. I wouldn't mind listening to some ZZ Top. Creedence. Maybe some Stones. Dire Straits.'

'You got it, man.' He gave me a sheepish look. 'Shit, you were gone for a long time. How'd you spend your time while locked up?'

'I thought a lot, read a lot, and played a lot of checkers. I just kept trying to make it to the next day.'

'I hear you.' He pointed a thumb at my gut. 'Man, I'll tell you, you look like you got out of jail in great shape.'

'I did five hundred pushups and two thousand sit-ups every day.'

He cocked an eyebrow, not quite believing me. 'Five hundred pushups at one time?'

'Five sets, one hundred pushups and four hundred sit-ups to a set.'

We both turned and watched the dancer finish her last song. When I turned back to Earl, I could see his eyes brighten. 'What about those Pats, huh?' he asked. 'Who'd ever thought they'd win a Super Bowl?'

'I never would've guessed it,' I said.

'You get to watch the game?'

'Yeah, the warden loaned me a thirteen-inch black-and-white set. The reception wasn't too good but I was able to make it out.'

'Man, that sucks having to watch the game like that. Hey, look, I got the Super Bowl on tape. I also got a forty-two-inch plasma TV. Anytime, come over to my place and we'll watch it and have a few beers.'

'Thanks, I appreciate the offer.' I laughed. 'If I was on the outside I would've lost a bundle on that game. I never would've picked the Pats to cover.'

'Yeah? Guess what? I put twenty grand on them to win. I like to think having to pay off had something to do with that sonofabitch Vassey getting the big C. It's just too bad his punk kid didn't get it with him.'

He was still grinning but his eyes dulled and his color dropped a shade, making the blue-green ink of his tattoos stand out starkly in contrast.

'How's life been under Junior?'

'Not good, man. I'm thinking of selling out.' He started drumming his fingers hard along the bar.

He lowered his voice and edged closer to me.

'The old man was bad enough, but that punk kid of his is killing me.'

'Yeah?'

'Shit, yeah. Vassey was hitting me for fifteen hundred a week. The first thing this punk kid did when the old man goes into the hospital is bump it to thirty-five. I can't afford that, not with the police contributions I got to make. This kid is squeezing me to death. I've been having to take bigger cuts from my girls to make his payoffs, and they don't like it – I've already lost three of them because of this.' He leaned even closer to me. 'The last few months I've been talking with some of my biker buddies. I'm thinking of standing up to that punk.'

He gave me a weak shrug as he leaned back and lowered his gaze. 'But I'm not sure I want to go to war right now. Probably better to sell the place and move on. Of course, that punk is only offering me a tenth of what Kelley's is worth. I'll tell you, man, my pop would be rolling over in his grave if he saw what was happening.'

'I'd stand up to him if I were you,' I said.

'You would, huh?'

I took a long drink, finishing off the ale. 'Yeah, I would,' I said. 'I know the sheriff s office isn't too thrilled with Junior right now. I think they'd back you up on it. I think there are a lot of people around here who'd like to see Junior disappear.'

Earl thought it over, and as he did, he showed me a weak smile. 'Man, you're probably right. I don't know. I'd probably just end up seeing my place torched and some of my girls hurt. What sucks is if I sell out to that punk, he'll just drive Kelley's into the ground. My girls wouldn't stand for him.'

'Maybe you should try holding out for a while. Things might change.'

'Nothing's going to fucking change,' he spat out bitterly. 'I'm not the only one he's squeezing out. That punk's pulling the same shit with a bunch of college clubs. One of them has already sold out. He now owns the Blue Horn out in Eastfield. From what I hear he only paid twenty thou for it.'

'That's probably just Junior bragging.'

'No.' Earl shook his head, his eyes cold blue steel. 'I heard that straight from the guy who used to own it. He was lucky he could talk with the way he'd been worked over.'

'Why would Junior want to own a college club?'

'Because he's a greedy fucker. That's all there is to it, man. And it's not just one. As I was saying, he's squeezing a bunch of them.'

Earl noticed my bottle was empty and replaced it. I lifted my ale towards him. 'Well, anyway,' I said,' here's to better days.'

Earl nodded. I hear you, man.'

We sat and bullshitted for a while longer before I moved to one of the tables facing the stage. There was a thin redhead who had taken her T-shirt off and was dancing topless to Creedence's 'Bad Moon Rising'. As I watched her, I found my mind wandering. I was too preoccupied wondering what interest Junior had in college clubs to pay much attention to her. It didn't seem to be in Junior's character to want to own legitimate businesses. Clubs like the Blue Horn are nothing more than hangouts for college kids. They'll bring in a band, charge cover, and sell food and soft drinks. Most of these clubs don't have liquor licenses. None of them makes much money. It didn't seem to be something that would be worth Junior's trouble. After a while I decided to give up worrying about it.

'Bad Moon Rising' ended and the redhead walked around the stage to let guys slip dollar bills in her G-string. She had nice green eyes and a sweet smile. She also didn't look much older than eighteen. Even with her mostly naked, I couldn't help thinking she seemed more like a high school cheerleader than a stripper. The DJ announced, 'Susie Q for our own little Susie,' and the Creedence song by the same name started. The redhead, Susie, slipped off her G-string and started moving rhythmically to the music. I noticed a ratty-looking guy with a thick mustache staring at her intently. He had kind of a slight to medium build, but was wearing a muscle shirt and was trying to puff himself out. Every time someone would slip a dollar bill under her garter, the muscles along his jaw would bulge. One guy let his hand linger a little too long on her thigh and Muscle-shirt started to push himself out of his chair, his body tense and his eyes filled with violence. The hand was removed, and Muscle-shirt, with what looked like a great deal of effort, forced himself back down, his eyes still seething.

When the song was over, the redhead collected the dollar bills that had been thrown onstage and then flashed a sweet smile before walking off. As soon as she was gone, Muscle-shirt left his seat and got in the face of the guy who had let his hand linger. This guy looked like a truck driver. A big burly fellow with thick ham-hock hands. At first it looked like they were going to get into it, but the big burly guy lost his nerve. Muscle-shirt had his finger in the guy's face and you could see the life just go right out of his eyes. All he wanted was to get the hell out of there. Muscle-shirt jabbed him hard in the chest with his forefinger and then walked back to his seat, more puffed up than before.

I had finished my ale and made my way back to the bar to buy another one, but Earl wouldn't take my money.