Joe Lansdale: The Complete Drive-In

Willard’s pool cue whizzed out and the thin end of it caught Bear across the back of the neck. There was a cracking noise like the report of small-arms fire, then the pool cue splintered, went in all directions.

Bear turned his head toward Willard and smiled. He had kind of a nice smile.

“Oh, hell,” Willard said softly, and his face went sad and ash-colored.

“Stepped in it, didn’t you, bro”?” Bear said.

But Willard brought the rest of the cue around the thick end hit Bear a solid lick on the nose. Bear staggered a little. Nothing to brag about, but a little.

Willard swung again, and this time it had plenty of hip in it, and when it met the side of Bear’s head it was like Reggie Jackson connecting the good wood on a clean fast ball. The blow actually brought Bear up on his toes and leaned him starboard.

But the bastard didn’t go down.

Willard let what was left of the cue drop from his hands, shot out a left jab, hit Bear on the point of his two-car garage, again and again.

A tributary of blood flowed out of Bear’s nostrils and made thin creeks through his mustache and beard. Bear tried to hit back, but Willard sidestepped a sloppy right, left-hooked one into him, knocked him into the pool table. Bear’s big ass worked as a kind of springboard, bounced him back into Willard, and Willard gave him another combination.

When Bear’s minuscule brain realized his face was being made into red grits, he tried to unleash a wild right, but it didn’t even come close.

Willard ducked that baby and the wind from the swing lifted his hair. He went into Bear then with an overhand right that connected on Bear’s already destructed nose, and he followed it with a hooking left to the kidneys that made the front of the monster’s pants go wet.

Then came the right again, an uppercut this time, and this one was backed with powder and a fifty-caliber load. It caught Bear on the point of his chin, lifted him onto the pool table.

Bear’s feet came up high, then flopped down over the edge of the table as if his pant legs were stuffed with straw. The echo of Willard’s punch reverberated through the pool hall even as Bear’s chin and half his jaw turned the color of bad fruit. A thick trickle of blood fled out of his nose, over his beard and onto the greenery of the pool table.

Willard thrust his fist into his mouth and hopped around a little. “Damn, that hurt.”

Dan had wandered out of the back room about the time Willard threw his first punch, but he hadn’t made a move to stop the fight. He’d just stood there frowning with his arms crossed. But now that the fun was over and there was a broken pool stick and a bloodstained table to complain about, he was furious.

“That was a brand-new pool stick,” he said, coming over.

“Not now it ain’t,” Willard said.

“And that big bastard is bleeding all over my goddamn pool table.”

“Fix that.” Willard reached out, grabbed Bear by a boot and jerked him onto the floor. Bear made a grunting noise when he hit the tile, but that was it.

“Blood’ll mop off the floor easy,” Willard said. “I’ll pay you for the pool stick.”

“Damn sure will. Twenty dollars.”

Willard took twenty out of his billfold and gave it to Dan. “There.”

“Get out,” Dan said. “You hadn’t brought them boys in here wouldn’t have been no trouble.”

“We came in on our own two legs,” Bob said.

“You shut up, boy,” Dan said, and he cast an eye at Randy. “And this ain’t no colored hangout. Ain’t no good idea to come here, you hear me, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t ‘sir’ that line of crap,” Willard said. “This is a free country, ain’t it?”

Dan studied Willard. “If you’re big enough, you’re free to do most anything. Now you’ve paid for the cue, what about the table?”

“What about it?”

“Blood’ll stain.”

“Use cold water on it.”

“Go on, you little smart-mouth sonofabitch. Get on out of here and don’t come back. Take these jerks with you, and don’t none of you darken this door again.”

“No problem,” Willard said. “I ain’t gonna miss this class joint none.”

“And it ain’t gonna miss you,” Dan said, and kicked Bear in the ribs a couple of times. “You too. Get up from there and get out.” Bear didn’t move. “Sorry trash.”

We went out with Dan still kicking Bear and Bear still not moving.

Out on the sidewalk, Bob said, “Sorry we got you thrown out of there, Willard.”

“No sweat. I was tired of it anyway. This whole town, for that matter. It stinks. Don’t reckon I’ll be staying around much longer. I got laid off at the plant yesterday, and I figure that now is as good a time as any to get out of this onehorse town. In fact, I’m glad I don’t have that damn job anymore. It was like working in hell. Always felt like I was making lawn furniture for Satan. I’m free now to go somewhere better and find a good job, something with a future. I got a feeling that me losing that job was just a turning point, and that from here on out, things are going to start looking up.”

We stood there, not knowing what to say. Willard watched some cars go by, got out a cigarette and put fire to it. He took a couple of drags before he spoke again.

“Before I leave for good, thought maybe I’d take in that drive-in you guys go to. What do you say? Can I go with y’all over there Friday?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure. Why not? We leave at five. Where can we pick you up?”

“Larry’s Garage. He lets me keep my bike there.”

“Sounds good,” Bob said. “We’ll pick you up in my truck.” He pointed to it in the lot.

“I know it,” Willard said. “I’ll be watching for you guys.”

“Good,” Bob said.

“Willard?” Randy said.

“Yeah, kid.”

“Thanks for not letting me get killed, or otherwise mutilated in a hideous manner.”

Willard almost laughed. “Sure, kid. Nothing to it. Saw your buddies were about to step into it, and I didn’t want them to have all the fun.”

“Generous of you,” I said, “considering Bear breathes harder than we hit.”

“Hell with it,” Willard said. “Always figured I could take him. Now I know.”

We walked Willard to his bike. He climbed on and flipped his cigarette in the gutter. Randy stuck out his hand and Willard shook it for a long time. Then he nodded at us, cranked his machine and rode off.

Randy stood there with his hand out, as if he were still shaking with Willard. Willard didn’t look back to see if we were watching him. Hell, he knew he was cool.

Friday morning I awoke and was attacked by the glare off the garish paperbacks in the little space for books at the head of my bed. The sun was shining through the window and making the red and yellow spines on the astrology and numerology books seem brighter yet. This wasn’t the first morning I had awakened to see them there and hated them because they had let me down. I had tried to believe in the little bastards, but life and reality kept coming up against them, and pretty soon I had to decide the planets didn’t give a frog jump about me and that numbers were just numbers, and when you got right down to it, pretty boring.

It was like I was punishing myself, leaving them there, and it was like my body knew to get twisted to the edge of the bed so I’d wake up with my head turned toward them so I could see their bright spines shining at me, reminding me that I had spent money on them and that some jackass writer was spending the royalties he got off them, partly provided by me, to drink beer and chase women while I read his books and made charts and tried to figure out how to use them to find the right gal and divine the secrets of the universe.