Pulp Read Online Free PDF

said, “now please make me another while you are in motion.”
    I took a hit of the drink. It wasn’t bad. He’d had lots of practice.
    The two old guys just sat there looking at me.
    “Nice day, isn’t it fellows?” I asked.
    They didn’t answer. I got the feeling that they weren’t breathing.
    Weren’t you supposed to bury the dead?
    “Listen, fellows, when was the last time either one of you pulled down a pair of women’s panties?”
    One of the old guys started going, “Heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    “Oh, last night, huh?”
    “Heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    “Was it good?”
    “heh, heh, heh, heh!”
    I was getting depressed. My life wasn’t going anywhere. I needed something, the flashing of lights, glamour, some damn thing. And here I was, talking to the dead.
    I finished my first drink. The second was ready.
    Two guys walked through the doorway wearing stocking masks.
    I downed my second drink.
    “ALL RIGHT! NO SHIT FROM ANYBODY! WALLETS, RINGS AND WATCHES ON THE BAR! NOW!” screamed one guy.
    The other guy leaped over the bar and ran to the cash register. He pounded at it.
    “HEY! HOW DO YOU OPEN THIS FUCKING THING?”
    He looked around, saw the bartender. “HEY, GRAMPS! COME HERE AND OPEN THIS THING!” He pointed his gun at him. All of a sudden the bartender knew how to move. He was at the register in a wink and had it open.
    The other guy was putting the stuff we had laid on the bar into a sack.
    “GET THE CIGAR BOX! UNDER THE BAR!” he yelled at his buddy.
    The guy behind the bar was stuffing the cash from the register into a sack. He found the cigar box. It was loaded. He stuffed it in the sack and leaped over the bar.
    Then they both stood there for a moment.
    “ I feel kind of crazy !” said the guy who had leaped over the bar.
    “Forget it, we’re leaving!” said the other guy.
    “I FEEL CRAZY!” yelled the first guy. He pointed his gun at the bartender. He fired three shots. All into the gut. The old man jerked three times, then fell.
    “YOU FUCKING FOOL! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” his cohort yelled.
    “DON’T CALL ME A FOOL! I’LL KILL YOU TOO!” he screamed, then turned and pointed his gun at his partner. He was too late. The shot went through his nose and came out the back of his head. He fell over taking a bar stool down with him. The other guy ran out the door. I counted to five, then ran out after him. The two old guys were still alive when I left. I think.
    I was in my car fast. I dug out from the curb, went a block, took a right and went down a back street. Then I slowed down and drove along. I heard a siren then. I lit a cigarette from the dash, turned the radio on. I got some rap music.
    I couldn’t understand what the guy was rapping about.
    I didn’t know whether to go back to my place or the office.
    I ended up in a supermarket pushing along a cart. I got 5 grapefruit, a roasted chicken and some potato salad. A fifth of vodka and some toilet paper.

13
    I found myself back at my apartment. I dove into the chicken and the potato salad. I rolled a grapefruit across the rug. I felt frustrated.
    Everything was defeating me.
    Then the phone rang. I spit out a half-cooked chicken wing and answered.
    “Yeah?”
    “Mr. Belane?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You’ve won a free trip to Hawaii,” somebody said.
    I hung up. I walked into the kitchen and poured a vodka with mineral water plus a touch of tabasco sauce. I sat down with it, had half a hit, then there was a knock on the door. I got a bad read on the knock, but I went ahead anyhow and said, “Come on in.”
    Much to my regret. It was my neighbor from 302, the mailman.
    His arms always hung kind of funny. His mind too. His eyes never quite looked at you but somewhere over your head. Like you were back there instead of where you were. There were a few other things wrong with him too.
    “Hey, Belane, got a drink for me?”
    “In the kitchen, mix your own.”
    “Sure”
    He walked into the kitchen, whistling Dixie.
    Then he