Sugar Pop Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

reaches for the whiskey bottle and I feel something pressing up against my back. I turn and see it’s the bouncer with the bulging neck. His breath stinks of old cheese.
    â€œEverything okay here?” he asks me.
    â€œI’ll let you know when I taste my whiskey.” My heart is pounding; I hear it more loudly than my own voice.
    â€œI’ll be at the door if anything goes wrong,” he says. His cheese-breath is so close to my nose, my eyes are tearing.
    â€œI’ll give a whistle if I need you.”
    He leaves, but not before giving me a look that says he’d like to go a round or two with me.
    My whiskey is on the bar, so I down it. It stings my tongue and heats my gut—and gives me the balls to push harder. Gazzara’s not about to come looking for a wallflower.
    â€œHey, bartender.”
    He comes back with a bottle in his hand. His fingers are so hairy that a couple of strands pop out from under his wedding band.
    â€œYou ever hear of a guy named Denny Gazzara?” I ask.
    â€œYou ever hear of shutting your mouth and drinking your whiskey?”
    I almost tell him that if I shut my mouth I couldn’t drink my whiskey. Instead, I ask him again about Gazzara.
    â€œNever heard of him,” he says. A smile crosses his face and his cheekbones actually seem to get sharper. “But then again, even if I did, I’d deny it.” He fills my glass.
    â€œGood thing,” I say, swigging the shot and then leaning across the bar so only he can hear me. “Because he told me he’s going to fuck your wife. And when he’s done, he’s going to bang on you so hard, you’ll wish that smug face of yours was made of concrete.”
    His eyes widen. I know he’s not scared of me, so he must be terrified of Gazzara.
    â€œThat’s right,” I say. I do my best to look him dead in the eye but my goddamn pupils are shimmying again. It doesn’t matter—he’s focused on my lips, no doubt afraid they’ll keep moving.
    â€œHe’s going to fuck you, your wife, your family, and anything else you love,” I say. “Then he’s going to bash in those teeny white teeth, and while you’re spitting out blood and maybe even pieces of your fucked-up tongue, he’s going to open up your money box, take all your cash, and piss in your bottles of moon.”
    A dropped jaw has replaced his arrogant smile.
    â€œBut I guess you don’t have to worry about Denny,” I say. “Because you don’t know him.”
    I straighten my fedora and turn around and walk out. The tender must be shocked because he’s not budging.
    Before I reach the door, I stop by the goon with the rotting tonsils. He looks me over and chuckles.
    â€œDenny doesn’t think I’m so funny.”
    He stops laughing and straightens his back. I’ve got my eye on his hands—if he clenches his fist I’m racing for the door. But he crosses his arms and returns to his military pose.
    â€œThat’s better, musclehead. Just stand there and do nothing. Like a lamppost.”
    I walk out through the drugstore as the piano player barrels through “Ain’t She Sweet.” The old guy with the eyeglasses is sitting behind the counter. I nod to him.
    â€œHello, again,” I say.
    I walk over to the counter and pick up a pen by the register. On the back of one of his business cards I write my name—Snowball—and the telephone number of the pay phone at the Pour House.
    â€œGive me a call if you get any wonder cream,” I say before pulling up my lapels and walking out into the night.
    I head up Twelfth Street but don’t look behind me until I reach the jeweler’s near Market. When I see the street is clear, I lean against the storefront and let my knees go weak. My breath is wheezing and I take a moment to steady myself.
    My bet is that Gazzara will know soon enough that I’m in town, unless he confuses me