The Times Are Never So Bad Read Online Free PDF Page A

but Vinnie DeLuca is another matter. So I ask Alex about that gentleman’s schedule.
    â€˜He’s a bouncer at Old Colony. I think they call him a doorman.’
    â€˜I’ll bounce his ass.’
    â€˜He might be carrying something, you know. With that job.’
    â€˜Shit. You think anybody’d let that asshole carry a gun?’
    â€˜Sure they would, but I was thinking blackjack. Want me to come along?’
    â€˜No, I’m all set.’
    â€˜If you change your mind, I’ll be here.’
    I know he will. He always has been, and I’m lucky to have a brother who’s a friend too; I’m so lucky, I even had two of them; or unlucky because now I only have the one, depending on how I feel about things at the time I’m thinking of my brothers. I bring a beer out and sit on the wharf and watch the trees on the east side of the lake go from green to black as the sun sets beyond the tall woods. Then the sky is dark and I get another beer and listen to the lake sloshing against the bank, like someone is walking on it out there in the middle, his steps pushing the water around, and I think about Kingsley in the war. At first I don’t want to, then I give in to it, and I picture him crawling in the jungle. He bought it from a mine; they didn’t tell us if he was in a rice paddy or open field or jungle, but I always think of him in jungle because he loved to hunt in the woods and was so quiet in there. After a while I swallow and tighten my chest and let out some air. Polly said I was afraid to cry because it wasn’t macho. That’s not true. I sure the fuck cried when Mom and the old man told me and Alex about Kingsley, there in the kitchen, and I would’ve cried no matter who was there to watch. I fight crying because it empties you so you can’t do anything about what’s making you cry. So I stop thinking about Kingsley, that big good-looking wonderful son of a bitch with that look he had on his face when he was hunting, like he could see through the trees, as he stepped on a mine or tripped a wire. By the time I stop thinking about him, I know what else I’ll do tonight, after I deal with Mr. DeLuca a.k.a. the doorman of Old Colony.
    It is a rowdy bar at the north end of town, with a band and a lot of girls, and it draws people from out of town instead of just regulars, so it gets rough in there. I sit in my jeep in the parking lot fifteen minutes before closing. The band is gone, but the parking lot is still full. At one o’clock they start coming out, loud in bunches and couples. Some leave right away, but a lot of them stand around, some drinking what they sneaked out of the bar. The place takes about twenty minutes to empty; I know that’s done when I see Vinnie come into the doorway, following the last people to leave. He stands there smoking a cigarette. He’s short and wide like I am, and he is wearing a leisure suit with his shirt collar out over the lapels. He’s got a chain around his neck. The cruiser turns into the parking lot, as I figured it would; the cops drive very slowly through the crowd, stopping here and there for a word; they pass in front of me and go to the end of the lot and hang a slow U and come back; people are in their cars now and driving off. I feel like slouching down but will not do this for a cop, even to get DeLuca. The truth is I’m probably the only one in the parking lot planning a felony. They pass me, looking at the cars leaving and the people still getting into cars, then they follow everybody out of the lot and up the road. Vinnie will either come right out or stay inside and drink while the waitresses and one bartender clean the place and the other bartender counts the money and puts it in the safe. It’s amazing how many places there are to rob at night, when you think about it; if that’s what you like. I hate a fucking thief. Polly used to shoplift in high school, and when she told me