Chapter 1
The action at the Last Call was rather slow on this particular night, as was usual for a Tuesday.
There was a serious shortage of people, especially of single women of the loose variety who wouldn't make a guy toss his cookies when he woke up the morning after.
Our hero was off in the corner, his back to the wall, surveying the crowd and the action. He knew most of the people in the Last Call. He knew who could be trusted, not that there were many in here who knew what trust meant. He also knew who might be persuaded to buy him a beer when his money ran out.
He also had a pretty good idea about the people not worth the tobacco spit in one of the two beer bottles set on the table in front of him.
One bottle actually had beer in it. Cheap beer, but beer!. The other was about half-full of spit generated by the enormous chaw of tobacco bulging out his left cheek.
His red Chevy truck hat was angled to the side and very dirty, not that Walter Lewis cared. If a person didn't want to share his company because of something like a dirty hat or smelly arm pits, they weren't worth sharing time with either.
Most people called him "Squiggy" and that was the way he liked it. Walter just didn't have the same ring to it. He had been Squiggy ever since school, named after the character in Laverne and Shirley. His buddy, Mike Hunt, off writing stories at some newspaper in Tulsa, was Lenny.
Squiggy's hair was fashioned in a redneck mullet, shorter in the front and sides, long in the back and in need of some extra-strength shampoo. In the front, the hair was getting a little thin. Squiggy tried a combover, not that it fooled anybody but his own pride. He wore a black AC/DC shirt with the sleeves cut off thanks to an old Buck pocket knife, leaving one sleeve a little longer than the other. This particular shirt was a good ten years old, so wore out the lettering was barely visible.
There was a hole in one leg of his old jeans, exposing a bony knee with a scar running from one side to the other because of falling on some glass in a fight many years ago. He was pretty sure some of the glass was still under the skin, not that Squiggy ever bothered to let some doctor examine him.
He looked down at his boots. One fine pair, Squiggy thought. These were boots a person would have to pay good money to buy. Squiggy didn't waste money on them. He had won them by making a tough bank shot on the eight-ball in the corner pocket.
The other guy had been a little hacked about losing his new boots. The boots were were actually a size too small for Squiggy, but that was life in The Last Call. You win some and lose some. Squiggy was just glad he didn't lose the title to his truck, which had been his wager in the bet.
Squiggy knew some people would think that was a little odd, wagering a truck against a pair of boots, but most people wouldn't realize that would have actually been a pretty fair trade.
He had stepped in some puppy crap earlier and caught a whif every now and then. His new puppy spent all its time eating and crapping, usually right in a spot where Squiggy was fixing to step.
She was out in the truck right now. He had left a little beer in an old styrofoam cup, in case the puppy got thirsty. The puppy was only six weeks old but Squiggy already had her growling. Some day, she would be good at scaring the crap out of people. Squiggy looked forward to that day.
The waitress made a wide pass by his table, not wanting to get too close. She kept a table between her and Squiggy, having learned a lesson early on that he had quick hands that can explore a breast or butt before a woman even knew what is happening.
"You wanna nother beer?" she asked. The waitress was not all that good looking, Squiggy decided, but he'd had a lot worse. Her hair was almost fire red, long enough in the back to almost wipe with. He looked at her skinny face and noticed her nose was tilted back at an odd angle, revealing a pair of gaping nostrils.
Squiggy decided he'd give her a chance that night, but only if he struck out on the three other chicks he planned on hitting up.
"Does my pup crap on the floor?" he said.
This seemed to be a difficult question for her to answer.
"Uh, I don't know." She smiled, revealing the missing front tooth that had been removed by another waitress in a spectacular fight the previous week over a dollar tip.
"You ain't all that bright, eh?"
"No?" She looked around for backup. None was available. "Why do you say that?"
"Cause you don't even know if my puppy poops on the floor."
"Uh, okay...You wanna nother beer?"
Squiggy shook his head. Usually, a lack of smarts in a woman was what he looked for, but this one was almost too dumb even for him. It was getting a little late, though, so his standards were rapidly diminishing.
"Yeah, get me a beer, woman. What're you doin after this dump closes?"
She looked a little stunned. "The Last Call's closing down?"
Squiggy uncorked a huge mass of tobacco spit into the bottle. "Naw, it ain't closing down for good. I just meant for the night."
"I, uh, got plans."
"Dump em."
"Do what?"
"Get rid of them plans. You're gonna go with me."
She glared at him for a second. "I tried that once before, remember?"
Squiggy tried to recall that episode but came up with a blank. "What happened?"
"We was just about to get busy and you fell asleep."
"I was tired," he said. Actually, Squiggy remembered that now. She had just gotten naked and was not what he expected.
"You gonna fall asleep tonight?"
"Sometime, I guess."
"Naw, I meant if I was to go with you."
Recalling what she looked like naked, Squiggy realized he wasn't that drunk yet. "I'll try to keep my eyes open."
"Okay, I'll go with you on one condition."
He eyed her with suspicion. Squiggy didn't much care for women trying to negotiate with him concerning possible extracurricular activities.
"What's that?" he said.
"Tell me my name."
Squiggy knew this was a lost cause. He could barely remember his own name when he was drinking, let alone some snaggle-toothed waitresses' name. "Ain't it 'Red'?"
"No, that's what you call me! That ain't my name, you jerk!"
She stormed off back toward the bar. Squiggy shrugged, took a drink of beer and turned around, just as the front door opened.
Chapter 2
There was a serious shortage of people, especially of single women of the loose variety who wouldn't make a guy toss his cookies when he woke up the morning after.
Our hero was off in the corner, his back to the wall, surveying the crowd and the action. He knew most of the people in the Last Call. He knew who could be trusted, not that there were many in here who knew what trust meant. He also knew who might be persuaded to buy him a beer when his money ran out.
He also had a pretty good idea about the people not worth the tobacco spit in one of the two beer bottles set on the table in front of him.
One bottle actually had beer in it. Cheap beer, but beer!. The other was about half-full of spit generated by the enormous chaw of tobacco bulging out his left cheek.
His red Chevy truck hat was angled to the side and very dirty, not that Walter Lewis cared. If a person didn't want to share his company because of something like a dirty hat or smelly arm pits, they weren't worth sharing time with either.
Most people called him "Squiggy" and that was the way he liked it. Walter just didn't have the same ring to it. He had been Squiggy ever since school, named after the character in Laverne and Shirley. His buddy, Mike Hunt, off writing stories at some newspaper in Tulsa, was Lenny.
Squiggy's hair was fashioned in a redneck mullet, shorter in the front and sides, long in the back and in need of some extra-strength shampoo. In the front, the hair was getting a little thin. Squiggy tried a combover, not that it fooled anybody but his own pride. He wore a black AC/DC shirt with the sleeves cut off thanks to an old Buck pocket knife, leaving one sleeve a little longer than the other. This particular shirt was a good ten years old, so wore out the lettering was barely visible.
There was a hole in one leg of his old jeans, exposing a bony knee with a scar running from one side to the other because of falling on some glass in a fight many years ago. He was pretty sure some of the glass was still under the skin, not that Squiggy ever bothered to let some doctor examine him.
He looked down at his boots. One fine pair, Squiggy thought. These were boots a person would have to pay good money to buy. Squiggy didn't waste money on them. He had won them by making a tough bank shot on the eight-ball in the corner pocket.
The other guy had been a little hacked about losing his new boots. The boots were were actually a size too small for Squiggy, but that was life in The Last Call. You win some and lose some. Squiggy was just glad he didn't lose the title to his truck, which had been his wager in the bet.
Squiggy knew some people would think that was a little odd, wagering a truck against a pair of boots, but most people wouldn't realize that would have actually been a pretty fair trade.
He had stepped in some puppy crap earlier and caught a whif every now and then. His new puppy spent all its time eating and crapping, usually right in a spot where Squiggy was fixing to step.
She was out in the truck right now. He had left a little beer in an old styrofoam cup, in case the puppy got thirsty. The puppy was only six weeks old but Squiggy already had her growling. Some day, she would be good at scaring the crap out of people. Squiggy looked forward to that day.
The waitress made a wide pass by his table, not wanting to get too close. She kept a table between her and Squiggy, having learned a lesson early on that he had quick hands that can explore a breast or butt before a woman even knew what is happening.
"You wanna nother beer?" she asked. The waitress was not all that good looking, Squiggy decided, but he'd had a lot worse. Her hair was almost fire red, long enough in the back to almost wipe with. He looked at her skinny face and noticed her nose was tilted back at an odd angle, revealing a pair of gaping nostrils.
Squiggy decided he'd give her a chance that night, but only if he struck out on the three other chicks he planned on hitting up.
"Does my pup crap on the floor?" he said.
This seemed to be a difficult question for her to answer.
"Uh, I don't know." She smiled, revealing the missing front tooth that had been removed by another waitress in a spectacular fight the previous week over a dollar tip.
"You ain't all that bright, eh?"
"No?" She looked around for backup. None was available. "Why do you say that?"
"Cause you don't even know if my puppy poops on the floor."
"Uh, okay...You wanna nother beer?"
Squiggy shook his head. Usually, a lack of smarts in a woman was what he looked for, but this one was almost too dumb even for him. It was getting a little late, though, so his standards were rapidly diminishing.
"Yeah, get me a beer, woman. What're you doin after this dump closes?"
She looked a little stunned. "The Last Call's closing down?"
Squiggy uncorked a huge mass of tobacco spit into the bottle. "Naw, it ain't closing down for good. I just meant for the night."
"I, uh, got plans."
"Dump em."
"Do what?"
"Get rid of them plans. You're gonna go with me."
She glared at him for a second. "I tried that once before, remember?"
Squiggy tried to recall that episode but came up with a blank. "What happened?"
"We was just about to get busy and you fell asleep."
"I was tired," he said. Actually, Squiggy remembered that now. She had just gotten naked and was not what he expected.
"You gonna fall asleep tonight?"
"Sometime, I guess."
"Naw, I meant if I was to go with you."
Recalling what she looked like naked, Squiggy realized he wasn't that drunk yet. "I'll try to keep my eyes open."
"Okay, I'll go with you on one condition."
He eyed her with suspicion. Squiggy didn't much care for women trying to negotiate with him concerning possible extracurricular activities.
"What's that?" he said.
"Tell me my name."
Squiggy knew this was a lost cause. He could barely remember his own name when he was drinking, let alone some snaggle-toothed waitresses' name. "Ain't it 'Red'?"
"No, that's what you call me! That ain't my name, you jerk!"
She stormed off back toward the bar. Squiggy shrugged, took a drink of beer and turned around, just as the front door opened.
posted by Craig Hall at 4:32 AM
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