There's a lot to learn when you enter the world of the criminal, as I have. You think normal society is tough, paying your bills, taking care of yourself, telling phone salespeople you're not interested and don't call back, letting the dog out all the time, and staying happy. The life of the criminal isn't that much better, except of course it's much more thrilling being on the run with the constant threat of being killed.
Already, in just a few days, I've had to learn how to cope with being severely beaten without calling an ambulance, and to have the confidence to hold a switchblade up to the throat of a professional wrestler who's served both as my lover and abuser. And it wasn't just the switchblade [chuckling], I guess I also ground his face in the gravel in the alley. :) One other thing, I'm getting down the pecking order, and I'm seeing how I might be able to rise in the organization. Some of these guys aren't that smart, which is what you get when you're hopped up and crazed on drugs and booze.
So booze has its advantages and its disadvantages. If it helps me gain greater power as a criminal, that's good. I'm myself not much of a drinker, having the discipline to severely limit myself. But these other birds, crazy and stupid like I said, I could easily get them drunk, kill a few, and establish myself as Mr. Big in, I don't know, a few days. Give or take. But right now I'm still the new guy.
One thing about being the new guy is "they say" the new guy has to buy for everyone. And wouldn't you know I'd have to be the new guy on Super Bowl Sunday! So we were over at the bar -- Youngsie's -- and I learned that Johnny, the boss of this particular gang, a subset of a larger organization, had already opened a tab in my name. Whether Youngsie liked that, who knows? He probably didn't have a choice. Just like he didn't have a choice when I stopped in for a pickle and Beer Nuts today and couldn't pay.
So yesterday, all the Guys and Dolls came out of the woodwork and were at Youngsie's. My tab was open and they were helping themselves freely. It was literally a free-for-all, with Youngsie looking at me and giving me a thumbs-up every once in a while, really a kind of question. I kept flashing him a thumbs-up. They started in about noon, then the game was about 5, and it went a few hours, then the post-game BS was on, etc. All around, guys were paying up on bets, blah blah blah, but no one offered a cent of moolah for the drinky-poos.
Today, then, I went in -- me, Big Brute, and a couple other guys. Youngsie looked pained. Everyone had drunk so much and ate so much yesterday he was about out of everything. I thought, WTF do I care about your business? Then I realized the connection. He wasn't going to give me the damned pickle (and he was out of Beer Nuts) till I settled up! He needed the cash to pay his supplier, which about drove me crazy. I felt my face go flush. I reached up and clicked my fingers. I'm no boss but all this happened on instinct.
A couple of the other boys took my signal and charged over to beat the crap out of Youngsie and a couple of his boys. Then I took up a bottle and smashed it randomly against some of the bottles he had behind the bar. What a mess! The guys held Youngsie and I delivered a solid fist to his gut. "That's a down payment on what I owe you," I spat, feeling quite impertinent, lacking a pickle but very full of piss and vinegar.
We went triumphantly to the pickle jar and I proclaimed, "Pickles for everyone, my treat!" My last word to Youngsie as we left was, "Put it on my tab!" I laughed. Big Brute slammed the door and broke the plate glass window. I looked in at the still hunched over Youngsie and said, "That goes on his tab!," referring of course to Brute.
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