9:54 pm
As Chester Alburn drunkenly belts out his best Hank Williams, Darren Druce slides his left hand up Marcie�s Dembrowski�s thigh � Chester�s woman, or so Chester thinks. It�s Karaoke night at the Havelock Hotel. Darren and Henry Stinson came down from Warsaw by snow-machine. Thirty kilometres or so, just to get juiced. To laugh their arses off at the knobs trying to sing, trying to be rock stars, trying to impress their women. Friday night. Darren and Henry are out to have a good one. Paid yesterday. Wallets fat with cash. Monday morning a long way off.
Middle of February, colder than a witch�s nip, and Marcie�s wearing a skirt. She�s got enough sense to wear thick, black tights underneath. Darren�s callused hand catches on the material right when the song ends, fingers inching closer to her snatch, other hand wrapped around a bottle of Molson Canadian. Marcie jerks back, smiles wickedly at Darren, starts clapping like Chester�s old Hank #1 himself. Darren appreciates her enthusiasm and Chester�s balls, if not his singing. He puts his thumb over the end of his bottle and clonks it against the table. Puts his smoke to his lips and sharply inhales, hoping to catch a whiff of Marcie on his fingers. No such luck. Song was too damned short.
Henry stands. �Nuther?�
Darren regards him crookedly. �Dumb fuckin� question is that?�
�Just being polite.�
�Well don�t.�
Henry slumps to the bar. Darren was just about there with Marcie and now he�s dejected, pissed. He could do without Henry�s obvious question, his dumber than dumb monotone voice. Henry�s a bit slow. Not nearly as smooth with the ladies as Darren, or so Darren thinks.
Chester plops down in his chair and slides an arm around Marcie, drawing her in close, kissing her on the cheek. Marcie stares at Darren the whole time. Eyes like daggers cut him to the quick.
Henry�s back with beers. Darren grabs his and waves it at an empty table.
�Seat over there opened up.�
�Thought we was talkin� with Marcie.�
�No. Done with that now, Henry. Fuckin� get it?�
Henry looks unsure.
Marcie cuts in, �Have yerselves a good time fellahs.�
�Count on it.�
Chester kicks back in his chair, slaps Marcie�s right thigh. �Where you boys fuckin� off to? We was just gettin� ta know each other. Yous tellin� me about that operation yous into up Centre Dummer.�
Darren swigs beer. Looks at Marcie. He wants no more of either of them. �I was talkin� shit. There�s a reason that place called Centre Dummer. Full of dumb fucks don�t know their ass from a hole in the ground.�
�That a fact?� Chester says.
Marcie smiles wide.
Then Chester goes, �The Missus here from South Dummer. What�s that mean you sayin� �bout her?�
Marcie goes googly-eyed. Chester snorts. Then carries on, �Fact is, Marcie knows perfectly well her ass from a hole in the ground.� He spits beer as he says it. Laughs. Tries to pull himself together, manages, �Show him, dear.�
Marcie stands, shows Darren her back and shakes her black-skirted mud-flaps. Chester reaches round and rubs her ass cheeks, winks at Darren. But he can�t contain himself. Puts his head on the table and roars with laughter. Best time he�s had in ages. Marcie sits and Chester pops up his head. Regains his composure. Porn-kisses her in front of the lads � exaggerated tongue, one hand on her tit. When he�s done, �On your way fellahs. Run along and play. Don�t bring your shit round here no more.�
10:40 pm
Dolly Ferguson and Missy Munro cackle into drinks. A couple old maids, other side of fifty; first started coming to the Havelock Hotel when the Ladies and Escorts entrance was still in use. Unmarried � both of them � all these years.
Dolly owns a little place out Chase Corners. Missy lives in town. Nights she�s too tired � forget about too pissed; never even a consideration � to drive the truck back to Chase Corners, Dolly crashes on Missy�s sofa. It�s led to a bit of speculation. No husbands. Out cougaring around. Empty-handed when the bar closes, probably take matters into their own hands.
Other day, standing outside the Havelock Gardens Chinese and Canadian Food Restaurant, Ollie Aquin was rehashing a night at the Hotel with Walter McKinney.
�Bulls they are. Sure of it. Sure as fuckin� rain.�
�Eh? What you on about? Heads?�
�Not livestock, Walter. Them two I was tellin� you �bout. Bulls. Dykes. Lezzies. Yah know. Dolly Ferguson up Chase Corners and Missy Munro here in town. Lives by the rink. They get up to it with each other. Sure as I�m standing here.�
Walter regards him just so. �Round here? In Havelock?�
��Fraid so. Everywhere nowadays. Disgustin� you ask me.�
Walter toed a discarded packet of soy sauce. �Thought they only did that sorta shit down Terrawna.�
�Not no more. Goes on all over ��
�Nuther round ladies?� Darren stands when he says it.
Missy leans into Dolly�s padded shoulder, giggling. �Should we?� she says in Dolly�s ear.
Dolly winks at Darren. Puts a finger up, meaning jut a sec. Turns to face Missy. She whispers, �Guess another won�t hurt nobody.�
They hold up empty glasses. �If you wouldn�t mind, dear,� Missy says, all older-woman sweet but sexy.
Darren pads off to the bar.
Henry struggles for words. Looks from Dolly to Missy, the makeup glare on their sallow cheeks muddy in the barroom light.
Dolly takes the initiative. �You wanna step outside, smoke a dube?�
�Eh?�
Missy joins in. �Just nip out for a toke while your friend�s at the bar. Won�t take but a minute. Get a buzz on. Help us get talkin�. Get to know one-another.�
Henry looks over to the bar. Darren�s crowded at the back of a mob trying to get in orders. Henry scratches his balls under the tabletop. Examines his blackened fingernails.
�Don�t know.�
�Yah don�t smoke?�
More scratches. �Course ah do.�
�Can�t hurt then, eh?�
�Spose not. What �bout Darren? He�ll get pissed.�
�We can always go back out and smoke another. Just leave your jacket here to save the table.�
Outside in the minus thirty air; Henry sucks a joint. Then stammers, �Cold as f-f-f-fuck.�
�Got that right.�
Blows smoke, hands over the dube. Through gritted teeth, �Good shit.�
Dolly and Missy take quick hits then hand the joint back to Henry.
�Cold is right,� Dolly says, shouldering in close to Missy.
Missy goes, �You fellahs not from Havelock, eh? Don�t know what they say �bout us, then?�
Henry sucks the joint. Looks blank. Shakes his head as he exhales. Offers it back but both women decline. Dolly turns Missy�s face, leans in, kisses her hard. Missy returns it. Henry stands stock-still, then shivers, bug-eyed. The women mash together. Sweatered breasts smeared against sweatered breasts. A hand each on the other�s ass. Tongues out. Eyes closed. Grunts. Moans. Having their Friday night fun.
Henry takes one last hit from the joint then pitches it into the snow before bolting inside.
Five minutes later, Darren returns, expensive drinks in hand. �Here we go ladies. Drink up. Down the hatch. Get �em in yah! We�re gonna party tonight!�
Henry coughs. Watches Dolly and Missy take their gin and tonics. Summer drink in the middle of February. Thinks: fuck�s up with these two anyway? Turns to Darren. Says behind a hand, �Don�t think this gonna work out good.�
�What?�
�These two,� he starts, then stops.
�Fuck off and drink, Henry. Do yourself a favour. Don�t think, don�t speak.� Darren stabs a finger at the Henry�s beer bottle. �Just drink, gearbox.�
Henry goes to say something, then stops. Sucks on his brown pop instead. Darren does likewise, stupid grin on his face behind the bottle. Dolly and Missy suck back G & Ts. Only sucking there�ll be among them.
12:04 am
Liquored but still unlucky, Darren watches a woman alone at a table. No jackets on other chair backs. After a while, he goes over. Throws a leg over a chair, sits. Henry does likewise, a pace or two behind.
�Well, well,� Darren starts. �Ain�t seen you afore. New round here?�
The woman leans forward, elbows propped on the table, grey cardigan sweater frayed, hair pulled back into a long, salt and pepper ponytail. She peers over tinted glasses; chin just above her white wine. Cheeks flushed scarlet.
�Live outside town a bit. I�m new to the area. Both me and my husband are.�
She says it and pauses, naively thinking it�s enough to chase away Darren and Henry.
�I came to the tavern to meet some local people. Get to know some of you. Maybe promote my work.�
Darren and Henry glance at each other: what-the-fuck-promote-what? looks on their faces.
The woman reaches into a macram� satchel. Pulls out a business card. Places it on the table next to the ashtray.
�I�m Agnes Dujic. A potter, as it says on the card. Maybe you�ve read about me in the Examiner, heard about my show at the gallery in Peterborough.�
Darren and Henry still got what-the-fuck looks going.
Agnes carries on, head glazed in a white wine buzz. �I�d heard there were many artists and artisans out here. Couldn�t take the big city hubbub in Peterborough any more. Rudolph and me bought a charming little place out at Rush Point a few months back. The tranquillity is good for my work, opens the pores and out comes my creativity.�
Darren waits, then says, �What�d yah talking �bout, potter?�
�Potter. I�m an artist. Make forms with my hands from clay.�
She holds up her hands as proof: swollen fingers, chalky skin.
�You mean bowls and shit? Fuck sakes. You make a livin� doing that?�
Agnes smiles.
Darren shakes his head. Then nods at Henry to go for a round of drinks. Leans in close to Agnes, eyes what are � despite the ratty cardigan � her super-sized tits.
�So then, where�s this Rudy now, Aggie?�
Agnes smiles and points to the gents. �Rudolph should be back any minute.�
Darren thinks different. He�d been watching her for a good ten minutes before he sat down. No way her old man could be in the can that long. Unless of course he slipped away somewhere with someone. But who the fuck would go anywhere with someone named Rudolph? Reindeer�s stupid fucking name, Darren thinks.
He snickers. �That your story?�
�Story?�
�How many ah them glasses you had tonight, Aggie?�
�Enough.�
�Enough to come home with me?�
Smooth with the ladies.
Agnes gulps her wine. Eyes the gents again. �You�re very forward.�
�Forward is fuckin� right.�
�What happened to your friend?�
Darren snorts. �What�d yah mean by that, Aggie? You mean me and Henry? Fuck sakes, you a team player there old Agnes?� He looks at her tits again, deliberate-like, slurs. ��Cause if so, Henry can have his fun when I�m done with yous.�
Agnes bats her eyelashes, unbothered. At least appears so. Checks the washroom. No sign of Rudolph. �Well, that wasn�t really what I had in mind,� she says, rimming her finger round the lip of her wine glass.
Darren�s a bit confused. Still, she�s not said no, not told him to fuck off completely. That�s always a good sign. More than enough to go on, far as he�s concerned. He�s practically frothing at the mouth. Pushed up against the table. Eyes wide. Fat cock in his jeans.
�What�d yah mean exactly?�
Agnes downs her wine. �Well, it wouldn�t really be fair to Rudolph to miss out on all the fun.� She�s not making eye contact. Pauses, then goes, �My, my, didn�t think we�d get up to this sort of sport so quick out here.�
Darren�s not really sure any more. Hard-on gone. Eases back in his chair. Eyes narrowed.
�That not the sort of team play you were thinking of?� Agnes asks, eyes now centred on Darren. �When you said team player, I assumed you were up for any type of group action. It�s all the rage now, my dear.� Agnes folds her potter�s hands in front of her on the table, poised. Regards Darren just so.
�Lady � � he starts. �I�m not � Fuck sakes � You�re not? � You serious?�
�You figure it out, dear. If you�re interested, we�ll be over at the bar.�
She stands slowly as she says it, leans forward, heavy breasts surging toward Darren.
He says nothing. Eyes murky. Wasted. No clear thoughts. Stays firmly rooted where he is. Doesn�t budge. Waits for Henry to get back with another round of beers.
1:22 am
Ashley Fargo rises from her knees, blundering out to the street when she hears her brother�s voice. �Fuck, that�s Marvin,� she says over her shoulder.
�Marvin? Who tha fuck�s Marvin?� Henry goes. He tugs at his zipper, dick steaming in the frigid air. �Your old man?�
Ashley horks cum and spit into a snow bank, calls back, �Worse, my brother.�
Darren leans against the Havelock Gardens Chinese and Canadian Food Restaurant. Ashley�s the sort of team player he had in mind. Found her skulking in the corridor near the men�s can in the Hotel. Turned over a rock and there she was. Curly black hair. Gobs of gooey mascara. Bad skin, pockmarks. Pink belly shirt in the middle of winter. Low-cut jeans with G-string undies sticking out the back of her too-fat ass. A real small-town dirty. She blew him in the Hotel parking lot, then offered to do Henry by the dumpster behind the restaurant. Two blowjobs for some Chinese takeout. That was just the start. Said Darren and Henry get her a bottle, they could go back to her place and party till dawn. Darren was on it like a shot. Went back and paid the Hotel bartender fifty bucks for an unopened twenty-sixer of CC. Took a couple hits waiting on Henry to get his hummer when some big fucker came over, calling Ashley�s name.
Darren shifts the bottle behind his back.
Marvin approaches. �Cold fuckin� night to be standin� round.�
Darren looks up at him. �Came outside for a butt.�
�What, no smokin� no more in tha Chink�s?�
�Yeah. New policy. Sumpin like that.�
�Don�t get fuckin� smart.�
Darren looks beyond the big man for Henry. He could use a little help. Then Ashley appears. Marvin�s eyes light up. Glares first at Darren, then Ashley.
�Sluttin� around again, Ash?� He says it flatly.
She doesn�t get too close. �Maybe. Fuckin� business is it of yours?�
�All you get up to my business.�
�That fuckin� so?�
�Fuckin� right. You knows it. We got ourselves a deal, right?�
Ashley stubs her boot against the restaurant�s front step, yellow neon light shining down on her pallid cheeks. Inside, Jake Ming sucks on a smoke, trying to look through the iced-up window at what�s going on. Ready to call the cops the first sign of violence � he�s replaced his front window three times in the last year. Insurance company plans to raise his premium.
Henry comes out to the street, panting, half-smiling. Dumb fuck, Darren thinks.
�Two of �em, eh?� Marvin says. �Double my usual cut, then?� He looks down at Ashley. �You went over you rates afore you started this shit, right?�
Ashley�s face whitens more. She starts to stammer a response when Marvin turns to Darren. �You fellahs paid up front, right?� His voice not so flat any more.
Bottle clenched in his gloved, right hand, Darren goes, �Fuck you on about?�
Henry sees the bottle. Steps behind Marvin.
Marvin goes, �Ashley works for me. Me and her got a deal, right. Got sick of you fucks takin� it from her all ah time. Decide we might as well make a little coin from her whorin� ways. Get it, fuckface?�
�All she�s gettin� is some rice and fuckin� chicken balls for her troubles. Ain�t paying for a fuckin� lousy blowjob,� Darren says, then lunges forward, waving the bottle at Marvin�s head. But he slides on the ice as he does so, losing purchase on the sidewalk. Bottle flies loose, over Marvin�s head, bounces harmlessly off a parked, black pick-up into the street. The top cracks off and rye sloshes onto grey snow. Henry goes to jump Marvin�s back but he sloughs Henry off as if he were a kid. Ashley takes off down the street. Weapon-less, Darren steps forward awkwardly, right into Marvin�s left fist. Hits him square on the chin. Goes down fast, head bouncing off the restaurant�s concrete steps. Henry knows Darren�s knocked-out. Watches Ashley scamper away. He looks for the bottle, a slab of solid icicle, something heavy to throw at Marvin. Nothing.
Jake steps outside, intervenes, �Take your shit somewheres else, Marvin.�
Marvin glares at him. �Just trying to collect what�s mine. Not your affair, Jake.�
�It happens outside my shop, it�s my fuckin� business.� Jake looks at Henry cowering next to Darren. �You owe Marvin for sumpin?�
Henry says nothing. Whimpers a little. Knows he�s beat. Tries shaking Darren awake. Not sure what to say without Darren�s help. Dumb as a fuckin� stump. He looks up, sees Marvin coming at him. Jake stands there, spatula in one hand, cell phone in the other, not ready to help Henry. Just ready to call the cops if his restaurant is threatened.
Henry glances at Darren. Reaches over and stuffs his hand in Darren�s back pocket. Takes out the wallet. Grabs all the cash � maybe eighty bucks � and throws it at Marvin.
Marvin scoops it. �Wise move, pussy-lips. You come sniffin� around my sister�s hole again, you remember this and pay up front next time.�
Henry nods, slack-jawed. �What about Darren?� Then looks at Jake.
Marvin goes to Jake, �You should get this shit cleaned up off your doorstep. Fucker�s passed out drunk. Could freeze to death. Not good for business, Jake.�
Jake hits the cop shop on speed-dial. Marvin jams the bills in his front pocket and looks around for Ashley. She�s long gone. Henry seizes his opportunity � races for his snow machine out back the Hotel. So full of booze he can barely stand, he slumps onto the snowmobile. Starts it up quick. Makes tracks by moonlight for Warsaw alone.
HUBERT SELBY JNR
CHARLES BUKOWKSI
THE CLASH
RAYMOND CARVER
