Old Crew Wine Episode IX – May 15, 2022

graphix: spwilcen

Episode IX
Darkside Tommy

Carrying a small duffle bag jammed with underwear, tees, socks, my shaving gear, and three pair of clean Levi’s, I pounded the button on the garage wall to open the garage door. Someone or something with a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit gravelled my name. It caught me by surprise.  Actually, put me in that precarious situation where both exhaust sphincters spasmed almost to the point of release. Probably, it being Tuesday, I had on clean tighty-whities, and laundry wasn’t until Saturday, natural urges lost out to good potty-training.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied out of reflex as one does when your strength is as the strength of ten because your heart is pure. Immediately reconsidering, I realized people are for the most part correct when they tell me, ‘You have shit for brains.’

Cigarettes launched into his sales pitch. “Jimmy Lewiston says I gotta bust both your kneecaps.  Capeesh?”

I could hear cigarettes but couldn’t see him.  I considered running. While I still had kneecaps.  I stalled, “Capeesh?”

“Yeah. Allus wanted to say that.  Eye-tal-yin you know, for ‘you dig?’”

“What!  Bust kneecaps? What for?” 

“Spoiled his niece’s wedding.  His favorite niece.” The most nondescript man you’d ever see stepped into the light of the open garage door.

Expecting anyone nefarious enough to smash kneecaps for a living to look at least a little sinister, I was disappointed Mister Lewiston had dispatched Tommy Nondescript to take care of business.  I also wondered if the dark web’s lackluster description of me was a good or bad thing. Tommy Disappointing giving away twenty pounds in my favor and looking like he’d hadn’t slept well in a week, I was foolishly encouraged.  “I never heard of the man. I’m thinking mistaken identity. This Lewiston guy give you anything besides a name?”

“Got a picture.” Tommy reached into his inside suitcoat pocket. 

I flinched.  An inside pocket was too small for a baseball bat but about the right size for a small caliber pistol. Kneecaps still intact, I could outrun a baseball bat but didn’t have much chance outrunning a gunshot. Then again, I supposed kneecaps could be broken by well-placed gunshots with less effort than using a 36-inch Louisville Slugger. I breathed a sigh of relief, sort of, when Tommy pulled out a photograph.

“Man, you don’t look nothing like this,” mused Tommy.  “Here.  Lookit. You know this guy?”

“That’s not me! That’s one ugly man!”

“Clearly not you. But do you know him?”

“Never seen him before.”

“Well, good thing for you.”

“You mean you aren’t gonna bust my knees anyway?”

“You think I do this for fun?”

“Well, dunno.  Never met a kneecap guy before.”

“Kneecap guy.  That’s funny.”

“Not to me.”

‘It’s a job, man. Well, that’s the breaks.  No pun there, fella.  Ah, well, shit.”

“Not ‘ah shit!’ as far as I’m concerned.”

“Understand. But look at it from my point of view.”

“How’s that?”

“I got expenses, you know?  Any idea what airfare is to this hick place?”

“From where?”

“From South… Um, let’s just say I ain’t local. Cost me a bundle.”

“Well maybe you can pick up a little odd job on the side?” Up close, Tommy smelled of garlic and Old Spice, but not of cigarettes. “Say, you don’t smoke?”

“Naw. Ain’t healthy, you know. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Unh, yeah. Okay. About this ‘side job.’ Whaddaya mean?”

“Well there’s this woman, down at the state offices…”

“Don’t do citizen contracts.”

“Why not?”

“Pay stinks. I mean corporations and cabals can pay, you know? John Average…” Tommy shrugged. 

“Not so much, eh?”

“Right. Besides you said ‘a woman.’”

“Did. You interested?”

“No.  Woman. Too dangerous.”

“Oh, I see.  A sissy huh?”

“Nothing sissy about it. Gotta be more careful.  Women are pack animals. Hard to isolate, see?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“So I’d rather not, all the same to you.”

“Too bad.”

“Love to stay and chat but I gotta check with Mister Lewiston.  See what he wants I should do next.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“At’s okay. Have a nice day.”

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