Free The Garden of Last Days by Andre Dubus III Page B

the new girl, his silver belt buckle glinting in the stage light. The DJ had lowered the music some, but still the singer sang and Lonnie heard only that, saw the man’s lips beneath his whiskers say cunt as he wadded up his bill and flicked it in her direction and the jolt was almost always a surprise, a hard thrust into his shoulder, a sting in his hand, his arm just a conduit between the two as Dolphins Cap fell backward onto the table of the loud boys and it flipped their rum and Cokes, vodka shots, and half-empty beer bottles, their ashtray full of cigar stubs raining down onto Dolphins Cap, though he didn’t seem to notice or care; his eyes were closed and Lonnie watched Larry T and Scaggs haul him up and carry him out.
    There were a few more chords left in the new girl’s song, but she was on her knees gathering the curled bills on the dusty stage around her, her breasts swaying heavily. Louis sent over two waitresses to clean up the mess and bring a free round to the young men with no drinks. Some stood to the side to make room for Larry T, Scaggs, and what they carried. A couple of them looked Lonnie up and down and when their eyes met his they looked away and Lonnie turned and waited for the new girl to leave the stage. She held her outfit under one arm. In the shifting light—pink and white now for the next act—she paused at the curtain and glanced at him. A strand of hair hung in her face, and she looked embarrassed, relieved, and a little scared. The DJ skipped the pause between numbers and cranked the systemhigher, a lot of bass for “You’re as Cold as Ice,” Renée rushing out in her ice queen costume, her big fake breasts and white eyeliner. Nobody hollered out to her. It would take a few minutes for the party to get revved back up again the way it should, and Lonnie stepped by the loud boys, who were quiet now, sitting at their clean table.
    His knuckle stung. He found himself thinking of bacteria and tetanus shots and what a strange night it was becoming. Earlier he’d known he’d have to confront Dolphins Cap again but not so soon, and as he dipped a new bar napkin into his ice water and pressed it back on his hand, he did what he often did after dropping one of them—he went over it in his mind, asking himself if he’d done it because he had to or just wanted to, and with this one it was both; he’d shut his filthy mouth for him; he’d shut up the table behind him too.
    His heart was just beginning to slow back to normal. Out in the VIP the girls were doing a good night’s business, naked and half-naked bodies writhing in the dimmed lights at the easy chairs. Little Andy held open the curtain to the Champagne Room for Spring and a small man in a polo shirt. Lonnie watched them. Something began to tick deep behind his ribs. He looked away, saw Paco in the blue light of the VIP raise his Coke glass to him, his dark Asian face smiling wide. Lonnie nodded and scanned the main floor for more pockets. He’d have to keep his eye on the front entrance now. He opened and closed his hand. Sometimes, especially when they were as drunk as Dolphins Cap, he’d start to feel some remorse for hurting them but not much. The truth is, he enjoyed doing it. Maybe it was how other people felt swinging a bat and watching the baseball fly far out over the field, or with a basketball, springing off the court, flicking the wrist, and hearing the swish of net. For him, it was putting a bigger man to the ground, his chin and shoulders dropping as he pivoted off his back foot, his torso following through, his fist just the messenger boy.
    Renée was swinging round and round on the pole. On her nipples she’d stuck white pasties with foot-long silver threads. Nobody did that anymore. Lonnie looked back at Little Andy sitting on his stool,the curtain to the Champagne Room hanging still. He scanned the girls working the floor. Then he glanced back at Renée and for just a moment he watched her pasties sway and rotate