I step back and he steps into the lane. He puts up a new target and goes to town: Blurt. Blurt. Blurt.
And then I thought we were headed to my car in the parking lot, Cal says, but she flagged a cab! Wait, where are you going, I said. Blurt. Blurt. Blurt. Home, she said. I’ll take you home, I said. No need, she said, I’ll take a cab. But wait, I said. And no sooner did I say that then she was off. Gone with the wind. I must have spent two fifty on her.
He pauses from his shooting and looks at me until I get the full implication of what he’s saying.
Two hundred and fifty dollars?
Yes. Two-fifty. He goes back to shooting. RAT TAT TAT TAT TAT.
Did you even get her name? I yell above the noise of his gun.
Maria or something…a pretty little Mexican. It gave me a lift holding her like that in the elevator. For a moment I thought things in my life were about to change. When I told her I was still living with my mom, I think I noticed disappointment.
Did you tell her your mom is flexible?
He pauses from his shooting to consider my question, and then he goes back to shooting. Blurt. Blurt. Blurt. When he’s done, he steps back, and I step into the lane. Pop. Pop. Pop.
She said she doesn’t believe in guys who live with their moms.
What does that mean?
What do you mean, what does that mean? It means she flagged the first cab she could find and disappeared.
But not until after you spent two-fifty on her.
Yes. Not until then.
I continue shooting trying not to be distracted by Cal, but I'm plenty distracted, so my shooting is all over the place. Pop. Pop. Pop.
You suck, Art.
I do my best with your palavaring. I find it distracting. Pop. Pop. Pop.
When I met her I felt lucky all of a sudden, Art. You have no idea. As if my luck were changing in an instant. You gotta understand. I’ve never been lucky.
Yes. I know.
So to meet this girl and be off with her . . . it made me feel lucky.
I understand.
He loads up his Uzi while I shoot and when he’s done he asks: Do you want me to load a clip up for you?
Sure, go ahead.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Like I was saying. I was on top of the world. I wouldn’t have spent all that money on her if I knew how it was going to end. Believe me, I’m not a fool. I like to think I’m a better judge of human character than that. She didn’t seem the type to screw me for two-fifty.
You say you screwed her?
I step back to make way for him. He motors the target back down to us, changes it, motors it back out. Then he pulls a 9mm Luger from out of nowhere.
See, if you only aim, Art, like I aim, and watch your breathing, and keep your hand steady, you might actually hit the target. But I’m watching you and your hands are jerking all over the place and there ain’t even any power in that pussy gun to make your hand shake.
I like that Luger.
It's what got me fired from the railroad.
Oh yeah. How so?
When I was working at the Union Pacific as a brakeman I got canned for ‘reckless behavior.’
How do you get fired for reckless behavior?
You only get fired for reckless behavior when someone higher up don’t like you. If they have no other reason to fire you then they choose ‘reckless behavior.’
But what about the union? Didn’t they protect you?
Well to tell the truth, Art, I’d been caught shooting at coyotes in the railroad yard with this Luger. I’d shoot them and skin them out and sell the pelts. And one of the supervisors was watching me through his binoculars and caught me shooting. That’s when I got fired for reckless behavior. Then my dad passed, and not long after he died I started receiving checks from his insurance policy.
He takes aim until he empties all the rounds in his Luger. Then he puts it down and picks up the Uzi and starts shooting single-shot.
About this girl I met at the track…I got close to fucking her in the elevator. I thought I was going to get lucky for sure, so I told her we could go back to my place. She would have done it in the elevator, too. When I told her about my mom, though, something inside of her broke.
It’s OK, pally, I tell him. It’s OK. It happens.
It makes me feel like shit when it happens to me. RAT. TAT. TAT. TAT.
Well she’ll come to no good.
Of course she won’t. RAT. TAT. TAT. TAT. She’ll find someone else to do it to. That’s the way with women like these.
He clears out and I step into the lane and he gives me space to shoot until I empty the clip. He hands me more loaded clips as I need them. I shoot mostly in silence, and for once I start hitting the target.
Maybe it's you, I tell Cal.
Maybe me? How so, Art?
If you just shut up for a minute and let me shoot rather than talk to me and distract me, I can actually hit the target.
Ha—Art! You just hit the target because for once you got lucky, unlike me with that girl.
I suppose I am lucky. Blurt. Blurt. Blurt.
You are lucky, Art. You have no idea, he says, stepping up to the line for one more round going Blurt Blurt Blurt with the shells flying all over the place, and when he’s through he pulls his safety glasses off his face and smiles at me as if he were the Red Baron just finished blasting away at some poor fool staring at the sun.
Feels good, don’t it? He smiles at me.
Yessir. It does. It always feels good. Whenever I’m feeling blue, it’s nice to shoot.
Yessir, it is.
?
Hey, wait a second. You’re rhyming again.
I suppose I am.
Blurt. Blurt.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
?
After shooting, I visit Rita.
Rita works the counter. She smokes more than she should smoke. Smiles less than she should smile and complains her tips are bad. Her joints ache. Her teeth hurt. Besides that, she’s a bundle of joy.
When I visit her these days I feel like a dog sniffing over a dead corpse.
As opposed to a living corpse?
Our relationship is a corpse.
Whether it’s a living corpse or a dead corpse remains to be seen.
I walk through the doors of the restaurant and try to smile at Rita. I try to imitate the smile I used to smile at her when we were first in love.
When were we in love?
Were we ever in love?
Love.
I smile an approximate smile at Rita, not a real smile. My smile when I walk through the doors is just like our relationship. Our relationship is an approximate relationship, not a real relationship.
I should have never become a waitress, she says when I sit down at the counter.
What would you rather do?
She hands me a cup of coffee.
Anything under the sun.
Like what?
Like what I just said, anything under the sun. I’d get out of Chicago and move south. Head to Florida or something. Become a bartender at one of those beach resorts. That’s what I’d like to do. But working in Chicago. For one I can’t stand the cold, and with another winter coming on I feel like a fool being stuck here waiting for it. No way out.
But Chicago has things Florida doesn’t have.
Like what?
Spring and fall.
She laughs. Ha. Ha. It’s cold here most of the year, and when it’s not cold it’s hot.
Is not.
Is too.
Is not.