“Yeah,” Jake said, feeling a strong tug of nostalgia that almost brought tears to his eyes. “We had some good times out on the road, didn’t we? It was a grind, but goddamn did we party.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Coop agreed. “Remember when we used to have them contests with the groupies? The two by twos and the three by sixes?”
Jake laughed. What Coop was referring to were challenges between the band members regarding how many groupies each could have sex with in one night and how many orgasms they could give themselves and the groupies in question. A two by two, for instance, meant that the band member had to have sex, to completion, with two separate groupies and give each of them one orgasm apiece. A three by six meant that three groupies had to be screwed with each receiving two orgasms of their own. “Who had the record back then?”
“It was toss up,” Coop said, “depending on how you rank them. Matt had a fuckin’ four by four one night but Nerdly pulled off a three by nine. And didn’t you get a two by eight one night?”
“I did that,” Jake agreed. “My fuckin’ abs were sore for a week after.”
Pauline was looking at them with an expression of disgusted amusement. “I am sure I want to have no idea what you two are talking about,” she told them.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Jake agreed with a grin.
“Oh, sorry, Pauline,” Coop said, flushing a little. “I forgot you were a prude.”
She glared at him. “I am not a fucking prude!” she barked. “I just don’t brag about my exploits in mixed company.”
“She’s right you know,” Jake told Coop. “There was this one night in Las Vegas, back when I was banging Mindy Snow, Pauline went with us to the...”
“Jake!” Pauline yelled, blushing furiously.
“Sorry,” Jake said, though he was anything but. If you couldn’t embarrass your own sister, who could you embarrass?
“Hold on a second,” Coop said. “This sounds like a bitchin’ story.”
“Don’t you dare tell it to him,” Pauline warned.
“Sorry, Coop,” Jake said. “The boss has spoken.”
Coop was disappointed. “What a rip,” he said.
Pauline stood up. “Look, guys,” she said. “I hate to cut the little reunion short, but I really have somewhere I need to go.”
“Oh,” Coop said slowly, seemingly taken aback by the abrupt dismissal. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I just stopped by for a minute anyway. Just needed to drop that envelope off.” He looked over at Coop. “What do you got going after this? Anything?”
Coop gave a shrug. “I was just gonna go home and fuck off a little, maybe catch a nap and then go out and hit the club tonight to score some pussy.”
“I got nothing happening right now either,” Jake said. “You want to go out and grab a few beers and some tacos? There’s a great Mexican place over on Sunset not very far from here. Cold brew and the best chicken tacos you ever had.”
Coop thought that over for a few seconds and then nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “I could go for some tacos right now, and I can always go for some beer. Do they have that Mexican shit that comes in the brown bottle?”
“They got it,” Jake assured him.
“Fuck yeah then. Let’s hit it. Why don’t we take my car and I can drop you off back here when we’re done?”
“Uh ... I can take my own car and you can just follow me,” Jake said.
Coop was shaking his head. “I might get lost, homie,” he said. “You know how I am. I really think we should go in my car so you can direct me ... if you know what I mean.”
“Ahhh,” Jake said, nodding. “I know what you mean.” He looked over at Pauline. “Is it cool with you if I leave my car here for a bit?”
Pauline knew what he meant as well. “No problem at all,” she said. “Have fun, you two.”
Jake nodded at her with a smile. “It’s what we do,” he assured her.
Coop’s car was quite cluttered. The seats were ragged and torn, there were beer cans and empty fast food wrappers all over the back seat, and the interior smelled strongly of both tobacco and marijuana smoke. A pair of slinky pink thong panties hung from the rear-view mirror. Before they even pulled out of Pauline’s driveway, Coop pulled a large joint out of his cigarette pack and handed it over to Jake. “Here you go, bro,” he said. “Fire this fucker up. I gotta get stoned if I’m going to be eating me some tacos.”
The joint was why Coop had insisted on taking one car. Everyone had their favorite vice. Matt’s was cocaine, Jake’s was alcohol, Nerdly’s was theoretical physics, and Coop’s was marijuana. Though he had spent a fair amount of time as a heroin addict back in Intemperance’s first contract days—thanks to Darren, God rest his soul, who introduced him to it—good ganja had always been his first love. And he truly loved smoking out with his friends.
Jake took the joint and lit it with the lighter from his front pocket. He was carrying one today since he had planned all along to have a few beers and that meant he would want to smoke. He took a shallow hit, just barely enough to qualify as one, and then passed the joint to Coop.
“Thanks, brother,” Coop said, sucking noisily and tremendously, causing a flare of bright orange to erupt at the tip of it. Approximately one sixth of the length of the doobie disappeared down his throat in less than ten seconds.
“Good shit, Coop,” Jake squeaked, though he had blown his own hit out almost immediately after sucking it in.
“You gotta love Humboldt County,” Coop squeaked back, passing the smoldering joint back to Jake.
By the time they reached La Familia bar and grille on Sunset—a trip of less than three miles from Pauline’s place—the joint was nothing but a roach sitting in the ashtray among dozens of similar roaches. Jake, despite the fact that he had only taken small hits and held them for only a second or two, was feeling the rush of THC worming through his brain. He hadn’t really wanted to get stoned, but now that it was working on him, he went with it gladly. It had been months since he’d last felt the sensation.
Why do I not do this more often? he found himself wondering. It seemed like there was a good reason, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was now.
La Familia was a hole in the wall place, family run for two generations, exactly the sort of place that Jake tended to seek out in order to spend his food and beer dollar. The lunch crowd was in full force when they walked in, but, since it was a weekday, there were a few tables available. They were led to one near the rear—a few of the patrons giving Coop and his long hair odd looks—and given menus. Jake did not bother opening his.
They ordered beers and Coop asked what was good here.
“Everything is good here,” Jake told him, “but the chicken tacos are one of the best things you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
“Better than Mindy Snow’s pussy?” Coop asked with a grin.
Jake laughed. “Not quite as good as that,” he allowed. “But close.”
Their beers came and they munched on freshly made tortilla chips that were still warm and homemade salsa that had just the perfect amount of bite. By the time the waitress came to take their orders, they had already worked their way through their first beers and most of the bowl of chips. They ordered their tacos along with more beer and chips. The waitress headed off to the kitchen, wondering why the pale hairball who smelled like pot looked so familiar to her.
“Pauline said she gave you a copy of our CD,” Coop said. “Did you give it a listen?”
“I have,” Jake said. “Several times, in fact.”
“What did you think?”
“Good solid tunes,” Jake said. “I think it’s gonna sell a bunch.”