The kitchen light was very bright. It was straight whiskey. A dark yellow whiskey. Harry poured the drinks. Such beauty. My mouth, my throat, couldn't wait. The radio was on. Oh,Johnny, oh Johnny, how you can love! somebody sang.
"Down the hatch!" said Harry.
There was no way I could lose. I could drink for days. I had never had enough to drink.
Gobbles had a tiny shot glass of his own. As we raised ours and drank them, he raised his and drank. Everybody thought it was funny. I didn't think it was so funny for a baby to drink but I didn't say anything. Harry poured another round.
"You read my short story, Hank?" Becker asked.
"Yeah."
"How'd you like it?"
"It was good. You're ready now. All you need is some luck."
"Down the hatch!" said Harry.
The second round was no problem, we all got it down, including Lana.
Harry looked at me. "You like to duke it, Hank?"
"No."
"Well, in case you do, we got Dogface here."
Dogface was twice my size. It was so wearisome being in the world. Every time you looked around there was some guy ready to take you on without even inhaling. I looked at Dogface.
"Hi, buddy!"
"Buddy, my ass," he said. "Just get your next drink down."
Harry poured them all around. He skipped Gobbles in the highchair, though, which I appreciated. All right, we raised them, we all got that round down. Then Lana dropped out.
"Somebody's got to clean up this mess and get Harry ready for work in the morning," she said.
The next round was poured. Just as it was the door banged open and a large good-looking kid of around 22 came running into the room. "Shit, Harry" he said, "hide me! I just held up a fucking gas station!"
"My car's in the garage," Harry said. "Get down on the floor in the back seat and stay there!"
We drank up. The next round was poured. A new bottle appeared. The eighteen dollars was still in the center of the table. We were still all hanging in there except Lana. It was going to take plenty of whiskey to do us in.
"Hey," I asked Harry, "aren't we going to run out of drinks?"
"Show him, Lana,,."
Lana pulled open some upper cupboard doors. I could see bottles and bottles of whiskey lined up, all the same brand. It looked like the loot from a truck hi jack and it probably was. And these were the gang members: Harry, Lana, Stinky, Marshbird, Ellis, Dogface and The Ripper, maybe Becker, and most likely the young guy now on the floor in the back seat of Harry's car. I felt honored to be drinking with such an active part of the population of Los Angeles. Becker not only knew how to write, Becker knew his people. I would dedicate my first novel to Robert Becker. And it would be a better novel than Of Time and the River.
Harry kept pouring the rounds and we kept drinking them down. The kitchen was blue with cigarette smoke.
Marshbird dropped out first. He had a very large nose, he just shook his head, no more, no more, and all you could see was this long nose waving "no" in the blue smoke.
Ellis was the next to drop out. He had a lot of hair on his chest but evidently not much on his balls.
Dogface was next. He just jumped up and ran to the crapper and puked. Listening to him Harry got the same idea and leaped up and puked in the sink.
That left me, Becker, Stinky and The Ripper. Becker quit next. He just folded his arms on the table, put his head down in his arms and that was it.
"The night's so young," I said. "I usually drink until the sun comes up."
"Yeah," said The Ripper, "you shit in a basket too!"
"Yeah, and it's shaped like your head."
The Ripper stood up. "You son-of-a-bitch, I'll bust your ass!"
He swung at me from across the table, missed and knocked over the bottle. Lana got a rag and mopped it up. Harry opened a bottle.
"Sit down, Rip, or you forfeit your bet," Harry said. Harry poured a new round. We drank them down. The Ripper stood up, walked to the rear door, opened it and looked out into the night.
"Hey, Rip, what the hell you doing?" Stinky asked.
"I'm checking to see if there's a full moon."
"Well, is there?"
There was no answer. We heard him fall through the door, down the steps and into the bushes. We left him there. That left me and Stinky.
"I've never seen anybody take Stinky yet," said Harry. Lana had just put Gobbles to bed. She walked back into the kitchen. "Jesus, there are dead bodies all over the place."
"Pour 'em, Harry," I said.
Harry filled Stinky's glass, then mine. I knew there was no way I could get that drink down. I did the only thing I could do. I pretended it was easy. I grabbed the shot glass and belted it down. Stinky just stared at me. "I'll be right back. I gotta go to the crapper."
We sat and waited.
"Stinky's a nice guy," I said. "You shouldn't call him Stinky. How'd he get that name?"
"I dunno," said Harry, "somebody just laid it on him."
"That guy in the back of your car. He ever going to come out?"
"Not till morning."
We sat and waited. "I think," said Harry, "we better take a look."
We opened the bathroom door. Stinky didn't appear to be in there. Then we saw him. He had fallen into the bathtub. His feet stuck up over the edge. His eyes were closed, he was down in there, and out. We walked back to the table. "The money's yours," said Harry.
"How about letting me pay for some of those bottles of whiskey?"
"Forget it."
"You mean it?"
"Yes, of course."
I picked up the money and put it in my right front pocket. Then I looked at Stinky's drink.
"No use wasting this," I said.
"You mean you're going to drink that?" asked Lana.
"Why not? One for the road…"
I gulped it down.
"O.K., see you guys, it's been great!"
"Goodnight, Hank…"
I walked out the back door, stepping over The Ripper's body. I found a back alley and took a left. I walked along and I saw a green Chevy sedan. I staggered a bit as I approached it. I grabbed the rear door handle to steady myself. The god-damned door was unlocked and it swung open, knocking me sideways. I fell hard, skinning my left elbow on the pavement. There was a full moon. The whiskey had hit me all at once. I felt as if I couldn't get up. I had to get up. I was supposed to be a tough guy. I rose, fell against the half-open door, grabbed at it, held it. Then I had the inside handle and was steadying myself. I got myself into the back seat and then I just sat there. I sat there for some time. Then I started to puke. It really came. It came and it came, it covered the rear floorboard. Then I sat for a while. Then I managed to get out of the car. I didn't feel as dizzy. I took out my handkerchief and wiped the vomit off my pant legs and off of my shoes as best I could. I closed the car door and walked on down the alley. I had to find the "W" streetcar. I would find it.
I did. I rode it in. I made it down Westview Street, walked down 21st Street, turned south down Longwood Avenue to 2122. I walked up the neighbor's driveway, found the berry bush, crawled over it, through the open screen and into my bedroom. I undressed and went to bed. I must have consumed over a quart of whiskey. My father was still snoring, just as he had been when I had left, only at the moment it was louder and uglier. I slept anyhow.
As usual I approached Mr. Hamilton's English class thirty minutes late. It was 7:30 a.m. I stood outside the door and listened. They were at Gilbert and Sullivan again. And it was still all about going to the sea and the Queen's Navy. Hamilton couldn't get enough of that. In high school I'd had an English teacher and it had been Poe, Poe, Edgar Allan Poe.
I opened the door. Hamilton went over and lifted the needle from the record. Then he announced to the class, "When Mr. Chinaski arrives we always know that it is 7:30 a.m. Mr. Chinaski is always on time. The only problem being that it is the wrong time."
He paused, glancing at the faces in his class. He was very, very dignified. Then he looked at me.
"Mr. Chinaski, whether you arrive at 7:30 a.m. or whether you arrive at all will not matter. I am assigning you a 'D' for English 1. "