Topdog / Underdog (5 page)

Whatcha doing back there?

 

Resting. That girl wore me out.

 

You want some med-sin?

 

No thanks.

 

Come practice my moves with me, then.

 

Lets hit it tomorrow, K?

 

I been waiting. I got all dressed up and you said if I waited up—come on, man, they gonna replace me with a wax dummy.

 

No shit.

 

Thats what theyre talking about. Probably just talk, but—come on, man, I even lent you 5 bucks.

 

Im tired.

 

You didnt get shit tonight.

 

You jealous, man. You just jail-us.

 

You laying over there yr balls blue as my boosted suit. Laying over there waiting for me to go back to sleep or black out so I wont hear you rustling thuh pages of yr fuck book.

Fuck you, man.

 

I was over there looking for something the other week and theres like 100 fuck books under yr bed and theyre matted together like a bad fro, bro, cause you spunked in the pages and didnt wipe them off.

 

Im hot. I need constant sexual release. If I wasnt taking care of myself by myself I would be out there running around on thuh town which costs cash that I dont have so I would be doing worse: I’d be out there doing who knows what, shooting people and shit. Out of a need for unresolved sexual release. I’m a hot man. I aint apologizing for it. When I dont got a woman, I gotta make do. Not like you, Link. When you dont got a woman you just sit there. Letting yr shit fester. Yr dick, if it aint falled off yet, is hanging there between yr legs, little whiteface shriveled-up blank-shooting grub worm. As goes thuh man so goes thuh mans dick. Thats what I say. Least my shits intact.

You a limp dick jealous whiteface motherfucker whose wife dumped him cause he couldnt get it up and she told me so. Came crawling to me cause she needed a man.

I gave it to Grace good tonight. So goodnight.

 

Goodnight.

 

Lincoln sitting in his chair. Booth lying in bed.

Time passes.

Booth peeks out to see if Lincoln is asleep.

Lincoln is watching for him.

 

You can hustle 3-card monte without me you know.

 

Im planning to.

 

I could contact my old crew. You could work with them. Lonny aint around no more but theres the rest of them. Theyre good.

 

I can get my own crew. I dont need yr crew. Buncha hasbeens. I can get my own crew.

 

My crews experienced. We usedta pull down a thousand a day. Thats 7 G a week. That was years ago. They probably do twice, 3 times that now.

 

I got my own connections, thank you.

 

Theyd take you on in a heartbeat. With my say. My say still counts with them. They know you from before, when you tried to hang with us but—wernt ready yet. They know you from then, but I’d talk you up. I’d say yr my bro, which they know, and I’d say youd been working the west coast. Little towns. Mexican border. Taking tourists. I’d tell them you got moves like I dreamed of having. Meanwhile youd be working out yr shit right here, right in this room, getting good and getting better every day so when I did do the reintroductions youd have some marketable skills. Youd be passable.

 

I’d be more than passable, I’d be the be all end all.

Youd be the be all end all. And youd have my say. If yr interested.

 

Could do.

 

Youd have to get a piece. They all pack pistols, bro.

 

I
got
a piece.

 

Youd have to be packing something more substantial than that pop gun, 3-Card. These hustlers is upper echelon hustlers they pack upper echelon heat, not no Saturday night shit, now.

 

Whata you know of heat? You aint hung with those guys for 6, 7 years. You swore off em. Threw yr heat in thuh river and you “Dont touch thuh cards.” I know more about heat than you know about heat.

 

Im around guns every day. At the arcade. Theyve all been reworked so they only fire caps but I see guns every day. Lots of guns.

 

What kinds?

 

You been there, you seen them. Shiny deadly metal each with their own deadly personality.

 

Maybe I
could
visit you over there. I’d boost one of them guns and rework it to make it shoot for real again. What kind you think would best suit my personality?

You aint stealing nothing from the arcade.

 

I go in there and steal if I want to go in there and steal I go in there and steal.

 

It aint worth it. They dont shoot nothing but blanks.

 

Yeah, like you. Shooting blanks.

You ever wonder if someones gonna come in there with a real gun? A real gun with real slugs? Someone with uh axe tuh grind or something?

 

No.

 

Someone who hates you come in there and guns you down and gets gone before anybody finds out.

 

I dont got no enemies.

 

Yr X.

 

Cookie dont hate me.

 

Yr Best Customer? Some miscellaneous stranger?

 

I cant be worrying about the actions of miscellaneous strangers.

But there they come day in day out for a chance to shoot Honest Abe.

Who are they mostly?

 

I dont really look.

 

You must see something.

 

Im supposed to be staring straight ahead. Watching a play, like Abe was.

 

All day goes by and you never ever take a sneak peek at who be pulling the trigger.

 

Pulled in by his own curiosity, Booth has come out of his bed area to stand on the dividing line between the two spaces.

 

Its pretty dark. To keep thuh illusion of thuh whole thing.

But on thuh wall opposite where I sit theres a little electrical box, like a fuse box. Silver metal. Its got uh dent in it like somebody hit it with they fist. Big old dent so everything reflected in it gets reflected upside down. Like yr looking in uh spoon. And thats where I can see em. The assassins.

Not behind me yet but I can hear him coming. Coming in with his gun in hand, thuh gun he already picked out up front when he paid his fare. Coming on in. But not behind me yet. His dress shoes making too much noise on the carpet, the carpets too thin, Boss should get a new one but hes cheap. Not behind me yet. Not behind me yet. Cheap lightbulb just above my head.

And there he is. Standing behind me. Standing in position. Standing upside down. Theres some feet shapes on the floor so he knows just where he oughta stand. So he wont miss. Thuh gun is always cold. Winter or summer thuh gun is always cold. And when the gun touches me he can feel that Im warm and he knows Im alive. And if Im alive then he can shoot me dead. And for a minute, with him hanging back there behind me, its real. Me looking at him upside down and him looking at me looking like Lincoln. Then he shoots.

I slump down and close my eyes. And he goes out thuh other way. More come in. Uh whole day full. Bunches of kids, little good for nothings, in they school uniforms. Businessmen smelling like two for one martinis. Tourists in they theme park t-shirts trying to catch it on film. Housewives with they mouths closed tight, shooting more than once.

They all get so into it. I do my best for them. And now they talking bout cutting me, replacing me with uh wax dummy.

 

You just gotta show yr boss that you can do things a wax dummy cant do. You too dry with it. You gotta add spicy shit.

 

Like what.

 

Like when they shoot you, I dunno, scream or something.

 

Scream?

 

Booth plays the killer without using his gun.

 

Try it. I’ll be the killer. Bang!

 

Aaaah!

Thats good.

 

A wax dummy can scream. They can put a voicebox in it and make it like its screaming.

 

You can curse. Try it. Bang!

 

Motherfucking cocksucker!

 

Thats good, man.

 

They aint going for that, though.

 

You practice rolling and wiggling on the floor?

 

A little.

 

Lemmie see. Bang!

 

Lincoln slumps down, falls on the floor and silently wiggles around.

 

You look more like a worm on the sidewalk. Move yr arms. Good. Now scream or something.

 

Aaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaah!

 

A little tougher than that, you sound like yr fucking.

Aaaaaah!

 

Hold yr head or something, where I shotcha. Good. And look at me! I am the assassin!
I am Booth!!
Come on man this is life and death! Go all out!

 

Lincoln goes all out.

 

Cool, man thats cool. Thats enough.

 

Whatdoyathink?

 

I dunno, man. Something about it. I dunno. It was looking too real or something.

 

Goddamn you! They dont want it looking too real. I’d scare the customers. Then I’d be out for sure. Yr trying to get me fired.

 

Im trying to help. Cross my heart.

 

People are funny about they Lincoln shit. Its historical. People like they historical shit in a certain way. They like it to unfold the way they folded it up. Neatly like a book. Not raggedy and bloody and screaming. You trying to get me fired.

I am uh brother playing Lincoln. Its uh stretch for anyones imagination. And it aint easy for me neither. Every day I put on that shit, I leave my own shit at the door and I put on that shit and I go out there and I make it work. I make it look easy but its hard. That shit is hard. But it works. Cause I work it. And you trying to get me fired.

I swore off them cards. Took nowhere jobs. Drank. Then Cookie threw me out. What thuh fuck was I gonna do?

I seen that “Help Wanted” sign and I went up in there and I looked good in the getup and agreed to the whiteface and they really dug it that me and Honest Abe got the same name.

Its a sit down job. With benefits. I dont wanna get fired. They wont give me a good reference if I get fired.

 

Iffen you was tuh get fired, then, well—then you and me could—hustle the cards together. We’d have to support ourselves somehow.

Just show me how to do the hook part of the card hustle, man. The part where the Dealer looks away but somehow he sees—

 

I couldnt remember if I wanted to.