A Quiet Piece of Longing – Five

I was at a bar in Dallas. I had driven from Minnesota in a week. What took so long was the fact that I just decided to spin around in circles across the Midwest. It was rather cheap there, so I still had a good surplus of money. I’d stash it inside the seats, the dashboard, and the trunk in hidden compartments. Lodging was never too bad.

Now I was at a bar, sitting across from a man that had a business proposition. He was scruffy and wore a tattered and stained leather jacket. His beard was untrimmed. He stunk of menthol cigarettes and spoke rather unitelligently.

“So, wit’ all this shit, I have somethin’ for you.”

I took a glug of my beer. “Okay. What is it?”

“There’s two motorcycles being sold downtown, you know. We can totally just take em’ and sell em’ for quick cash.”

“And how is this gonna work?”

“Simple, Stephen. We jus’ hotwire em’ and drive them to my boy’s house and he buys em’ for quick cash. We should be able to make three grand each.”

“Alright.” I said, slamming my drink down. “Then let’s get outta here. We’ll take a taxi.”

His name was Frankie. He was a veteran of the Iraqi war and got dishonorably discharged for his alcohol addiction. Now, in present time, he spent his days wandering the road and drinking. He claimed he could chug an entire six-pack in five minutes. Apparently, he tried drinking so much non-alcoholic beer to get drunk, but he just pissed it out faster than he could get drunk. It just didn’t work.

Frankie made money dealing drugs when he had them and stealing vehicles. He called himself a master of grand theft auto. He claimed that, in his life time, he had stolen twenty-three vehicles and made a half-a-million total. Now this, I didn’t really believe. To me, Frankie just seemed like a drunk lunatic. What was I getting myself into? I didn’t really want to go along with it, but the money seemed too good. I wanted to try.

So we boarded a taxi and passed the bottle around in the back. We drove down the road, swerving between traffic, to down town. “Here.” Frankie said. “Let us out here.”

The cab pulled over and we got out. “Where the hell are we?” I asked.

“We’re here at the impound.”

“The impound?” I squeaked.

“Yeah, we’s gotta hop the fence, you know. Trust me, I’va done this before.”

Before us laid the impound. Considering it was one-in-the-morning, no cops were here. Thank God for that. The fence had no barbed wire so we easily just climbed up and then climbed down. Then, the next step was deciding which motorcycles to take.

“Over here!” Frankie called out.

I turned and saw two, sparkling red motorcycles. Clean and finished. “Now how do we hotwire?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about that yet, partner. I got it both of the times.”

Frankie hopped on the first one and broke the dash clean with his fist. He had enormous strength. Then I watched as he simply stuck a multitude of wires together, and the engine came roaring to life. Hopping on the next one, Frankie hotwired mine and it came to life.

“Now what are we gonna do about the gate?” I asked.

“Simple.” He said. “I’ll just break the lock off.” He grabbed a big rock from the ground and walked over to the gate. He smashed the lock and it came clean off. Then he pushed the gate open and we could leave.

The both of us hopped on our vehicles and soared through the night. I stayed behind Frankie, watching him curve down the road at sixty-five. He ran a red-light so I had too as well. Down the road, I could see the garage we were going too. Frankie made it there and so did I. The door slid up for us and the motorcycles were safely deposited.

“So, you boys brought me my gifts.” Said Ricardo, Frankie’s friend. He went to his safe and grabbed the cash. “Take this for your troubles, and thanks by the way.”

“No problem.” I said. I had just made three-grand. So simple, I thought. Though, I didn’t wanna do it again. Too risky. In fact, I was beginning to think something was wrong. Was this too easy? Had I truly gotten away with it? “What’s next?” I asked.

“Simple.” Ricardo said. “We drink and party. You like scotch?”

“Buddy, I love scotch.”

Ricardo’s house was this little dingy hut located downtown. Graffiti was spray painted on the garage, pitbulls ran about in the front yard, and everything had the distinct smell of mold. But for the time being, we’d be getting absolutely trashed. Ricardo even invited three more friends over.

* * *

“Alright, I fold.” I said, laying down my cards.

I was sitting at a round table surrounded by five people. Casey, Ricardo, Frankie, Matthew, and Thomas. Casey was this Asian guy from the Bronx who moved to Dallas after his life was destroyed by an ex-girlfriend. He didn’t mention why, but he had got three years in jail. It seemed to me that the move to Dallas was to get as far away from his previous life as possible. And that’s why I liked him.

Then Matthew was just some shy kid fresh out of high school. But apparently he helped Ricardo sling cocaine and methamphetamine. Thomas helped with that too and he was in college, though back in town and missing a semester.

Casey ended up taking the pot and I was pissed off. I chugged my beer and threw it in the trash. Cards were dealt and I ended up with a flush. My luck had turned and I’d be getting the money. I bet triple and Matthew and Frankie laid down their cards. It came time to show and I won.

“Oh man, fuck you!” Frankie said. He was completely out of the game.

“Sorry.” I said. “You’re just aren’t lucky.” I finished with a laugh. Ricardo had these cuban cigars and we were all smoking them with our beers and scotch. Smoke was beginning to fill up the room.

The next round happened and I won again. Matthew was out and went in the backroom for the weed. “Let’s pause the game.” He said.

“Motherfucker, no.” Ricardo said. “We can just smoke while we play.”

The blunt was rolled and the game wasn’t paused. We’d all puff on it and then pass it to the left. However, on this round, I lost a great deal thinking I could bluff. But Casey called it out. Frankie was out too so it was just me and Casey.

“So, whatcha got?” He said.

“A royal-fucking-flush.” I showed my cards and I nearly saw him die inside. I bursted out laughing like a god damn maniac. “Suck it, motherfucker!”

“Alright, alright.” Ricardo interjected. “Calm the hell down partner.”

“Well, good game.” Said Casey. “What are you gonna do with all the money?”

“Spend it all on weed and women, of course!”
Casey laughed and slapped me on the back. “My man! Don’t waste it on hookers though. They got diseases.”

“Too late for that.” And then the entire room just laughed.

We spent the rest of the night drinking and smoking weed. I’d end up passing out on the couch and Matthew and Thomas would just call cabs back home. Casey, Ricardo, and Frankie would stay up smoking even more and just watching television.

In the morning I woke up to someone pointing a flash light at me and I nearly smacked them. “What the hell I said?”

“You’re under arrest for stealing two motorcycles.”

Before I could even think handcuffs were linked along my wrists and they were dragging me out of the house. I saw Ricardo being hauled into a police car too, and Frankie was gone. I’d be getting a hundred-twenty days in county jail because my bond was paid off. But that was a huge chunk of change I’d never get back. Thank god for the three grand.

In county jail, I survived by sticking to myself and staying as respectful as possible. There’d be shit starting nearly every day. I distinctly remember sitting in my cell reading, and hearing one of the eighteen-year-olds screaming for help. Or the time I heard someone scream bloody murder. I later found out someone’s balls got smashed for raping their daughter.

I traded the shitty food for cookies and cakes at dinner and lived off of that. One night for dinner I ate the potatoes. Now, something about jail is that the potatoes are always rotten. That’s why they have that taste. It made me shit my pants so I didn’t wear underwear. Overall a miserable experience.

I never got in any fights, though I came pretty close. There was this one guy I happened to piss off for a reason I cannot remember why. He then came to my door and said, “When this door opens, I am coming to beat your ass! I will be here as soon as the door opens and you’re ass is getting beaten!”

Then his buddy said, “Bitch, beat him up and you’ll be a bitch and we’ll beat you up!”

The guy then came back to my cell and gave me a ramen pack as an apology gift. I survived the hundred-twenty days and got out in the winter. My car was at the impound but I was able to, again, spend enough money and get it back. It was only a grand. To my name, I had about ten-thousand left over from my weed-dealing days. And I decided to get back into the game.