12. THE NEON MAZE.
Las Vegas: Sunday 27th May 1990.
I saw this film a couple of years back- Gremlins or something....
In the film, the chap at the petstore tells the boy not to give the Gremlin water after dark or the fucking thing goes crazy....
That's Hymie on whiskey!
He goes fucking nuts when he touches scotch...
He just dumped two drinks over a old chap he was playing cards with; he spat at another plump woman sat next to him at the poker table.
Hymie is in a terrible state. Food is probably the best option right about now.
Hymie sits gazing at the laminated menu: "I can't decide n shit.... Burger or a steak."
"Have both," I reason. "We're in Vegas right?"
"Shut the fuck up Tone.... What are you having? Fish and chips?" Laughs Hymie, attempting to poke his index finger in my face and missing, his elbow thudding against the table making the cutlery jump.
Hymie can be predictable. His sense of humour is that of a ten year old boy, especially when he's filled to the eyeballs with malt whiskey.
Predictable.
"Surf n turf," I tell him, closing the menu and downing my menthol cocktail to steady my shredded nerves. I have no idea what is actually in this cocktail, Hymie seems to like buying them- I enjoy drinking them. I can't even believe the waitress served him in the state he's in......
I light a cigerrette, praying for a moments peace....
If only......
"Look!" He says, his eyes rolling back in his head, "call the damn waitress or SOMETHING!"
I do my best to politely attract the attention of two of the waitresses. They look over run, they are over run...
Hymie loses control of himself:
"Jesus Tone! You are such a fuckin' pussy! You know that?!"
He bangs the table with his fist:
"M'AM! M'AAAM! EXCUSE ME! M'AAM!"
"Thats enough!" I murmur, grabbing his arm to stop him thumping the table.
Now the cunt is shouting:
"GET THE FUCK OFFA ME TONY! M'AAAM! WHAT'S A GUY GOTTA DO TO GET A GOD DAMN STEAK AROUND HERE?! WHAT THE FUCK!!" LET GO OFF MY ARM TONY! ASSHOLE! LET GOOOO!"
He's a fucking embarrassment right now! I've never seen him this bad! He's fucking hammered!
"TOOOONEEYY! GET THE FUCK OFFA MEEEH!"
When I met him, he was half cut at a blackjack table. He told me he'd been up for a couple of hours; the dealers eyes told me otherwise. I don't think Hymie has slept at all... And now he's falling apart at the seams......
He looks terrible. I doubt this evening will be continuing for very long.
He's still shouting:
"I'M AN ALL AMERICAN BOY! AN ALL AMERICAN CITIZEN! I DEMAND THAT I AM SERVED!"
"That's enough Hymie!"
"FUCK OFF TONY! M'AAAM! CAN I GET A LITTLE-"
"We're gonna get thrown out Hymie!"
A waitress arrives- Annoyed. And not unreasonably. I wish the ground would open and swallow me up......
Watching Hymie order is painful. He's over ordered as usual, not to mention being very obnoxious. The waitress has threatened to call security...
Twice.....
"YEAH.... STEAK..... UHHHHH, WHAT THE FUCK DO MEAN 'HOW DO I WANT IT?' BLOODY AS HELL! BITCH!!"
I'm still waiting for the ground to open up.
LORD! GIVE ME A SIGN!
Any sign at all......
The waitress snatches the menus and I totally understand her pain. When Hymies sober, I'm gonna give him hell over this!
It seems like an eternity until the damn plates arrive. The waitress slams them on the table and turns before we can ask for anything else.
"BITCH!" Hymie shouts after her.
She turns around, scowling at Hymie.... I raise a hand apologetically and mouth:
"Sorry."
Hymie is already trying to slice up his steak- He's more of a danger to himself with the steak knife. With a bit of luck, he may cut himself.....
Badly.....
Preferably on the wrists.....
I intervene, slicing up his steak into small, bite size portions. It suddenly occurs to me that Hymie choking to death might be a blessing in disguise.
Before I can finish, he's grabbed his fork and started stabbing at his plate, nearly stabbing me in the hand:
"Good ol' American steak babeyyyy!! No motherfucker can even fuck with good ol' American steak!! Texas gold motherfuckerrrr!"
The woman on the table next to us has finally lost patience:
"PLEASE! DO YOU MIND?! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT!"
"My apologies madam," I say on behalf of Hymie whose shovelling scrambled egg into his mouth and showing me- His bottom jaw hanging down to his chest. "My friend has had a bit too much to-"
"DA FUCK YOU DOING TONY?! FUCK THAT BITCH! I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT! ASSHOLE!!"
"Does your friend always act like this in public?" The lady asks me, irratably.
"Yeah, I'm afraid he does when he's been drinking heavily...."
She spins back around and one of the kids asks:
"What does 'asshole' mean mommy?"
Before she can answer, Hymies off... Again:
"SOME BITCH! SOME KIDS! FUCK 'EM!"
As the whole restaurant turns to watch the freak show, Hymie lies back in his seat and starts to fall asleep, leaving me to deal with the murderous stares.
I signal for the check that arrives unsurprisingly quickly. I add the tip and grab the waitress by the hand. She pulls away aggressively.
"M'am... Please."
I pass her the twenty dollar bill, say it's on behalf of my friend....
She smiles weakly and walks away:
"Your friend is an asshole."
A fair analysis. I kick Hymie hard in the leg, growling into his ear:
"Wake up you cunt! Time to go to bed!"
"Leave me be asshole..."
His completely out of it. He has his head cracked back against the booth, drool rolling down his chin. I've seen Hymie drunk, never like this....
I need to get him out of here. I'm angry at him for putting me in this situation. When I visited him in New York last year, he was on his best behaviour... Sort of.....
I boot him again.
"What's your fuckin' problem asshole......" He's dozing off again.
"WAKE UP YOU FUCKING CUNT!" I shout, jolting everybody in the restaurant.
I grab my stick and just about manage to lift him up. I put my head under his right arm; my neck is stuck under sweaty armpit....
Brilliant.....
I'm struggling with the weight. I slap him across the arse. Hard.
SMACK!
He moans.... In pain, I hope.... I slap his arse again. Very hard......
"Fuck you doing..." He's waking up.
I slap him multiple times across his backside:
"If you're gonna behave like a fucking child, then yer arse will get slapped like one!"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"OWWW! FUCK! FUCK!! OKAY! OKAY!" He gasps in pain as we zig-zag through the busy restaurant.
People are gawping and Hymies awoken...
.... Sort of......
I let go of him.... Watching him stagger through the restaurant is the only humour I can get out of this horrible situation.
He's banging into tables, walking like he has concrete boots on. What a state! Hymies engulfed by his oversized Laker top; his Adiddas shorts are hanging off his arse.....
If I was to get revenge now, I would pull his shorts all the way down to his ankles and watch him collapse. He'd be like a turtle on its back..... He'll have bruises in the morning from banging into all these tables.....
I see a young black family on the last table. They are completely unaware of an impending Hymie. I can see the young boy about to dip his spoon into a virgin ice cream sundae.
I go to grab Hymie and miss.
CRASH!
Hymie collapses violently into the table and the sundae goes flying. The glass smashes on the floor- Ice cream splatteting all over my freshley polished loafers.
"AYE YO! WHAT THE FUCK!"
The boys dad is clearly upset. And not unreasonably.... Then he does it.
Hymie does the one thing you shouldn't in a situation like this?
Apologise?
Hymie says 'no'.
Buy the boy another sundae? Hymie says 'no'.
Run away?
Hymie says 'no'.
Hymie says:
"HEY! FUCK YOU PAL!"
The blow the boys father throws is a thing of beauty- Sonny Liston reincarnate.
SMACK!
Hymie deserves it. It's satisfying to see Hymie get smacked- Very hard. Its like a train at full speed hitting a small childs bike left on a train track!
Hymie- Surprisingly, absorbs the blow, like a towel soaking up water on a bathroom floor....
Before dropping onto the ground in a heap.
The boys dad turns to me:
"WHAS' UP NIGGER?!"
Nigger?! Who does this guy think he is? He's a black fella and he's calling ME a nigger?!
"What did you call me mate?"
His face changes. He realises I'm not American.
"What did you call me?"
"What?!"
"You called me a nigger? Why?"
I can see him look at me in a strange way. Then the penny drops.
"THAT'S HOW BLACK FOLK TALK IN THE STATES MOTHERFUCKER! HE FUCKED UP MY KIDS SUNDAE!"
I reach into Hymies pocket and grab his wallet. I pluck out a 100 dollar bill and hand it to the boys father:
"Dinners on this wanker. Get him another ice cream...."
"My nigger," the dad says, patting me on the back. His wife scorns him for using the "that word" in front of the kids. Then the penny drops: Its a term of endearment or an insult.
Only the Americans....
"Now I need to take this nigger back to his room." I say, pointing to a groaning Hymie.
The father picks him up with one hand:
"Damn... He a Laker fan too....." I nod goodbye.
The dad pats me on the back again:
"You cool though....."
By the time we get halfway through the gaming area, I'm flanked by two security guards...... For a moment my mind flicks back to the bikers at the bar. This was destiny; it was bound to happen. I've already used my 'get out of jail' card.....
We walk to the lifts.
The tension is killing me.
"I dropped my bag," Hymie says, pointing behind me. He has blood spilling from his split lip. I spin around to see only the guards. What bag is he talking about? Hymie... I spin back around....
He's in the lift! What the-
Hymie blows me a raspberry as the lift doors close.
"HYMIE!"
And..... He's gone....
Good!
...... Fuck him!
Let him find his own way back to his room!
Fucking bastard!
I thank the guards and move on.
I head over to one of the bars and order a drink:
"A long island ice tea..."
....... I've haven't been in America a few days and I'm already drinking shit beer and lousy cocktails......
There are no clocks in the casinos. I have to check my watch, which has stopped working.
Again.
The best thing about drinking in a casino is that they never short pour; if anything, they over pour.
Keep them drunk, keep them gambling. I have no interest in gambling, just writing and drinking.
It seems apparent that I am a source of amusement for two girls across the bar. They are giggling, pointing and whispering. I light a cigarette and wave at them. Acknowledgment I am the butt of their jokes...... And willingly....
Anything to ease this terrible tension I feel..... Be the clown... If it helps me unwind......
One of them walks over:
"Hey there! Can I get a light?"
See looks like an angel- An angel with a dirty face: Corkscrew, shoulder- length blonde hair; a deep, brown sun tan; large, ice blue eyes.....
I'm mesmerised for a second as I light her cancer stick.
"Thank you," she says, blowing the smoke up into the air and making eye contact, "So...... How are you?"
She introduces herself as Sarah and beckons her friend over:
"This is Talia."
Talia and Sarah are young and not as smart as they'd like to think they are. They are both dressed in very short skirts, heels and low cut tops.
Talia is what I would call a typical 'All American' girl: Thick and curly, strawberry blonde hair; a robust figue, but not fat; she has front teeth that protrude slightly- For a second they remind me of Freddy Mercury.....
I buy them both a drink and make small talk. They flirt, pretending to be interested in what I have to say- Making subtle signals they think I can't pick up on......
"We were supposed to meet this journalist guy here, like a half an hour ago," whinges Talia, swirling the swizzle stick in her drink. "What a douche!"
Hymie.... I fucking knew it....
"Blonde hair?" I ask, checking for an answer I already know. "Sunglasses, basketball top?" "Yeeeaaah.... How did you know?" Sarah says, shocked.
"Just a lucky guess ladies."
I'm explaining to the girls how I know Hymie, but I can feel somebody's eyes on me. I spin around to see a chap like me: Afro-Caribbean, tall.....
Theres something in his expression that alerts me he is about to make his presence felt. The girls look startled and make their excuses to leave.
Sharpish.....
"Tony, it's been really cool talking to you. We gotta-"
"Ladies, past your bedtime isn't it? Does Lorenzo know where you are?"
I spin around to see the guy standing behind me. The girls don't even answer, just scarper past me out of the bar.
He turns to me:
"Enjoying Vegas?"
"I was," I respond, "Now I'm annoyed. I hate school yard bullies....."
"Well, that depends on who you call the bully...."
He stares at me. I stare back:
"Anything I can help you with?"
"Nah," he shakes his head. As I turn my back on him, he decides to continue:
"Y'know Vegas can be a dangerous place, especially for an outsider..."
"Is that so," I respond, turning back to face him. The anger inside beginning to build. "Yeah.... It is....." he says.
His sarcasm cuts like a razor. Maybe its because Americans are so bad at it, that when they do it, its offensive......
I just want to enjoy a drink....... And not be bothered by an American half wit who wants to intimidate me.
Time to end this:
"I really don't like the tone you're taking with me mate. I'm here for a quiet drink. No problems. If the girls wanted to talk, I was happy to oblige them. I was doing nothing wrong as far as I can tell. Is there a law against talking to two beautiful young girls in a bar?"
He pulls out his wallet, only to reveal a Las Vegas police badge:
"I'm on a night off. Just having a quiet drink like you. Just a friendly warning. You should be careful whose turf you step on out here, those girls belong to a dangerous individual. You and the pimp-"
"Pimp?! What are you talking about?!"
"I saw you with the guy with the blonde hair and jewellery. You telling me he ain't a pimp?"
"Hymie Cohen. He's a journalist for Rolling Stone magazine among many other of your countries finest publications. I'm a novelist sir."
This bastard is eyeballing me and I don't like it- Not one bit.... I keep his gaze.
I will set this wanker straight:
"You've approached me and been very rude! And now you're insulting me! Is there anything else I can help you with?... Officer....."
He breathes out slowly, rolling his eyes:
"Some men you just can't reach..... Just a friendly warning."
I stare him dead in the eye:
"Is there something you would like to say? Officer?"
"If I can give you some advice. Friendly advice. Avoid the skanks and you'll enjoy your vacation. Thats all."
"Your advice has been heeded and I shall make a note."
I pretend to hold a pen in my left hand and write on a sheet of imaginary paper floating in the air. "You lay down with dogs, you catch fleas," he says as he turns, walking back to his seat. How profound......
That the wonderful thing about America, their intelligent catchphrases.
As I resume my seat at the bar, I can feel the barman and some of the punters look at me in an odd way. What is it?
Do they know something I don't?
I pick up my long island ice tea and gulp it down. In my hurry, some of it spills down my chin and rolls down my neck.
In my younger days, this clumsiness would have embarrassed me no end. After what I have been through in my life, I couldn't care less what people think of me; especially some brain dead, thick as pig shit Americans.....
Wait...
My tone is becoming bitter, negative....
Time to retire to my room for the night...... Lock the door to the outside world...... Time to stem the spiral of negativity.
I can be miserable on my own- No need to inflict this on others.
As I wander through the casino, over to the lifts, I have the urge to escape Las Vegas- As soon as I can. Maybe I can make up a lie and fool Hymie; maybe I'll cheer up by tomorrow....
Who knows.... Who cares.....
...... All these flashing lights.... Slot machines.....
...... Slack jawed, dead eyed Americans gambling away money that could be better spent on better things. What drives these people to sit at one armed bandits, pumping a fortune in small change into an electric machine? They look hypnotised by the flashing lights.......
Is this humanity? What drives these people? What sort of vacuum exists in their soul? Do they tell their friends about their 'vacation'? Do they tell their friends they went to Las Vegas to sit on stool in tracksuit bottoms and an oversized t shirt?
Is this it?
Is this the American dream?
To grow up, get married and buy an oversized house? Squeeze out loud, overweight, ignorant children? Become brainwashed by a country doomed for failure? Consume grease laden, fart inducing food, whilst binging on gut rotting bourbon?
This is bullshit! This is absolute-
Stop Tony! Just stop!
The negativity is consuming me whole. I need my room. Solitude...
..... Let these fucking Americans do what they want...... Who am I to judge them? Just book a plane ticket and get the fuck out of America already......
...... These lifts play muzak- Farting trumpets is exactly what I need in my life at this very moment...
I must have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed today.......
My bladder is full to bursting...... I need a piss.
Thats the problem with having one foot- When you need to rush, its impossible...... Shame my bladder is unable to understand.
A twist of the key and I'm in- Without closing the door or hitting the light switch, I stumble to the bog for a desperate piss in the dark......
..... My stick clanks against the floor tiles.
This is.....
..... Bliss.......
...... Back to my writing, away from the monsters downstairs..... Maybe a drink too..... Lighten up.... Stop being a miserable git....
.... Over to the sink to wash my-
SHIT!
OH MY GOD! THERE HE IS!
TOBEY..........
We're just two dark silhouettes, both staring into the mirror, he's looking over my shoulder from behind me.
"Tobey?" I whimper.
Nothing. He just stares over my shoulder. Please don't disappear Tobey.
"Tobey?"
Nothing. Nothing.
"Please, Tobey! Tobey!"
He lets out strange sound, his mouth hanging open. It sounds like a dog yawning. I can see the black holes where his eyes used to be....
"Tobey?"
The yawning sound continues. His mouth open.
"Jesus Tobey, is that you son?"
My voice is wobbling; Emotion is taking me over.....
I spin around and he's gone. Back down the rabbit hole.
Is Tobey here in Las Vegas?
Am I losing my mind? A daylight hallucination of sorts?..... I hit the light in the bathroom.....
...... A call to room service. Turn the television on for company. Try to figure out what's happening.
Another bottle brought to the room, another two dollar tip....
....... Back on my own again, as always....
Is Tobey trying to tell me something?
Is he here to torment me or save me.... Only time will tell.... ...... Whatever. Anyway.....
..... With the television on in the background, I make another trip to the Port of Saint Louis..... Start typing the next part of my story.... ........ Any port in a storm........