Bobby Gold Stories Read Free

side,
     right? At least he sent you this time. I should be grateful. I should be relieved. Am I right or what?"
    "I brought some pills," said Bobby, reaching into his wet leather jacket, coming out with a bottle of Demerol. "Take three
     now. I'll wait . . . I'll wait around for them to kick in, okay? Then it won't hurt so bad . . . That's the best I can do
     for you, Jerry. The pills . . . they help a lot." He passed the bottle over to Jerry, watched as the old man tilted his head
     back and dry-swallowed three. He was used to taking medication.
    "Drink?" offered Jerry, motioning to a fifth of Dewar's on the dirt-encrusted windowsill. "Since we're gonna be here a while
     . . ."
    "Yeah . . . sure, thanks," said Bobby. He fetched the bottle, poured two drinks after blowing the dust out of two promotional
     coffee mugs on Jerry's desk. Bobby's mug read "JayBee Seafood" with a cartoon drawing of a leaping salmon on the side. Jerry's
     mug had a picture of a smiling Fred Flintstone on it, and the words "Yabadaba-Doo!" in bright red block letters.
    "Cheers," said Jerry. He poured his drink down in one gulp, coughed, then asked for another. Bobby poured.
    "Why don't you just pay the man on time," said Bobby. "Like you said . . . you got the money. Why piss him off like this —
     for nothing?"
    "Liquidity problems," explained Jerry, looking at the younger man like he was explaining the bond market to a pool boy or
     a gardener. He swept his arm through the air. "Cash flow . . . You know . . . It's ponies and pussy, pussy and ponies," he
     said. "And the dogs. I went the dog track down there at Hialeah? I don't have to tell you what happened," Jerry smiled weakly.
     "That ain't ever gonna change, Bobby . . . so why shit anybody? What? Am I gonna tell you it ain't never gonna happen again?
     C'mon!"
    It you say so . . .
    "I get to pick the arm?"
    "Sure," said Bobby. "Your choice. You pick it."
    "I hope I pick better than I pick winners."
    "Yeah . . . no shit."
    "The left. I think. Yeah - the left," said Jerry. "I'm a lefty, but" — he lowered his voice — "I jerk off with my right."
    "Too much information, Jerry. I didn't need to know that."
    "What - I'm too old to jerk off? I need that arm! First things fucking first!"
    "Whatever you say."
    "How long . . . how long you think before I can use it again?"
    "Three weeks in a cast," said Bobby, talking about something he knew for sure. "Four weeks tops. And the new casts they're
     making these days — they're much more lightweight. You'll be able to get around with it sooner."
    "Fabulous," said Jerry.
    They were both quiet for a while, Bobby sipping his Scotch, gazing idly out the window into Jay Bee's rear alleyway, listening
     to the rain pelt the thick panes of alarmed glass and the distant whine from the compressors. The Rottweiler, awake now, poked
     his head into the room, a filthy squeaky toy between his massive jaws. Seeing no one interested in playing with him, the big
     dog turned and left, the toy making hiccuping sounds.
    "What's the dog's name?" asked Bobby.
    "Schtarker," said Jerry, uninterested. "That's Yiddish, if you didn't know. People used to say that about you."
    Bobby let that go — consulted his watch.
    "Few more minutes and I'll be ready, okay?" said Jerry. "I'm startin' to feel them pills."
    "No problem," said Bobby. "I don't have to be at the club for a while. I've got time."
    "How's that working out for you?"
    "Good," said Bobby. "It's going good . . . I'm head of security now."
    "Nice for you."
    "Yeah . . . It's okay."
    "You ever get anybody there I'd like? You know . . . somebody . . . somebody I could take Rose to see? She loves Neil Diamond.
     You ever get Neil Diamond there?"
    "No . . ." said Bobby. "We had . . . let's see . . . we had . . . Lena Home once . . . we had Vic Damone and Jerry Vale. We
     had him."
    "Yeah? . . . Good?"
    "Yeah . . . they were good. You know . . . Not my kind of music, but good."
    "Bobby . . . If you ever get anybody there . .