Losing Graceland Read Free

young tail and no commitments. Probably had her dealing drugs on the side, pushing profits to him. I been leaned on pretty goddamn hard by those sons of bitches. Back when I didn’t know any better. Back when low-rent thugs looked like high-rent rollers.”
    “Ten thousand is a lot of money,” Ben said.
    The old man nodded. “Goddamn right it is. What’s the point of money if you can’t use it for something noble? Something betterthan fancy sunglasses and ruby rings? Something more than a gold medallion with a sapphire Jewish star … what’s it called? You know what I’m talking about, man. The Jewish star. What’s it called.”
    “Star of David?”
    “That’s right.” The old man snapped his fingers. “You Jewish?”
    “My father was Jewish.”
    “What does that make you?”
    “Confused.”
    The old man nodded again. “I’ve spent enough money to make Solomon puke. Wasted it on phonies and frauds, con men and cocksuckers looking for a teaspoon of the muck. And at the end of the day—”
    He stopped suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shut his eyes and Ben thought he was going to sneeze. Then the old man choked back a sob, and Ben looked around for the waitress to bring him something. A cup of coffee, a hug from a pretty lady, whatever it would take …
    “All I’m saying,” the old man said through a clot of mucus that rattled when he cleared his throat. He opened his eyes. “All I’m saying is the money don’t mean a thing.”
    Ben waited as the old man blew his nose into his napkin.
    “Ten thousand is a lot of money,” Ben repeated.
    The old man sniffled. “Maybe for you.”
    “But you can fly to Memphis, first class, for a tenth of what you’d pay me to drive. And if time is important—”
    The old man brought his fist down on the table and their glasses rattled. People turned and stared. His upper lip quivered as he spoke. “Son, do you think I’d put my fate and Nadine’s into the hands of some pilot?”
    “I don’t—”
    “I remember those two fools they pulled off that Boeing 737. Saw it on CNN. They were hopped up on weed and God knows what else. Levorphanol, from the looks of it. Even in the goddamn press conference, when the one with that Clark Kent hair went on about how sorry he was. Christ, he was hopped up then. And even if you get past the pilots, you still got to worry about a hijacking. You can’t tell me they put U.S. Marshals on every goddamn plane. X-ray machines and metal detectors don’t always work. Not with the polymers they use now, and the ceramics, and who the hell knows what else.”
    Ben looked out the diner window, across the wide boulevard, to the rows of apartment buildings with parking lots for front lawns. He wanted to give the impression he was thinking it over. Ten grand would solve his problems. Get an apartment in Amsterdam, live like a bohemian. He wouldn’t need much—a bicycle, decent food, a couple cases of cheap wine, and enough spare cash for the occasional date. Ten grand would give him escape. A white board with fresh markers that he could use to draw whatever history he wanted.
    Escape
, he realized. The town, the mall, his apartment suddenly became a locked room with cement-gray bars surrounded by the thrum of traffic and the plastic smell of … what? Conformity was too easy a label, mediocrity too elitist. It was something else. Disappointment, maybe. Or tacit acceptance.
    Ben stared at the old man. A black lock of hair fell down over his forehead and for a moment he really looked like Elvis. Not that Ben knew what Elvis really looked like—he only knew him from diner clocks and the silly beach movies he’d watched as a kid. But whoever that Elvis was, the old man looked just like him.
    “Is this a serious offer?” Ben said.
    “Serious as cancer.”
    “Ten thousand for me to drive you to Memphis. That’s all I have to do.”
    “That’s all.”
    “Can I ask you a personal question?”
    The old man sat back and