South Street Read Free Page B

on myself if I wasn’t out tryin’ to pick up a little spare change, you know what I mean?” Rayburn stared out the window. The driver stared in his mirror at the reflection of the side of Rayburn’s head. “I got this wife, see,” said the driver, waving one arm in the air and peeking in the mirror to see if Rayburn were paying any attention. “Chrissakes, I don’t know what I ever wanted to go an’ get married for. All she does is holler. I mean all the time. All the friggin’ time. A man works his fingers down to the knuckles an’ all he hears is, ‘O’Brien, I need a new vacuum cleaner.’ Shees, I just bought her a new vacuum cleaner. Or, ‘O’Brien, the kid needs new shoes.’ That kid must have fifteen pair a shoes already. You know what I mean?” He peered into the mirror, but Rayburn’s eyes were on the passing street. “Yeah,” said the driver, “an’ then here I am, ridin’ around in the middle of the night. An’ you know what s he’s doin’? She’s havin’ Mrs. Casey in to look at TV. While I’m out here bouncin’ bruises on my backside, she’s watchin’ TV an’ drinkin’ up my beer. I don’t know what I ever wanted to get married for, I swear I don’t. I was free and easy, I was, an’ then she comes along an’ gives me that, ‘No, no, not until we’re married.’ Okay, I says, so I married her. Come to find out I wasn’t even the first one. Can you beat that? Hey, buddy, can you beat that?” The driver stopped for a red light, turned in his seat to stare at Rayburn. “Shees. Saturday night. Nuttin’ but drunks what can’t even carry on an intelligent conversation. Shees!” He turned back and stamped on the accelerator in disgust.
    “Haw, haw, haw,” laughed Big Betsy the whore. “Hey, Leo, didja hear that?”
    “Nope,” said Leo, looking up at her fat face from below the bar, where he was bent over, connecting a fresh keg to one of the taps.
    “I ast him who was he an’ he said he don’t know, did I ever see him before?”
    “Ha,” said Leo, bending back to the keg.
    “You beats everything, you know it?” said Big Betsy, slamming her fist into the young man’s shoulder and almost knocking him off the stool. “You beats hell outa everything. Hey, Leo, he’s buyin’ me another drink. Get off your knees an’ gimme another shot.”
    “Shut up a minute, willya, Betsy,” said Leo, without looking up. He grimaced as he felt for the connection.
    “Haw, haw, haw,” laughed Big Betsy. “Didja hear that?” she said to the young man. She suddenly looked old and worn out and very ugly. “Leo, you black bastard, I wants a drink. You quit suckin’ yourself off down there an’ get me one.”
    Leo straightened up to his full six two and shoved out his jaw. “In a minute,” he said.
    Betsy was about to open her mouth when the young man reached over and laid his hand on her arm. “Take it easy. He’s getting it.”
    “Fuckin’ A, he’s gettin’ it,” grumbled Big Betsy. “He just better be gettin’ it.” She scowled fiercely. Leo looked at her with distaste. He bent down again and completed the connection, stood up, tested the tap, then poured her shot glass full, looked at her, glared at the young man. “Thanks, Leo,” said Big Betsy mildly.
    “Shit,” said Leo.
    “Hey, barkeep,” said a voice at the far end of the bar.
    Leo looked up, quickly concealing a frown. “What can I do for you, Leroy?”
    “Mr. Briggs,” said a fat, dark-chocolate-skinned man. He was wearing a bottle-green suit and a pink wide-collared shirt with a matching tie and highly polished black boots. His eyes were protected from the bar’s dim light by heavy dark glasses.
    Big Betsy gave her companion a gentle nudge that could have broken ribs. “Niggers is all alike,” she said. “They think they’re big shit if they sits around all day like a white man an’ has folks linin’ up to kiss their ass, an’ at night they comes around, all dressed up like it was