The Last Good Kiss Read Free

away.
    But not yet, not this time. I leaned against the bar
    and ordered another bottle of beer. When the barmaid
    sat it down, a large black tomcat drifted down the bar
    to nose the moisture on the long neck.
    "The cat drink beer too?" I asked the barmaid.
    "Not anymore," she answered with a grin as she
    flicked the sodden bar rag at the eat's butt. He gave her
    a dirty look, then wandered down the bar past the
    bulldog and Trahearne, his tail brushing across Trahearne's stolid face. "Sumbitch usta. drink like a fish but he got to be too much trouble. He's like ol'
    Lester there," she said, nodding toward the shadetree mechanic with the most teeth. "He can't handle it. He'd get so ·low-down, dirty-belly, knee-walkin'
    drunk, he start up tom-cattin' in all the wrong damn
    places. "
    The barmaid gave ol' Lester a hard, knowing glance,
    then broke into a happy cackle. As he tried to grin, ol'
    Lester showed me the rest of his teeth. They weren't
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    any prettier than the ones I had already seen. "One
    night that crazy black bastard started up a-humpin'
    ever'thing in sight-pool-table legs, cues, folks' legs,
    anything that didn't move fast enough-and then he did
    somethin' nasty on a lady's slacks and somebody
    laughed and damned if we didn't have the biggest
    fistfight I ever seen. Ever'body who wasn't in the
    hospital ended up in jail, and they took my license for
    six weeks." She laughed, then added, "So I had that
    scutter cut off. Right at the source. He ain't wanted a
    drink since."
    "Is that Lester or the tomcat?" I asked.
    The barmaid cackled merrily again, the other mechanic brayed, but ol' Lester just sat there and looked like his teeth hurt.
    "Naw," she answered when she stopped laughing.
    "01' Lester there, he don't cause no trouble in here.
    He's plumb terrified of my bulldog there."
    "Looks like a plain old bulldog to me," I said, then
    leaned back and waited for the story.
    "Plain," Lester squealed. "Plain mean. And I mean
    mean. Hell, mister, one momin' last summer I come in
    here peaceful as could be, just mindin' my own
    business, and I made the mistake of steppin' on that
    sumbitch's foot when he had a hangover, and damn if
    he didn't like to tore my leg plumb off." Lester leaned
    over to lift his pants' leg and exhibit a set of dog-bite
    scars that looked like chicken scratches. "Took fiftyseven stitches," he claimed proudly. "01' Oney here, he had to hit that sucker with a pool cue to get him off'n
    my leg."
    "Broke that damned cue right smack in two," Oney
    quickly added.
    "Plain old bulldog, my ass," Lester said. "That
    sumbitch's meaner'n a snake. You tell him, Rosie."
    "Listen, mister," the barmaid said as she leaned
    across the bar, "I've seen that old bastard Fireball
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    Roberts come outa dead drunks and blind hangovers
    and just pure-dee tear the britches off many a damn
    fool who thought he'd make trouble for a poor woman
    all alone in the world." When she said alone, Rosie
    propped one finger under her chin and smiled coyly at
    me. I glanced over her shoulder into the ruined mirror
    to see if my hair had turned gray on the trip. An old
    ghost with black hair grinned back like a coyote. Rosie
    added, "He don't just knock' em down, mister, he drags
    'em out by the seat of their britches, and they're usually
    damn glad to go."
    "Well, I'll be damned," I said, properly impressed,
    then I glanced at the bulldog, who was sleeping quietly
    curled on his stool. Traheame caught my eye with a
    glare, as if he thought I meant to impugn the courage of
    the dog, but his eyes lost their angry focus and seemed
    to drift independently apart.
    " 'Course now, ifn Fireball can't handle all 'em by
    his own damn self," Lester continued in a high, excited
    voice, "ol' Rosie there, she ain't no slouch herself. You
    get her tail up, mister, she's just as liable to shoot your
    eyes out as look at you."
    I nodded and Rosie blushed sweetly.
    "Show him that there pistole," Lester demanded.
    Rosie added a dash of bashful