Read Online Dove Season (A Jimmy Veeder Fiasco) by Shaw Johnny - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shaw Johnny
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All covered in slapped-on stucco. Odd angles jutted from roofs made from the accumulation of makeshift repairs. Nothing looked new. Every surface appeared weathered and worn. Wires crisscrossed overhead, cutting the hazy night sky into an irregular grid.
The moment Bobby and I reached the street, we were mobbed by a half dozen chicle kids. Dirty faces and sad eyes. Bobby reached into his pocket and without looking threw a handful of change against the nearest wall. The kids bolted for the coins, their little fingers scraping at the silver, then the pennies.
“Can’t stand them kids’ faces. And I ain’t chewed gum since Little League,” Bobby said, almost to himself.
On Avenida Madero, we made our way along the narrow sidewalk, squeezing between turista stands and the dense crowd. Clothes, shoes, candles, CDs, DVDs, hats, food, postcards, magazines, books, rosaries, pornography. You name it, you could buy it on the street.
More than once I felt a hand on my back pocket. Either there were a lot of fresh Mexicans, or I was disappointing a whole mess of pickpockets.
I accidentally made eye contact with a young guy leaning against a wall. He gave me his curt sales pitch in heavily accented English. “Hookers? Cocaine?” I continued walking.
Bobby was right. The bar was close, but also closed. We stood in front of a pair of doors with heavy chain wrapped around the handles. Next to the door, painted on the wall in swooping red on green letters, was the name of the place. Cachanilla’s. And beneath it, block letters stated, “Bar and Girls—Floor Show” in English.
“Well, shit,” Bobby said, looking at his watch. “Probably don’t open ’til ten. We got shy of two hours to blow.”
“We could come back another night,” I said, trying not to sound as anxious as I felt.
“Relax, Jimmy. You need to find your sea legs. We ain’t looking for trouble, means we ain’t going to find any.”
“When has that ever been the case?”
“Always a first time.” Bobby smiled.
“It’s been a while. When we were younger…”
Bobby interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Alls you need is a couple of drinks in you. Help knock some of the sand out of your vagina.”
“I don’t know if I belong here anymore,” I said, but Bobby hadn’t heard me. He was already down the street. I quick-stepped to catch up. A couple of drinks might do me good.
Bobby opened a door that I hadn’t seen. What appeared to be a wall covered with posters was actually a door with a small Abierto sign hidden in plain sight. Below it a handwritten scrawl read, “ Se prohibe la entrada a mujeres, uniformados e integrantes de las fuerzas armadas .” Loosely translated, “No women, soldiers, or anyone in a uniform.” I followed Bobby into the darkness of the bar.
The dark hallway opened into a dark room lit by neon beer signs and some Christmas lights that lined the ceiling, walls, and half the bar. An old man played guitar quietly in the corner. Thankfully, he didn’t stop playing when we walked in. There were a dozen customers, all but two of them over sixty. Those two sat in the far corner dressed in Mexican cowboy gear: hats, jeans, rhinestone snap cowboy shirts, and matching boots. One in red boots, the other green. They both gave me the stink-eye, or so my paranoia told me. Bobby either didn’t notice, which I doubted, or chose to ignore them. I felt a cold drip from my armpit land on the skin over my ribs. I could’ve blamed the heat. It was stifling in the dark room, but I knew it was more than that.
Bobby smiled broadly at the approaching bartender. “ Hola! Qué onda! Cuatro cervezas y dos tequilas, por favor. ”
“ Cuatro? Más vienen? ” said the bartender, looking behind us for more people.
“ No. Tenemos sed ,” Bobby said, laughing and turning to me. “Really thirsty.”
“ Dólars o pesos? ”
“American dollarinos,” Bobby said too loudly. “ Cuanto? ”
As the bartender loaded up the bar with our
The moment Bobby and I reached the street, we were mobbed by a half dozen chicle kids. Dirty faces and sad eyes. Bobby reached into his pocket and without looking threw a handful of change against the nearest wall. The kids bolted for the coins, their little fingers scraping at the silver, then the pennies.
“Can’t stand them kids’ faces. And I ain’t chewed gum since Little League,” Bobby said, almost to himself.
On Avenida Madero, we made our way along the narrow sidewalk, squeezing between turista stands and the dense crowd. Clothes, shoes, candles, CDs, DVDs, hats, food, postcards, magazines, books, rosaries, pornography. You name it, you could buy it on the street.
More than once I felt a hand on my back pocket. Either there were a lot of fresh Mexicans, or I was disappointing a whole mess of pickpockets.
I accidentally made eye contact with a young guy leaning against a wall. He gave me his curt sales pitch in heavily accented English. “Hookers? Cocaine?” I continued walking.
Bobby was right. The bar was close, but also closed. We stood in front of a pair of doors with heavy chain wrapped around the handles. Next to the door, painted on the wall in swooping red on green letters, was the name of the place. Cachanilla’s. And beneath it, block letters stated, “Bar and Girls—Floor Show” in English.
“Well, shit,” Bobby said, looking at his watch. “Probably don’t open ’til ten. We got shy of two hours to blow.”
“We could come back another night,” I said, trying not to sound as anxious as I felt.
“Relax, Jimmy. You need to find your sea legs. We ain’t looking for trouble, means we ain’t going to find any.”
“When has that ever been the case?”
“Always a first time.” Bobby smiled.
“It’s been a while. When we were younger…”
Bobby interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Alls you need is a couple of drinks in you. Help knock some of the sand out of your vagina.”
“I don’t know if I belong here anymore,” I said, but Bobby hadn’t heard me. He was already down the street. I quick-stepped to catch up. A couple of drinks might do me good.
Bobby opened a door that I hadn’t seen. What appeared to be a wall covered with posters was actually a door with a small Abierto sign hidden in plain sight. Below it a handwritten scrawl read, “ Se prohibe la entrada a mujeres, uniformados e integrantes de las fuerzas armadas .” Loosely translated, “No women, soldiers, or anyone in a uniform.” I followed Bobby into the darkness of the bar.
The dark hallway opened into a dark room lit by neon beer signs and some Christmas lights that lined the ceiling, walls, and half the bar. An old man played guitar quietly in the corner. Thankfully, he didn’t stop playing when we walked in. There were a dozen customers, all but two of them over sixty. Those two sat in the far corner dressed in Mexican cowboy gear: hats, jeans, rhinestone snap cowboy shirts, and matching boots. One in red boots, the other green. They both gave me the stink-eye, or so my paranoia told me. Bobby either didn’t notice, which I doubted, or chose to ignore them. I felt a cold drip from my armpit land on the skin over my ribs. I could’ve blamed the heat. It was stifling in the dark room, but I knew it was more than that.
Bobby smiled broadly at the approaching bartender. “ Hola! Qué onda! Cuatro cervezas y dos tequilas, por favor. ”
“ Cuatro? Más vienen? ” said the bartender, looking behind us for more people.
“ No. Tenemos sed ,” Bobby said, laughing and turning to me. “Really thirsty.”
“ Dólars o pesos? ”
“American dollarinos,” Bobby said too loudly. “ Cuanto? ”
As the bartender loaded up the bar with our
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