Read Online Film Strip by Nancy Bartholomew - Free Book Online Page A

they make your drinks and they’re pissed.”
    Ricky took this in, not sure at first if he should believe me, but finally deciding I might know more about barmaid habits than him. When the girl stepped up to the table, she found a humble Little Ricky waiting on her.
    â€œDarlin’,” he said, “I don’t know what came over me there. I did not think. See, I was in New York City yesterday, promoting my new professional wrestling video, and I guess I got swept up in northern rude behaviors that are far from my own gentlemanly manners.”
    The waitress, a short blonde with a tiny chest and a wad of gun stuck in her mouth, regarded him as if he were a common species of toad.
    â€œBullshit, Little Ricky,” she said. “I seen you in here yesterday afternoon and you were just as rude. Now whatc’hu want?”
    Little Ricky looked nervous, thinking about his personal safety and drinks that were the least prone to staff tampering.
    â€œWell, honey, bring me a long-neck, twist top, but don’t open it. I need the exercise.”
    The waitress nodded and turned to me. “What’re you doing here?”
    â€œSlumming.”
    The little barmaid nodded again, looked at Ricky, and smiled back at me. “You want coffee or somethin’?”
    â€œCoke’d be nice, if it’s no trouble.”
    â€œUh-uh,” she said, “it ain’t no trouble at all.”
    She flounced off and Little Ricky watched her, his eyes tracking the way she moved, calculating the odds of ever improving his options.
    â€œYou got one hope,” I said.
    Ricky looked back, puzzled.
    â€œTip her more than the cost of the beer and you might be safe.” He frowned, then smiled. After all, what was a three-dollar tip when you might get lucky later?
    â€œNow, tell me about Marla.”
    Ricky knew he was on the losing end of getting to know me better, so he retreated.
    â€œMarla couldn’t have killed that girl,” he said finally.
    â€œAnd why is that?” I asked.
    â€œBecause I had her gun. She asked me to hold it for her so she wouldn’t shoot nobody.”
    The music cranked up and another new girl strutted out onto the runway and began to work the pole. She was obviously a stripper; dancers have routines, they think about their art. This girl was doing her best impression of a work for hire, later, in a sleazy hotel room.
    â€œWhat?” I said, trying to be heard over the music.
    â€œYeah, I held her gun because she was mad at that Venus for coming on to me. I took it because I know about her temper.”
    â€œWell,” I said, “all right. At least we can give the gun to the police. They’ll test it and see that it hasn’t been fired, and Marla will be clear.”
    The day was looking up. The barmaid appeared with Ricky’s beer, opened of course, and my Coke, complete with straw.
    Ricky’s face went blank, then fearful. I assumed it was because his beer had been opened, but I was wrong.
    â€œSierra, I don’t have the gun.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don’t have the gun?”
    â€œWell, I went out to my car to get it and it was gone.”
    This was not news that I wanted to hear. In fact, it was the very last thing I wanted to hear.
    â€œAll right, Ricky. When did you last see the gun and when did you remember to go look for it?”
    Ricky’s foot slid slowly across the floor and bumped mine. When he didn’t move it away, I moved my leg. The idiot was trying to come on to me and hang Marla, all at the same time.
    â€œRicky!”
    â€œAll right! I put it in my glove box directly after Marla threatened Venus. I went out to her car, took it, and put it in my car. I didn’t recollect about it until this morning when Marla said the cops were looking for her gun and she couldn’t find it. I said ‘Well, baby, don’t you remember I took it and put it in my car?’”
    My heart sank.