Read Online Getting Higher by Robert T. Jeschonek - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek
Ads: Link
fill it.
"I'll carry the first round back myself, Ralphy. Okay?"
The bartender did not even look at Joe. He just nodded again, stiffly, and continued pouring beer.
"Say, Ralphy, we're cash today!" said Joe. "Rocky just got a new job, so he's buyin'. How 'bout that, man?"
Ralphy muttered something low and angry that Joe could not make out.
After a minute, Ralphy finished filling all three beers, and put them on a tray for Joe to take to the table. As Joe picked up the tray, Ralphy reached out and snatched the money from the counter. He slapped the bills in the register, then turned and started polishing glasses once more.
"Thanks a lot, Ralphy," Joe said as he carried the beers back to his table. Ralphy paid absolutely no attention to him, and went on working on a shot glass.
Looking back at the angry little man, Joe considered himself lucky; at least he hadn't been clobbered with the baseball bat again. Maybe things were looking up.
"Hey-y-y, Joey," shouted Rocky, as his friend returned with the beer. "Good job, good job! How'd you know, man? This is just how I like my brewski--in a glass! Ha ha haaa!"
Crank did not seem very amused. In fact, he was looking annoyed. "Hey," he grumbled, "that's a good one, Rocky, real good."
"I know, I know. Joey, gimme' that shit, fast! I'm dyin' of thirst over here!"
Joe put the tray down on the table, handed a glass to Rocky, and another to Crank. He put the last beer on the sticky table for himself, then tossed the tray to the floor. "All right, man, let's dig in!"
Rocky gulped a huge swallow of beer, then sighed with pleasure. "This is delicious, bud. Just right. Y'know, I was just thinking..."
"Oh God," moaned Crank, "not again."
"Fuck you. I was lust thinking that I should have a party. I mean, this is a good way to celebrate and all, but I need somethin' more. Somethin' big, and wild. I've got all this extra cash on me, too, and nothin' to spend it on. So why not, man? I think I will have a blast tonight."
"Sounds great," said Joe, "but ain't it a little late? How you gonna' get enough people an' shit?"
"Joey boy, I get what I want. There will be enough people, and there will be enough of everything else. Besides, you two are gonna' help organize it."
"Yeah," sputtered Joe excitedly, "why not? Me an' Crank've put major parties together before in less time than this!"
Crank looked grouchy and skeptical. His tubby jowls slouched like fat mad cats and his eyelids shuttered closely. "So," he mumbled, "you're sayin' you want a huge blast tonight, an' you want us to do it for ya'. What th' hell's in it for us?"
Rocky's mammoth grin was white and wide like siding. "Booze and drugs."
Crank thought for a moment, then took a sip of beer. "Mister," he said finally, his skunky expression unchanged, "you just said the magic word."
*****
Chapter Ten
Â
By nine o'clock, Rocky's small apartment was jammed with people, and the place was rumbling with noise. The apartment only had two rooms--a living room and bedroom, neither very big; by nine, every inch of space was stuffed, a solid, sweaty loaf of bodies baked into the steamy cubbyhole. Even the miniscule bathroom was crowded, mainly because that was where all the booze was kept.
Most of the guests were friends of Rocky, Crank, and Joe, called and invited at the last minute. Everybody who was nobody was there--the steelworkers who didn't work steel anymore; guys from the garages and gas pumps in town; girls from the bars and lunch counters; and the whole gang from Tap's except Ralphy. Even Buzz, the old guy who was always shooting pool at Tap's, was there, crouched in a far corner, sullenly sucking on a bottle of whiskey. They were all together there, about thirty of them, jammed and jumpy and yapping in the smelly two-room box, like gerbils in T-shirts and halters. They were cramped and hot, grimy and real, drinking and flying way out beyond the heavy cold corpse of Brownstown.
Out in the living room, in the middle of
"I'll carry the first round back myself, Ralphy. Okay?"
The bartender did not even look at Joe. He just nodded again, stiffly, and continued pouring beer.
"Say, Ralphy, we're cash today!" said Joe. "Rocky just got a new job, so he's buyin'. How 'bout that, man?"
Ralphy muttered something low and angry that Joe could not make out.
After a minute, Ralphy finished filling all three beers, and put them on a tray for Joe to take to the table. As Joe picked up the tray, Ralphy reached out and snatched the money from the counter. He slapped the bills in the register, then turned and started polishing glasses once more.
"Thanks a lot, Ralphy," Joe said as he carried the beers back to his table. Ralphy paid absolutely no attention to him, and went on working on a shot glass.
Looking back at the angry little man, Joe considered himself lucky; at least he hadn't been clobbered with the baseball bat again. Maybe things were looking up.
"Hey-y-y, Joey," shouted Rocky, as his friend returned with the beer. "Good job, good job! How'd you know, man? This is just how I like my brewski--in a glass! Ha ha haaa!"
Crank did not seem very amused. In fact, he was looking annoyed. "Hey," he grumbled, "that's a good one, Rocky, real good."
"I know, I know. Joey, gimme' that shit, fast! I'm dyin' of thirst over here!"
Joe put the tray down on the table, handed a glass to Rocky, and another to Crank. He put the last beer on the sticky table for himself, then tossed the tray to the floor. "All right, man, let's dig in!"
Rocky gulped a huge swallow of beer, then sighed with pleasure. "This is delicious, bud. Just right. Y'know, I was just thinking..."
"Oh God," moaned Crank, "not again."
"Fuck you. I was lust thinking that I should have a party. I mean, this is a good way to celebrate and all, but I need somethin' more. Somethin' big, and wild. I've got all this extra cash on me, too, and nothin' to spend it on. So why not, man? I think I will have a blast tonight."
"Sounds great," said Joe, "but ain't it a little late? How you gonna' get enough people an' shit?"
"Joey boy, I get what I want. There will be enough people, and there will be enough of everything else. Besides, you two are gonna' help organize it."
"Yeah," sputtered Joe excitedly, "why not? Me an' Crank've put major parties together before in less time than this!"
Crank looked grouchy and skeptical. His tubby jowls slouched like fat mad cats and his eyelids shuttered closely. "So," he mumbled, "you're sayin' you want a huge blast tonight, an' you want us to do it for ya'. What th' hell's in it for us?"
Rocky's mammoth grin was white and wide like siding. "Booze and drugs."
Crank thought for a moment, then took a sip of beer. "Mister," he said finally, his skunky expression unchanged, "you just said the magic word."
*****
Chapter Ten
Â
By nine o'clock, Rocky's small apartment was jammed with people, and the place was rumbling with noise. The apartment only had two rooms--a living room and bedroom, neither very big; by nine, every inch of space was stuffed, a solid, sweaty loaf of bodies baked into the steamy cubbyhole. Even the miniscule bathroom was crowded, mainly because that was where all the booze was kept.
Most of the guests were friends of Rocky, Crank, and Joe, called and invited at the last minute. Everybody who was nobody was there--the steelworkers who didn't work steel anymore; guys from the garages and gas pumps in town; girls from the bars and lunch counters; and the whole gang from Tap's except Ralphy. Even Buzz, the old guy who was always shooting pool at Tap's, was there, crouched in a far corner, sullenly sucking on a bottle of whiskey. They were all together there, about thirty of them, jammed and jumpy and yapping in the smelly two-room box, like gerbils in T-shirts and halters. They were cramped and hot, grimy and real, drinking and flying way out beyond the heavy cold corpse of Brownstown.
Out in the living room, in the middle of
Similar Books
