Read Online Kockroach by Tyler Knox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tyler Knox
Tags: Contemporary
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making everyone feel so uncomfortable?
She spun her gaze around the Automat. The politicians, the college boys, Sylvie, the comics, no one was noticing the strange man in brown. Even the cashier was more interested in her nails. It was only she whom he was making uncomfortable. Celia felt suddenly ashamed at everything she had been feeling, the revulsion, the anger, even the pity. Who the hell was she to feel any of those things for anyone else when she felt those exact same things for herself?
Almost as an act of penance she was about to stand and make her way toward him, to buy him a sandwich, when she realized he wasn’t alone. There was a smaller man in a bright green suit bustling about him. She recognized the suit immediately.
Mite, the tiny young aspiring gangster who spent his evenings at the Automat huddled over a hot tea, eyes desperate and searching, ever vigilant for a mark to hustle. Mite introduced himself to everyone new at the Automat, sat down, told anelaborate series of lies, and then asked to borrow thirty-nine cents. Always thirty-nine cents, as if the sheer specificity of the number made it hard to refuse the entreaty. He was short, thin, nervous, full of hope and despair all at once, and Celia, overwhelmed by the empathic sympathy only one loser can feel for another, had given up the thirty-nine cents more times than she could remember. Now they were close to friends.
She was shocked to see him there, in the Automat, that night. A few weeks ago he had told everyone about the big deal he was about to score. A little import-export, he had said. All he needed was some up-front cash, he had said. It was sad seeing the hunger that marked his face like a stain, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied in that Automat with all the nickels in the world. It was that hunger that had sent him to Big Johnny Callas, who often held court in that very Automat, to borrow the up-front cash at the Greek’s brutal rates. And, as could only have been expected, Mite hadn’t settled up when he was supposed to. She hadn’t seen Mite for a couple of nights, she had heard he was on a bus to somewhere new, Moline, she had heard, or Fresno, away. She’d been glad he had escaped.
But now here he was, stunningly present, accompanying the strange man in brown. And now here he was leading the man by the elbow, bringing the man across the floor, past the politicians, past Tab and the comics, right smack to her table.
“Yo, Celia,” said Mite. “This is my new friend, Jerry. You mind if we sits here with you?”
Celia kept her eyes off the strange man, always obedient to her mother’s order not to stare whenever a strange or deformed person crossed her path, much as others fought not to stare at her. She would have liked to say no, would have liked nothing better than to be left alone that night to peer at Mite and the stranger from afar, but Mite just then seemed so anxious to please, so desperate almost, that her heart cracked for him.
“What are you still doing here, Mite?” she said. “I heard you were already on a bus out.”
“You heard wrong, then, didn’t you?”
“Big Johnny has been telling everyone about his plans for you. They’re not very pretty.”
“Let him talk.” His nonchalance died quickly and he peered out at her warily. “What plans exactly?”
“Something to do with the spleen. You know where the spleen is, Mite?”
“Isn’t that in New Jersey somewheres?”
“It’s behind your liver. Big Johnny says he intends to remove it.”
Mite sucked in a breath and then shrugged. “Well, the hell with him, excuse my Polish. He wants that spleen thing he can have it, I gots no need for it no more.”
“Mite, you have to go. It’s too dangerous for you here. Do you need money, bus fare?”
“Nah, I decided to maybe stick around a bit. It’s a free country, ain’t it? Believe it or not, things is looking up for me. Thanks to my friend Jerry, things is looking way up.
She spun her gaze around the Automat. The politicians, the college boys, Sylvie, the comics, no one was noticing the strange man in brown. Even the cashier was more interested in her nails. It was only she whom he was making uncomfortable. Celia felt suddenly ashamed at everything she had been feeling, the revulsion, the anger, even the pity. Who the hell was she to feel any of those things for anyone else when she felt those exact same things for herself?
Almost as an act of penance she was about to stand and make her way toward him, to buy him a sandwich, when she realized he wasn’t alone. There was a smaller man in a bright green suit bustling about him. She recognized the suit immediately.
Mite, the tiny young aspiring gangster who spent his evenings at the Automat huddled over a hot tea, eyes desperate and searching, ever vigilant for a mark to hustle. Mite introduced himself to everyone new at the Automat, sat down, told anelaborate series of lies, and then asked to borrow thirty-nine cents. Always thirty-nine cents, as if the sheer specificity of the number made it hard to refuse the entreaty. He was short, thin, nervous, full of hope and despair all at once, and Celia, overwhelmed by the empathic sympathy only one loser can feel for another, had given up the thirty-nine cents more times than she could remember. Now they were close to friends.
She was shocked to see him there, in the Automat, that night. A few weeks ago he had told everyone about the big deal he was about to score. A little import-export, he had said. All he needed was some up-front cash, he had said. It was sad seeing the hunger that marked his face like a stain, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied in that Automat with all the nickels in the world. It was that hunger that had sent him to Big Johnny Callas, who often held court in that very Automat, to borrow the up-front cash at the Greek’s brutal rates. And, as could only have been expected, Mite hadn’t settled up when he was supposed to. She hadn’t seen Mite for a couple of nights, she had heard he was on a bus to somewhere new, Moline, she had heard, or Fresno, away. She’d been glad he had escaped.
But now here he was, stunningly present, accompanying the strange man in brown. And now here he was leading the man by the elbow, bringing the man across the floor, past the politicians, past Tab and the comics, right smack to her table.
“Yo, Celia,” said Mite. “This is my new friend, Jerry. You mind if we sits here with you?”
Celia kept her eyes off the strange man, always obedient to her mother’s order not to stare whenever a strange or deformed person crossed her path, much as others fought not to stare at her. She would have liked to say no, would have liked nothing better than to be left alone that night to peer at Mite and the stranger from afar, but Mite just then seemed so anxious to please, so desperate almost, that her heart cracked for him.
“What are you still doing here, Mite?” she said. “I heard you were already on a bus out.”
“You heard wrong, then, didn’t you?”
“Big Johnny has been telling everyone about his plans for you. They’re not very pretty.”
“Let him talk.” His nonchalance died quickly and he peered out at her warily. “What plans exactly?”
“Something to do with the spleen. You know where the spleen is, Mite?”
“Isn’t that in New Jersey somewheres?”
“It’s behind your liver. Big Johnny says he intends to remove it.”
Mite sucked in a breath and then shrugged. “Well, the hell with him, excuse my Polish. He wants that spleen thing he can have it, I gots no need for it no more.”
“Mite, you have to go. It’s too dangerous for you here. Do you need money, bus fare?”
“Nah, I decided to maybe stick around a bit. It’s a free country, ain’t it? Believe it or not, things is looking up for me. Thanks to my friend Jerry, things is looking way up.
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