Read Online The Journalist by G.L. Rockey - Free Book Online Page B

looked to
his favorite booth at the end of the establishment. Empty. He
nudged Mary toward it.
    “Watch it,” Mary said.
    Zack said to Mindy, “If you hear from Joe,
tell him I said hello.”
    Mindy, stone-faced, nodded.
    Zack nudged Mary’s shoulder. “That last booth
on the end, get it.”
    “Quit pushing me.”
    “Sorry.”
    One step toward the booth, Mary turned.
“What’s that smell?”
    “Barbecue ji ji.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Monkey.”
    “You’re a riot.”
    Settling into Zackary’s favorite booth, Mary
sniffed the air. “So, what is that smell?”
    “I’m serious. Have you never heard of the
Chinese Monkey King? Journey to West , classical Chinese
novel, dates back four hundred years, there were three  ”
    “That’s okay, professor, I’ll catch it next
semester.”
    “Monkey King was the true story of a Chinese
monk, Xuan Zang, around 602 to 664.”
    “Is this going to be a monkey food joke?”
    “After many years of trials and tribulations,
the monk traveled to India to seek the Sutra, the Buddhist holy
book.”
    “No.”
    “When he returned to China, he translated the
Sutra into Chinese.”
    “That makes sense.”
    “Some say the monk symbolizes a rebellious
spirit.”
    “Sounds like some newspaper guy I know.”
    “A rock gave birth to the Monkey King. He
became extremely smart and capable. He can transform himself into
seventy-two different images—tree, bird, beast of prey, can travel
one hundred-eighty thousand miles in a single somersault.”
    “He is definitely some newspaper guy I
know.”
    “With Neptune’s iron bar, he went down into
hell and threatened Satan himself.”
    “How big was that bar?”
    “In a nutshell, Monkey is a rebel fighting
against meaningless rules and regulations, hypocrisy and
sanctimonious pretense in the world.”
    “I now think I know what that smell is.”
    “What?”
    “Your bullshit.”
    “I don’t smell anything.”
    “That’s because you smoke too much.”
    “Oh.” Zack threw a pack of Camels on the
table.
    “Why do you like this dump so much?”
    “Nostalgia.” He lit a Camel. “Memories of The
Bimini Road, ahhh, the arroz con camarones, and the sopa de
frijoles negros, and the piccadillo  ”
    “Are you showing off?”
    “Frijoles negros was heaven  ”
    “This place stinks.”
    “Careful, the owner is sensitive.”
    “Who, the lady with the feather?”
    “Her other half, Jay Xzing.”
    “So why do you like this dump so much?”
    “No plastic, the glasses are just right for
Glenlivet and—”
    “Don’t tell me—chopsticks.”
    Zack lit a Camel.
    A very tall Teutonic male waiter in black
pajamas came to the table. He smiled and said, “My name is Troy
Allen, I’m from Phoenix, my real job is acting, this is part-time,
I’ll be your server for this evening.”
    Mary rolled her eyes and ordered a
Bohemia.
    Zack shook his head no.
    “What’s that mean?” Mary said.
    “They don’t have Bohemia.”
    “And you come here?”
    “Try the Tsingtao draft—excellent.” He smiled
at the server. “ Tsingtao draft for the lady, and I’ll have a
Glenlivet on the rocks.”
    The waiter left, and Mary said, “You’re so
chivalrous.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Okay, but why?”
    “Why?”
    “Why do you like this place?”
    “The former owner, Joe Case. I knew him, this
place got to feel like home, still does. Joe’s ghost, he’s still
here.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I knew Joe Case, too.
No ghost would be seen with him.”
    “You knew Joe Case?”
    She pursed her lips. “You know, sometimes you
piss me off.”
    “I can’t figure out why he left
so  ”
    “Thought he was still here.”
    “You woulda thought he would call  you know, say leaving town, something. I was in a week
before  we talked, then just like
that  gone, poof.” He snapped his
fingers.
    “Maybe he’s a reincarnation of the Monkey
King, went down to hell with Neptune’s bar.”
    “Joe? No. Never. He was 