I had to think about it. I had to think about all of it. Somehow, it was all tying together: space, death, Sparrow, stiffs, Celine, Cindy, Bass. But I couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. Not yet. My temples began to throb. I had to get out of there.
The office walls held no answers. I was going goofy, I began to think of myself in bed with Lady Death, Cindy and Jeannie Nitro, all of them, at once. All too much. I put on my derby and walked out the door.
I found myself at the racetrack. Hollywood Park. There were no live horses. They were at Oak Tree. The races were telecast and you bet as usual.
I took the escalator up. Guy behind me bumped against one of my hip pockets.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Pardon me.”
I always carried my wallet in my left front pocket. You learned, you learned. After a while.
Passed the Turf Club. Looked in. Just a bunch of old guys. With money. How did they do it? And how much did you need? And what did it all mean? We all died broke and most of us lived that way. It was a debilitating game. Just to get your shoes on in the morning was a victory.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the clubhouse area. And there was the mailman standing there sucking on a coffee. I walked up to him.
“Who the hell let you in here?” I asked him.
His face looked out of shape. Swollen.
“Belane,” he said, “I’m going to kill you.”
“You shouldn’t drink coffee,” I said, “it will keep you awake nights.”
“I’m going to take you out, Belane, your days are numbered.”
“Who do you like in the first?” I asked him.
“Dog Ears.”
“Here,” I handed him a couple of bucks, “get lucky.”
“Hey, thanks Belane!”
“Forget it,” I said, then walked off.
Something was always after a man. It never relented. No rest, ever.
I walked over to concessions and got a large coffee.
“Who do you like in the first, Belane?” the waitress asked.
“Can’t tell you or you’ll beat the odds down to nothing.”
“Thanks, jerk,” she said.
I slid her tip back across the counter and put it back in my pocket. I found a seat near the screen and sat down and opened the Form. Then I heard a voice behind me.
“That two bucks ain’t gettin’ you off, Belane. You’re finished.”
It was the mailman. I stood up and turned around.
“Give me the two fucking bucks back then!”
“No way, man!”
“I’ll bust your damned sack!” I told him.
He smiled and moved toward me. I felt the edge of the blade pressed against my gut. It was just the tip, he had the rest covered with his fingers.
“I got 6 inches here and I’d just love to sink it into your stupid, fat gut!”
“How come you’re not working today? Who the hell’s delivering the mail?”
“Shut up! I’m trying to decide whether to kill you or not.”
“Buddy, I got 10 bucks here for you to bet on Dog Ears.”
“How much?”
“$20.”
“How much?”
I felt the tip of the knife prick my skin.
“$50.”
“All right, reach into your wallet, slip out a $50 and stick it in my front shirt pocket.”
I felt the sweat rolling down behind my ears. I worked the wallet out of my left front pocket, slipped out a $50 and slipped it into his front pocket. I felt the tip of the knife withdraw.
“Now, sit down there and open up your Form and begin reading it.”
I did that. Then I felt the tip of the knife against the back of my neck.
“Feel lucky,” he said.
Then he walked off.
I sat there and finished my coffee. Then I got up and walked out. I took the escalator down, got to parking, got into my car and drove out of there. Some days just weren’t your days. I drove all the way to Hollywood, parked it somewhere and walked into a movie. I got some popcorn and a soft drink and sat down. The movie was on but I didn’t watch it. I just chewed at the popcorn and sucked at the drink. And wondered if Dog Ears had taken the first.