Part 31 (1/2)

”Which one?” H2 demanded, looking a little agitated.

”Debby.”

”She's mine!” H2 said, even more agitated.

”Didn't see your name on her,” H informed him calmly. ”Take it up with Frank if you want. I'm not interested.”

”Maybe I will,” H2 jeered.

”Yeah, well,” H rolled his eyes and looked at Tony. ”You got your game on?”

”Yeah,” Tony said. He liked this one. He had a scratchy, growly voice and sapphires for eyes. Probably contacts. There was a good feeling basking about the man. And he liked the way H2 seemed to whine around him.

”You sure?

”Yeah.”

”'Kay,” H said, nodding. He glanced towards the washrooms. ”Frank's on his way back. Luck, man,” he aimed at Tony.

Incredibly, or at least a high grade freaky, Frank turned the corner the instant H stopped talking. That was some cool handling in Tony's book. Frank pa.s.sed H and shook his head in disdain, as if he did not like his trooper fraternizing with the opposing team. H dipped his head at Tony's table and followed Frank back to theirs.

Debby appeared with a pitcher and a crystal goblet containing a strawberry daiquiri.

”You going, Tony?” Lucy asked him as he took his drink.

”Yeah,” Tony replied and shuffled his a.s.s out from behind their table to stand up. He sipped as he did so. ”By the way,” he said as he stood and pointed at H2. ”He's gay.”

H2's face went slack then, and Debby giggled as she placed the pitcher down. Tony left the table, not waiting to hear H2's riposte. He got the f.u.c.ker good that time. He would like to see H2 talk his way out of that one, but time was pressing. And time was a human measure.

He took in the music. Felt the chill of the daiquiri in his head and belly. Took in the cosy decor of Paradise's alcoves. Wondered if it was night outside now and guessed it was. Then, he was in front of Frank and H's alcove, before their table with his half-drained strawberry daiquiri in hand. Frank and H waited, their hands on the table's worn surface like old gamblers showing their honesty. Mugs of beer stood before them. Another full pitcher rested in the middle of the table and reminded Tony of a glowing lantern. That led to an image of a wintry cabin deep in a forest frozen in January.

”Can I sit down?” Tony asked.

”Sure you can sit down. Have a seat,” but his words did not sound friendly. They sounded tolerant. Frank rolled his eyes over to H, who was staring at Tony as if he were a ninth inning relief pitcher brought in to save the World Series. Tony slid in behind the table on H's side, placing his drink down. Frank frowned at the c.o.c.ktail.

”I guess I'll stay and watch, then,” H commented, seeing as he was pinned in.

Frank ignored him. ”You look surprised,” he said to Tony.

”I am.”

”Did you think I would've said 'f.u.c.k off' instead?”

Maybe, but Tony didn't say that. Instead, he sipped on his drink. He looked around the table, at the seats, at the ceiling.

”Yup.” Frank said. ”Same as the one you came from. So start talking.”

Tony gulped back another portion of his drink. There wasn't much left now. It had taken him two hours to get to this point with the help of the beer, and he hoped mixing at this point would not make him sick. Frank waited, setting both elbows on the table, and watched him over his folded hands. Tony wasn't sure what to say, only that he was supposed to say something. He knew what Frank did, and he knew what Frank wasn't doing, and he knew that maybe he had a shot at getting the man back to doing what he did best. Tony crunched up his face. Death was across from him drinking for Jesus' sake! There were people out there suffering at this very moment, waiting for Death-probably even wis.h.i.+ng for himand here he was, sans scythe or sickle or whatever the h.e.l.l it was he used, drinking beer! Beer! Like Death could actually drink beer in Paradise! What in the sweet f.u.c.king hereafter could Tony say to this man so leisurely enjoying his alcoholic beverage while millions were in agony? What could he say? What would he say to this piece of s.h.i.+t that refused to see his mother and end her suffering or the hundred or so like her in Halifax who were also dying by the hour of Cancer. To be denied the simple pleasure of enjoying a meal because his mother's disease had eaten away at her. What could he could say to this c.o.c.ksucker?

Tony looked Death squarely in the eye.

”You,” he jabbed a finger at the man for emphasis, ”are a f.u.c.king a.s.shole.”

Frank's expression went slack. It clearly was not the lead in he was expecting. He was probably expecting Tony to beg him to start working again. Oh, please, for the sake of my mom, PLEASE go back to what it is you do!

Instead, he got another ”You are a f.u.c.king a.s.shole.”

Frank leaned back, his hand lying flat on the table's surface. H leaned back from Tony, looking at the Mundane with absolute shock and thinking a mental white sheet. Neither of them had expected this.

But Tony had only opened with a pop. He was just warming up with all of the confidence the beer and the strawberry daiquiri supplied him.

”YOU are a f.u.c.kING a.s.sHOLE!! You MOTHERf.u.c.kING BUNGLICKER! c.o.c.kSUCKER! WHAT the SWEET FFFFFFFf.u.c.k,” spittle flew from Tony's purpling face, ”ARE YOU doing HERE and telling ME to start TALKING! I mean sweet CHRIST on a telephone pole! You have the biggest set of b.a.l.l.s on you! PIG'S b.a.l.l.s! You ever see a set of pig's b.a.l.l.s, Mr. f.u.c.king Grim Reaper? They're like this!” Tony's hands came up and measured a size roughly the same as a football. ”LIKE THIS! And they are f.u.c.king DANGLING from you, man. You ARROGANT, CHEAP p.r.i.c.k! YOU s.h.i.+TBUBBLE! You MISFIRED SPERM! You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You hear me? Ba.s.sSSSSSSSSSTARD!”

An unimpressed Frank nodded at H. ”Any other time, I'd have to spend money to get sworn at like this.”

H was inclined to agree. He wasn't sure if Tony had thought over what he was going to say to Frank or not, but he was certain that this wasn't the approach he would have used.

”You f.u.c.king a.s.shole!” Tony blared at Frank only a few decibels lower than before. The bar staff was looking in their direction. H wondered if Paradise employed bouncers.

”Thought I was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d a moment ago,” Frank said.

”The boy's confused,” H noted dourly. ”Or baked.”

”So why?” Tony demanded in a hoa.r.s.e voice. ”Why are you doing this?”

”Doing what?” Frank wanted to know.

”This?” Tony grated in red-faced outrage, fanning his hands over the table as if trying to magic it away. ”d.i.c.k all! You have a job to do. You should be f.u.c.kin workin', man! f.u.c.kin workin'!”

Frank leaned forward. ”Why should I be working?”

”Yeah? Why?” H added. He figured it couldn't hurt to appear unbiased.

Tony's shoulders heaved as if it were the dumbest question he had heard in all of his existence. ”Because!” he wailed as if the word explained everything.

But it was there he ran out of steam. Tony drained the last of his c.o.c.ktail. He looked at H and then back at Death, like a swimmer that has just realized he has gone past the halfway point, that it was continue all the way to the other side now, or just drown.

Frank took the opportunity to light up a smoke. ”Because?” he asked quietly, inhaling as he did. Smoke fired out of both his nostrils and Death squinted through at Tony through it all. ”I'm waitin' here.”

Tony fixed him with the killer look he saved for his difficult a.s.signments. The ”I could kill you right here without blinking” look. It did not seem to work on Frank. Then, through the haze of the beer and the daiquiri, Tony remembered just who it was he was trying to intimidate. He gave up. He decided he was still mighty p.i.s.sed at the man, and resumed the look anew. ”You should be killin' people.”

”I should, huh?” Frank's fingers played with his cigarette. The tip glowed in the smoke and dim light.

”Yeah, you should. People are, like, needin' you, man! And you're here! You're not doing your job.”

”I'm not, eh?” Frank repeated just as quietly and gave a sideways glance at H, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

Tony noticed this, and suddenly, he was not so sure of himself. ”No, you... ain't,” he said.

It probably was right there when Frank decided to unleash his own salvo. He had listened to this whiny p.r.i.c.k of a Mundane enough.