Part 33 (2/2)
”I'll let you in on something, but don't tell him,” H said, his eyes darting in the direction Death went. ”He caught something from a woman he picked up in a bar once. Chlamydia.”
”What's that?”
”STD that goes after your urinary tract. He couldn't stop p.i.s.sing. He was like a running faucet all the time.
”He... caught an STD?”
H nodded. ”f.u.c.ked up, ain't it? Don't know who you are sleeping with these days.”
”So what happened?”
H caught the attention of the waitress and motioned for another pitcher. And another daiquiri. ”Saw a doctor and got treated.”
”Death saw a doctor?” Tony repeated.
”Yeah.”
”This is too G.o.dd.a.m.n weird for me. He's just like one of us, for Christ's sakes!”
”At times, he is,” H agreed. ”He feels that, by being one of you, he can help you better when the time comes. Empathy, y'know? And he understands where you guys are coming from. Just that, well, say job satisfaction for him is at an all-time low.”
Tony was speechless.
”You're doing well, by the way,” H informed him.
”I am?”
”Oh, yeah.”
”Don't feel like it,” Tony admitted.
”Just talk about normal s.h.i.+t, okay?” H told him. ”Talk about-I dunno-t.i.tties for example.”
Death appeared in front of their table.
”What about t.i.tties?” he demanded. ”G.o.ddammit, I said what about t.i.tties!”
”Just referring to the lovely waitress coming to us with our beer,” H said.
Death looked. The woman was new, curvy and unsmiling at the way Death was sizing her up. She placed the pitcher and the daiquiri on the table, took H's money and retreated, ignoring Death.
”Christ,” he muttered, watching her go. ”Some right big t.i.tties on her,” he exhaled and sat down. ”Getting h.o.r.n.y here, H. Drunk and h.o.r.n.y.”
”Dangerous combination,” H said. Tony was filling their gla.s.ses, and H nodded his thanks at him. Death watched the Mundane with a drunk's intensity. He just couldn't decide what to make of the young f.u.c.ker.
”Hitting on a waitress,” H said with disdain. ”You know they get hit on every night of the week. Every hour of the night on Fridays and Sat.u.r.days. Why do you even bother?”
Death fixed the man with a curious look. ”Cuz I'm h.o.r.n.y. Didn't I just explain that?”
He drained his gla.s.s. H drained his. When they placed their mugs on the table, Tony filled them almost immediately. H nodded at him with appreciation. Death merely frowned.
”Starting to like you,” he sighed and raised his drink. ”And when are you two gonna come over?” he yelled out. ”Jesus Christ! You need a special invite or something?”
A second later, Lucy and H2 appeared. H2 carried half a pitcher of beer. ”Like gold,” he said with drunken affection.
”Took you long enough,” H told them.
”We were talking,” Lucy said, her eyes just a little heavy lidded. Was she drunk, too? Tony couldn't believe it. In the short time he'd known her, it seemed so un-Lucy-like to be smashed. She also looked gorgeous.
”About what?” Death asked.
”Guys with big p.e.n.i.ses,” Lucy said, without blinking.
Her words made Tony's jaw drop. The others did not seem to notice.
”What do you mean?” H asked, squinting at her.
”Freaks of nature,” Lucy explained. ”Athletes, whatever. Some guys are just naturally freaks of nature. I mean really, really big. Really. I can't get over it sometimes how large some of these boys are, you know. Like, how big can they get? Really? Know what I'm talking about?”
The table was silent.
After a very unsettling moment, Lucy decided to go hunting. ”How about you, Frankie. You ever see any freaks of nature?”
Death thought about it. ”You mean chicks with big d.i.c.ks?”
And the table went up. Uproarious laughter escaped from them all except Lucy, who merely smiled sweetly and shook her head.
”Forget about it,” she said, waving her hand before her face.
”No, really,” Death persisted. ”I really want to talk about this now, especially in front of our Mundane Tony here. Don't worry,” he said to him. ”She always talks filth after a few beers. A real hypocrite our Lucy is. 'Oh I don't swear.' 'Oh I hate it when you say that.' But after a few pitchers, she gets really nasty.”
H leaned in. ”The other day, I even heard her say,” he paused and glanced furtively around, ”fudge.”
”Sweet pickles,” Death threw in.
”I like that one, actually,” H2 grinned. Lucy elbowed him hard.
And Tony simply sat and watched and listened. He was at the borderline separating p.i.s.sed and s.h.i.+tfaced, and from his warped point of inebriation, he couldn't care less about anything except for the looming words in his head 'Lucy said p.e.n.i.s!' There was something oddly erotic about it, and he felt himself stirring. Only for a moment, as his bladder quickly reminded him. Booze. He had to slow down. He had to pace himself with these people. People! They were like people! Real, honest-to-G.o.d people, and that confused Tony. Weren't they, for lack of a better word at the moment, like ent.i.ties or something? How could they have personalities? How could they get p.i.s.sed off at work or have s.e.x or get drunk or talk about male appendages or female fun bags or even have time to do all that?
How could they just sit around a table and get plastered? They were like kids, for Chrissakes!
He abruptly nudged H to move over, indicating that he had to get to the washroom, and H complied. Tony stood up, swayed and shuffled off towards the washroom. The shuffle quickly became a run. He had to get away from them. Had to get to a toilet. He felt his stomach contract and his throat lurch, and he knew he had to make best speed to avoid voiding right in the middle of the bar.
They watched him disappear around the corner.
”Now you did it,” H muttered. ”You've made him sick. I hate having folks around with puke breath.”
<script>