The Lost Reflection Page 6

  He looked down to verify the denomination and said with a smile, “My bad, bossman, didn’t recognize you. They told me I should be expecting you. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding your cousins inside. Tell Jerry at the bar, Doug said the first beer’s on me.”

  “I appreciate that, Doug. I’m Brian. Sure I will be seeing you around.”

  The music was blasting and the crowd was bouncing off the walls. People were packed so tightly around the stage they resembled a work of modern art more than a crowd of drunken So You Think You Can Dance contestants. The outlying tables were all occupied with sharks scanning the waters. Neon lights adorned the plank walls as the smell of beer, sweat, and smoke hung heavily in the air. My shoes stuck to the floor, making me long for the dirt floors of Third World bars, where plastic people dare not tread. Scanning the crowd of inebriated patrons, I confirmed there was more than an ample supply of apparently single women available for dancing and who knows what else. Opportunity abounding, I set my sights for Phillip.

  I elbowed my way through the packed sardines to the stairs. The old worn stairs creaked heavily, protesting the multitudes scuttling up and down to their destinations as I ascended to the second floor. The loft was only slightly less crowded than the first floor, the speakers crackling music from the band downstairs to a lesser degree. Off the right was a small impromptu dance floor, another bar against the back wall, and packed in the middle of the room were one too many pool tables. To the front, accessible through three open air archways was the balcony. I made a quick trip to the bar and grabbed two cold beers in hand. I twisted and snaked my way through the room, working my path to the balcony.

  Phillip had not budged from his perch, leaning on the railing with his boyish smile, tossing beads to the girls below in an effort to get them to show their assets. The crowd below resembled an overcrowded pigpen at feeding time, all jockeying for position to the most suitable locale for the feast of boobage. “Missing high school a bit too much, are we?” I held the cold brewski against Phillip’s neck.

  “Nope, just honing my skill,” he replied, not surprised by my appearance or the fact he did not see me coming. Over the years, he became accustomed to my ability to sneak up on him whenever, wherever.

  “And what skill would that be?” I asked curiously, wondering what the inner boy known as Phillip had been scheming.

  “Just a friendly little wager.” Phillip loved to gamble on everything under the sun. He was an excellent poker player. He loved the game because he controlled his fate, for the most part. Good hand or not, he could bluff with the best of them. He loved all other sorts of gambling such as craps, the ponies, and just about anything else he could fathom a wager on. At times he would wager for the sheer thrill of chance. “Ten thousand dollars, the next car that turns the corner will be silver.” The adrenaline rush of a dice roll was such a boner for him. It got his rocks off watching another man or woman tense up and sweat the uncertain outcome of what was yet to be. Bankrolled with a massive bank account, he could afford to be wrong and shrug it off.

  Phillip’s ego thrived on watching people wither and fold. Over the years we had done a few hundred-thousand-dollar bets and though never embracing the magnitude of those wagers, I never backed down.

  “Five thousand bucks per shot. I pick the girl and you must get her to flash the goodies. If she doesn’t flash, I keep picking and you keep paying until you succeed. Then we switch. We play until you cry mercy,” Phillip proclaimed, sensing assured victory.

  “I seem to be at somewhat of a disadvantage. You have been out here practicing—”

  “Puss meat,” Phillip clucked in a mocking tone.

  I stared him down. “Game on, bitch!”

  At times my testosterone-laced ego could get in the way—call it a suspicious lack of better judgment. This had all of the classic signs of shaping up to be one of those events. But this was New Orleans and it was boy’s night out. So I might as well play the part, bid farewell to intelligence, and greet stupidity with open arms.

  Within the flash of an eye I was down fifteen thousand. He chose a little old lady, properly dressed for church, a woman with her husband and kids, and a young girl about ten. His sinister laugh with each selection had me questioning what the hell were these people even doing on Bourbon Street at this hour? Two more picks and I was down twenty-five grand. Then came a small group of middle school cheerleaders, followed by an obvious butch lesbian who offered not to show her boobs but to come up on the balcony and kick my ass. It took all of approximately twenty minutes for me to be down thirty-five Gs.

  “Your turn to buy. I am running out of cash,” I insisted, feeling the need to break his rhythm.

  “Not a problem, buddy. Are you in need of mercy yet?”

  “Get my beer, bitch. I will have you crying mercy before the sun rises in the east.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” Phillip departed with an arrogant smile wide as the Mississippi.

  I was going to have to change strategy fast before my financial clock got cleaned. Nothing usually works better than luring an opponent into a false sense of victory, just like sandbagging on the golf course. The first objective: slow down the pace and drink more. Second objective: allow him to win a lot, been there done that. Third objective: reel him back in and then take him to the cleaners.

  Before Phillip had returned, a waitress appeared on the balcony.

  “Can I get you anything, sweetie?”

  “What is your name, darlin’?” I asked with an intentional Southern drawl.

  “Debbie,” she responded, flirtatious smile ablaze.

  “Debbie, my name is Brian, and I desperately need your assistance.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Her turbo charm ignited with the scent of financial opportunity arising.

  Looking out for Phillip, I reached in my pocket and pulled out two hundred dollars off the roll and placed them on her tray. “Every trip you make out here I need you to bring me two tequila shots. Have one poured about three-quarters full, and the other one full to the rim. The guy I am standing with gets the full one. Do this until the first hundred dollars runs out. The other hundred is your tip. If he is still standing after the hundred is gone, I will refill your cash. Flirt with him. I need him distracted. The more you flirt, the better your tip. If he asks where the shots are coming from, tell him you’re buying. Give him some believable bullshit story. Play with him as much as you can but do not worry, I will make sure he does not give you any trouble when it is time to leave.”

  “And when you’re both shitfaced drunk?” Her coy smile displayed confidence that she would not be worried if we did get out of hand. Rest assured the goon at the door and his clones were ready to answer the sweet damsel’s call.

  “If we give you any trouble, I give you my permission in advance to call your bouncers and tell them I said it was okay to beat the shit out of both of us.”

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t beat the crap out of you myself and enjoy every minute of it?”

  “Probably the fact after the first punch my incessant begging for more would allow you to see how much I enjoy it. Aside from that, your jeans are way too tight for ass-kicking, although I imagine those boots could do some damage.”

  “The boots can come off, and the jeans too,” Debbie teased, “if you play your cards right.” She winked and headed down the balcony.

  As on cue, Phillip returned with a couple of cold beers, icy cold, Arctic-Tundra-cold. Beer just does not get any better than that. “How did you ever find a beer this cold?” I inquired.

  “Brian, Brian, Brian. How many times do I have to tell you? You’ve got to have connections wherever you go. Thought you would have learned that by now.”

  We clanked the frosty bottles together and tipped the ales down the hatch while perusing the crowd below. After a few moments of silence and a couple of deep swigs of beer, our task was abruptly interrupted by a crack resembling a horsewhip.

  “What the hell?” Phillip squealed like a child.

  Debbie stood behind, her hand firmly planted on Phillip’s ass. “You boys were looking a little dry. I thought you might be in need of a refill.”

  Phillip flashed a wolfish smile even though his ass had to be on fire. “Why that’s mighty thoughtful of you, ma’am. Tell me, do you offer up beer refills with such enthusiasm to all of your customers?”

  “Only when I see a couple of boys I’d like to get to know better, after I get off,” she said, turning the provocative charm on full throttle.

  Sensing a potential financial landfall, Debbie was going to milk this for all it was worth. Phillip’s Armani golf shirt and khaki pants screamed preppy pushover. She was accustomed to dealing with his type. Without breaking eye contact with Phillip or letting go of his ass, she sat her tray down on the stool next to us, removing a shot and downing it without a flinch. From past experience, a lesson learned all too well: woman drinking tequila like water, run away.

  She eyeballed the two remaining shots and then looked back at the both of us. “Bottoms up, girls.” Grabbing the shots, I handed one to Phillip and we fired them back. Phillip groaned and winced as the cheap tequila burned all the way down. He chased the shot with beer as quickly as possible.

  Drink up, bitch, I thought.

  “Holy shit, Brian, do you believe that? She’s jonesin’ for me, big time.” Phillip’s enthusiasm was of a sixteen-year-old virgin in a Vegas strip club.

  “Too bad you will have to wait until tomorrow to hear all about her,” I boasted, stoking the fire. “There is no way we are going to share.”

  “Bullshit!” Phillip, incensed, protested loudly. “She wants me. I didn’t see her feeling up your ass.”

  “By the time she gets off, she will be so
over you and ready for an upgrade.” I egged him on, knowing Phillip’s ego was about to best him again. “Want to put a little cash behind that bear trap mouth of yours, buddy?” Phillip grabbed some cash out of his pocket.

  “Last I checked, you were on the short side to the tune of thirty-five K. And speaking of that bet, here comes your next girlfriend.” Phillip pointed out another woman, this one kind of mousy, goody two-shoes looking, a cross between Mary Ann of Gilligan’s Island and June Cleaver. She was with a guy that looked like he came straight out of the cornfields of Iowa. His Farmer Bob ensemble was complete with overalls and a John Deere trucker hat.

  “I don’t even want to waste the beads.” Phillip had chosen exceptionally well, again. “However, I don’t want to give you the instant satisfaction of getting more of my money without a fight.” I tossed the beads in her direction, hitting Farmer Bob instead. Could be her brother, if they were from West Virginia I thought. He picked up the beads and looked up to the balcony to see who had thrown them. By his irritated expression I figured Bobby was pissed.

  Surprisingly, and much to Phillip’s dismay, he screamed out, “Ya’ll wants to see her titties?”

  Before I could respond, about ten other guys and one really drunk woman all screamed out in approval. “It’s gonna take more beads than that,” he bellowed. Within the blink of an eye, beads came raining down on the pair like a rainforest monsoon. I could actually hear Phillip next to me, gritting his teeth. “Don’t do it, don’t do it,” he uttered under his breath.

  “Go head, baby, show ’em your rack!” On cue, she lifted the shirt and bra and set her bodacious, dairy-farm-size breasts free. As a bonus, she shook them wildly side to side. A howl of jubilation erupted out from the balcony instantaneously. Farmer Bob was obviously quite proud of “her rack.” Missing a front tooth, he grinned ear to ear with pleasure knowing his girl was the cause of all the jubilation.

  I do not know who enjoyed the show more, the balcony crowd, Bob, or me. All that mattered was Phillip’s luck just ran out. Time to deliver the house of pain.

  Smack! Like the sound of a leather belt on a naked ass, Debbie’s return was announced. “Dammit!” Phillip cried out like a girl scout who just spilled ten boxes of cookies on the sidewalk.

  “You boys miss me yet?” On her tray were two more shots. “I know I missed you,” she purred, directing a sultry gaze at Phillip who was rubbing his ass.

  “Damn, girl, you keep smacking my ass like that and I won’t be able to sit down tonight.”

  “And who said that’s a bad thing.” Debbie cut a wink in my direction. “I saw you boys getting all riled up over those girls down there. I hope it won’t be necessary to remind the two of you who owns your asses tonight. Now drink up!”

  Phillip continued rubbing his ass while I removed the shots from her tray. “You are right, Debbie. He was getting all worked up, but this should help him settle a bit.” I handed Phillip one of the shots. “Bottoms up, bitch.”

  Between Debbie and the booze, my losses had nearly evaporated. Surveying the crowd milling about, I nearly choked on the night air. A little more than a block away, I was relatively certain Samantha was approaching, accompanied by an equally attractive woman.

  “Double shot, double the bet,” I proposed. “Two girls at the same time for ten grand.”

  Phillip nodded in agreement. At this juncture, he would have agreed to a swift kick in the nuts.

  “Two blondes, four doors down past the intersection on the far side of the street, heading this way.” Phillip followed the directions until he locked in, like a lioness tracking prey. Almost instantly, he regained a semblance of sobriety for about ten seconds.

  “Hell, yes! Damn if don’ they look smokin’ from here.”

  “They both have to go. If they do, ten grand your way. If you only get one or neither, then the ten grand goes my way. After you strike out, I get a crack at them. When I succeed, ten grand my way.”

  “So potentially, downside is twenty Gs on this bet, if I be righteous.” Phillip sought to clarify, although his speech was anything but clear.

  I could not help but smile at my drunk friend. I was truly a bastard. “Potentially yes. Are you in or out, Alice?”

  “All in.”

  We watched the women draw closer. I took a position out of Samantha’s line of sight, peeking over Phillip’s shoulder like some kind of frightened child. My pulse slowly accelerated until it was pounding like cannibal drums at dinnertime. Something was definitely wrong with me, and the sooner I could get the hell away from this city, the better. I contemplated a pit stop by the local voodoo shop on the way out of town to ensure there was not some wicked sort of love curse placed on me. And just to be extra safe, not one foot would be placed in southern California for at least three years.

  “Get chur ass re deee to pay, and no whiner-in about it der res of da night. Dese babes are mine!” Phillip declared as he tossed the first volley of beads in the direction of the girls. Amazingly, his pitch was relatively accurate.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and slid on my shades. I remained behind Phillip, turned slightly, acting completely disinterested in his activities in hopes of appearing not to be with him. The beads landed in the path of Samantha’s sister, skidding right into her cheetah pumps. I slid back to the threshold toward the bar, putting additional distance between me and Phillip.

  The sister bent over and picked up the beads without glancing up. She uttered to Samantha, probably explaining the tradition or relating a personal story about the beads, which caused Samantha to cover her mouth and laugh. Her face glowed like a summer sunset. She placed the beads around Samantha’s neck as they waved in the direction of the balcony without looking, not remotely concerned with who had thrown them. Their expression said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  They continued passing, now directly in front of the balcony. “Cha-ching,” I roared. Phillip shrugged. In desperation, he hurled a handful of beads that managed to find Samantha’s leg.

  “Ladies, don’ leave!” he implored frantically. The financial downfall about to beset him had a sobering effect. This time, Samantha picked up the beads as they turned to see the source of desperation. Now locked in eye contact, Phillip explained, “Thaz not how it works. You can’t juss wear my beads without earning dem. Dat would make you like . . . a poser or somethin’ worse.”

  “I’m sorry. I did not know the rules. My sister did not explain them,” Samantha apologized while pointing to the guilty party. Her smile was so inviting, every man on the balcony appeared entranced. She walked closer to the balcony. “Do you want your beads back?” she asked, beginning to remove her souvenirs.

  The sound of her voice sent waves of heat coursing through my body. Debbie was looking in our direction, and I signaled for a shot desperately needed. Maybe Samantha was a voodoo queen, witch, or some kind of enchantress. Whichever the case, she was here, right now, right under the balcony, and nothing else mattered. Edging closer to Phillip, from the improved vantage point, I now saw her face clearly. I wanted to say something, but refrained. She took Phillip’s beads and threw them back at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. “What an arm,” I mumbled.

  “Ahh, now don’ go and do all dat!”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Samantha smiled and turned back to her sister.

  Samantha’s sister turned, took two steps toward the balcony, took off her beads, and hurled them at Phillip. “Show us yours, big boy.”

  “Hey, beautiful, what’s your name?” Phillip laughed as he watched the beads sail through the air

  “I’m Dana. This is my sister, Samantha,” she replied above the disapproving cries of Cro-Magnon’s seeking another flesh show.

  Showtime, I decided, moving closer to the railing. “Hey, Dana. If I jump off the balcony, will you and your sister show my friend what he’s dying to see?” I moved into Dana’s eyesight, shielding Samantha’s view with Phillip’s body.

  “If you’re dumb enough, what the hell? Sure,” Dana agreed boldly, wanting to see the feat performed but not believing anyone was stupid enough to do it.