Honky Tonk Zeros

 

"You know, if you do that, it means you're sexually frustrated."

"What?" Jeremy responded, snapping out of a daze. He looked up from the worn wooden bartop to see its tender, Charlene. She'd observed the young man staring off into the middle distance and fiddling with his beer bottle for several moments before deciding to break his trance.

"You're picking away at the label on your beer. They say that means you're sexually frustrated."

Jeremy looked down at the beer bottle in front of him. The scratched-away label simply read "udweiser" and Jeremy noticed he was making a mess on the bar top with the tiny bits of sticky paper.

"Whoops, sorry," Jeremy said, scooping the tiny label pieces into a larger pulpy pile. "I didn't realize I was doing that."

"All good, hon. I'm just teasin' ya," Charlene said with a warm smile. "Let me know when you're ready for another."

"Thanks," Jeremy watched half-absentmindedly as Charlene walked off to help another customer.

What an odd thing to say, Jeremy thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was flirting with me.

She was flirting with him, and he didn't know any better. Jeremy had become somewhat of a regular at The Amber Current, a run-down bar in Danton, Missouri. It was firmly nestled in a part of town with a high concentration of train tracks and an even higher concentration of unsolved murders. Its dim, yellow lighting, tattered leather stools, and tortured hardwood floors didn't make for the most positive online reviews, but the place was a staple for Danton's townies and bikers.

Jeremy represented a different type of clientele. He came in by himself most nights, usually straight from his gas station job. He liked to regale Charlene with tales from his shifts and she enjoyed listening. Charlene didn't find him particularly charming or attractive, and most of his stories centered around listening to a 23-year-old gripe about perceived injustices in his fledgling adult life, but she nonetheless found his presence alluring. After spending most of her adult life trying to piece together broken men, she delighted in the idea of finding one pre-break. She would never make a serious pass at him, though. He was fifteen years her junior and devastatingly naive. Additionally, she was already married to a tire factory worker she'd met tending this same bar years prior. She had no doubt her husband and father to half of her children, Rex, would most assuredly kill her, Jeremy, and himself if he ever caught her straying again.

Jeremy wasn't alone tonight, as he brought with him a balding, middle-aged man who, by his logo'ed polo top, appeared to work at the same gas station. Charlene didn't care for the man. She had a good eye for trouble, and the newcomer slamming shots of rail whiskey and suspiciously besting all of the other patrons at pool was giving that eye a pulsing twitch that would eventually lead to a migraine. He stumbled away from his most recent billiards win and made his way to his coworker, who he hardly spent any time with since their arrival.

"Jeremy," the man said as he gracelessly sat on an adjacent stool. "Jeremy, thanks for inviting me out tonight."

"Hey, no problem, Todd," Jeremy said with a soft, cautious tone of voice that would be as well-suited for talking to a toddler who found a knife. His companion's intoxication was beginning to attract unwanted attention from the other bar regulars and Jeremy was getting lost in thought figuring out how he was going to get him home without either of them catching a knife in the rib.

"You still-" Jeremy stopped speaking for a moment as the sound of a passing train outside overpowered any other sound the bar was capable of making. The lights overhead gently swayed over the patrons of the bar, most of whom acted no different from the train sounds other than temporarily ceasing conversation. Fortunately, the slow, depressing death of rail travel rendered this locomotive a short one, and the soundscape of the bar returned to quiet chatter, clinking glasses, and "La Grange" by ZZ Top being played on the jukebox yet again.

"You still feeling good? We can leave whenever you're ready."

"I'm not ready to go," Todd replied. "You know how Denise left, right? I told you that?"

Jeremy was well aware that Todd's live-in girlfriend Denise recently packed up her belongings and left home with her kids after learning Todd lost all of their savings in another ponzi scheme. It was the sole reason Jeremy made the offer to hang out at after work. He didn't mind sharing his favorite haunt with a coworker, but what started as a pity hang was quickly becoming an uncomfortable situation.

"Do you think you can cool it on the pool?" Jeremy said. "I don't know how you're getting so lucky, but I've heard these guys grumbling about how good you are."

What Jeremy didn't know and Charlene did is Todd was engaging in a good old-fashioned billiards hustle against a few of the local ne'er-do-wells. The scheme starts with a couple no-stakes games where Todd very purposefully and skillfully loses while giving the appearance of trying his best. Once his opponents are convinced he sucks at pool, Todd proposes putting some money down on the games. Because he passes well as a degenerate gambler, they happily open their wallets and, once the bets are in, Todd's luck turns around and he improves just enough to win the game. Unbeknownst to them, Todd was a championship billiards player back in the day, having spent the back half of the nineties tearing up the professional circuit. This was unbeknownst to Jeremy as well, because Todd didn't really talk much about himself much at work. Or he did and Jeremy wasn't listening.

"Don't worry about it, man. I'm just having a lucky night," Todd said, slurring a bit. "If I can win enough money, I can afford to finish getting my CDL and then Denise has to come home, right?"

"Of course," Jeremy confirmed, not sure what Todd was talking about or what a CDL is. "Just be careful who you're playing against. Don't play against any of the bikers. The River Rats don't like losing money and they'll break your legs."

"Oh..."

"Oh? What do you mean 'oh?'" Jeremy asked seriously. "Were you playing with any bikers?"

"Are they the ones in the denim?"

"Yeah, they're the ones in the denim. What did you think they were?"

"I thought they were Canadian."

"They might be. I- I don't know. But they're definitely also bikers, Todd."

"It's all good, buddy," Todd said with a confidence he didn't deserve. "I played a couple earlier and they didn't have no problems and they already left."

"Where did they go? Did they say?" Jeremy asked. Before Todd could finish shrugging in response, the door to the bar swung open. If this were a movie, the music would have halted with a record scratch, but as it was, Little Henry stomped into the bar with an angry look on his face as "Wild Mountain Honey" by Steve Miller Band played in the background.

At over six feet tall, covered with tattoos, and bulging with equal parts fat and muscle, Little Henry was a domineering figure in Danton's small criminal underworld. Anyone familiar with biker genealogy in Southeast Missouri knew that Little Henry's name was not owed to irony, but rather to his relation to his father, Big Henry. Big Henry was the founder of Danton's most menacing motorcycle collective, the River Rats, and previously served as its leader before getting hauled off to a maximum security prison several counties over for trying to put a hit out on a federal agent. Barring some sort of presidential pardon or miraculous jailbreak, Big Henry would remain behind bars indefinitely and Little Henry would be left to deal with gang business, like tracking down pool sharks and breaking their legs.

"Who the hell is in here running tables?" Little Henry bellowed.

Jeremy felt every eye in the bar shift focus to him and Todd.

"Who's that?" Todd asked in a failed whisper. Jeremy said nothing in response as he slowly turned in his stool back toward the bar, picked up a bar coaster that he should have been using this whole time, and pretended to read it.

"Who's that?" Little Henry repeated incredulously. "I'm the fuckin' Grim Reaper, bud. My boys told me a sad looking sack of shit was in here hustlin'. Said he looked like he needed a few teeth knocked out."

"Hey now, I think there's been a big misunderstanding," Todd said, sobering up quickly at the idea of having bones removed from his body. "I was just here having a few drinks with my coworker Jeremy. He comes here all the time. Right, Jeremy? Tell him."

"Oh wow, Rolling Rock," Jeremy muttered to himself as he pretended to look his printed cardboard coaster over like a detective looking for clues. He preferred to not getting involved with a motorcycle criminal on behalf of his fifth favorite co-worker, but the tugging on the sleeve of his work uniform was difficult to ignore, so he turned his bar stool back around to face their collective accuser.

"Hey, I know you," Little Henry said, pointing a finger at Jeremy. "You're the one who comes in here and keeps beating my score on the Golden Tee game."

Jeremy's eyes darted over to the green arcade cabinet in the corner of the bar sitting just outside the danger zone for the dartboards. He would have been flattered that Little Henry knew how good he was at virtual golfing, but he recalled having to take a break from being good at the game when someone began taping threatening notes to the cabinet's screen.

"Little Henry, sir, we're so sorry. This is my coworker and he must have gotten confused or something. He's gonna pay back everything right now and then we'll get out of here and never come back."

Jeremy aggressively nudged his colleague to make sure he was in agreement. Todd jumped into action.

"Yeah, absolutely," Todd said and began emptying out his pockets. As he pulled the contents out and put them on the bar, Jeremy observed the wads of loose cash interspersed with lint and the embarrassing number of paper horoscopes Todd kept buying from the Starscroll machine near the restroom. Todd counted up the bills and attempted to properly face and flatten them.

"It's, uh- it's eighty-four dollars altogether. This is everything, I promise!" Todd handed the money to the criminal and stepped back cautiously as if expecting an explosion.

Little Henry stared down at the money in his hand, carefully calculating how he was going to explain the insufficiency of the gesture to the two imbeciles before him.

"If only it were just about the money," Little Henry said, the calm demeanor in his voice somehow more frightening. "It's about the disrespect of it all. It's about me having to put my night on hold to come down here and shake down a couple of scumbags hustling in my bar."

Jeremy looked around the bar and imagined for a second that the biker literally owned the bar. He probably doesn't mean that he literally owns the bar, Jeremy thought to himself. It's probably more likely that he's referring to some sort of gang territory type of arrangement. This was a profoundly stupid chain of thoughts to have at this time, especially as Little Henry was continuing to talk in the background; waxing poetic on the injustices of having to interrupt a busy schedule to be here. Jeremy only managed to return his focus to the conversation as Little Henry finished up his rant with a demand from the two.

"...so, that's why I'm gonna make a proposition," Little Henry said plainly. It was at this point Todd began to panic. Jeremy feared whatever Little Henry said to him cut deep.

"Please don't kill us," Todd begged. "I didn't mean any offense. Please! I have a wife! I mean, more of a girlfriend and we're separated, but I think we're gonna work it out probably. I also have kids out there somewhere!"

"We're gonna play one more game of pool. And let's add a condition. If you win, I'll let you walk right out that door. And if you lose, I'll break your fuckin' legs. Sounds good?"

"I just have to win a game of pool?" Todd asked, his voice betraying relief and optimism. He like his odds, especially after cleaning out so many suckers this evening.

"No," Little Henry countered, pointing at both Todd and Jeremy with two fingers. "You both have to win. Together."

Jeremy's heart sank. He was terrible at pool. In fact, his skill level at billiards has only ever been described as "dog shit" by people who've had the misfortune of watching him scratch both the cue ball and the green felt of the table in a single shot. He looked over at Todd, who clearly didn't feel the weight of the moment. They were screwed.

"Yeah, sure. That works," Todd said, sealing their fate. They were paired up against two of the better pool-playing bikers, Skud and Dingo, and a coin flip determined Todd would get to break. Todd clearly wasn't holding back, firing off a beautiful opening shot that sank several striped balls.

We're starting with an edge, Jeremy thought. I just need to limp my way through my turns and Todd can carry this.

Skud chalked up his stick, blew the residue off the tip, and examined it. Satisfied, he then proceeded to pull a beaded rosary necklace from his pocket and whisper a small prayer. Jeremy mused at the sight. He never would have pegged Skud as Catholic, but they never talked much about himself at the bar. Or he did and Jeremy wasn't listening.

Skud thudded the cue ball effectively enough to land his called shot. Satisfied, he pulled out a small card from his pocket with a picture of the Virgin Mary and whispered another prayer. Jeremy made a mental note to learn more about that. It was now his turn. He grabbed the least broken cue stick he could find, chalked the tip, and stared down his options on the table. The red and white number 11 ball called to him, sitting close enough to the corner pocket that he believed he could make the shot. He called the shot with an air of confidence.

Okay, just breath easy and focus, he thought to himself. You can do this.

Jeremy leaned over the table and lined up his stick. Eyeballing where he'd tap the cue ball, Jeremy was overcome with a feeling of serenity. He could do this. He was born to do this. His entire lineage owed to this moment. He was conceived in a bar, spent his formative years waiting in a car outside of them, and the sweat equity he put into his volatile and sometimes frightening relationship with The Amber Current readied him for this shot. Closing his eyes, he let the spirit of his ancestors guide his hands.

His shot was a masterclass in ineptitude. His right arm, holding the end of the cue stick, managed to move forward with all of fluidity of a man being tasered. His left hand, wholly unaligned with the actions of the right, spasmed as well. The aggressive and off-center way in which he managed to tap the cue ball sent it directly into the 8 ball. Jeremy watched in slow motion as the 8 ball glided its way into a corner pocket and loudly worked its way through innards of the table. He remained fixated on the pocket, as if expecting the ball to hop back out. But it wasn't going to. The game was already over and it was all his fault. He waited a moment longer before standing up straight and looking to his teammate.

"I just realized I should have fudged all my shots and let you do the playing."

"Yeah," Todd agreed. Nodding his head softly.

The midsummer air greeted the two with a warm, moist hug as they were violently shoved out the bar's front door. Unable to keep footing on the freshly-graveled parking lot, they both tumbled to the ground. Jeremy and Todd laid there for a moment as the hazy glow of the parking lot lights illuminated them and the clicking of the cicadas in the background overwhelmed the senses.

"Jeremy, I'm sorry I got you wrapped up in this," Todd said, looking up into the sky where stars were supposed to be.

"It's all good. I kind of beefed it with that shot."

"Yeah," Todd said. In the distance, the rumbling of an incoming train joined the chorus of horny cicadas. Todd snapped his head to Jeremy with a glint of inspiration in his eyes. "I think I have a plan. Do you trust me?"

"No."

"I need you to. I know how we can get out of this. Just follow my lead when-"

Todd was interrupted by a boot to his rib.

"Shut the hell up!" Skud demanded. Jeremy watched as Skud readied himself to administer a beating, half expecting him to seek the Virgin Mary's blessings once more. He thought about taking the opportunity to ask about his faith, but he wasn't sure how productive the conversation would be.

Dingo held the door open for Little Henry as he stepped into the hot, humid environment. He cracked his knuckles and motioned at Todd and Jeremy to get to their feet, which they did.

"Fair is fair, boys," he told them in a tone that could have sounded remorseful if he didn't otherwise seem so stoked. "These two gentlemen here beat you fair and square, so it's only right that they get the honor of kicking the shit out of you. First things first, they're gonna-"

Little Henry's voice was overpowered by the horn of the oncoming train. By the time it finished blowing, no other sound was present outside the roar of the locomotive as it made its way closer to the bar.

"Jeremy, this is our chance," Todd yelled. "We need to make a run for it now and hop on that train! I have nothing left here in Danton. I tried keeping myself tied down to one spot and it's just not for me. The rail is calling me! We can start a new life out on the road, just you and me, pal! We can find work in the towns we pass by, sleep under the stars, and truly understand what it means to be free! Let's avoid this beating and leap into a brave new world! Follow me!"

Jeremy looked at Todd, dumbfounded.

"What?" he asked. Jeremy hadn't heard a single word Todd said over the loud clanging of the oncoming train. He had difficulty parsing out what Todd was saying and even more difficulty understanding why Todd began sprinting away toward the train.

The commotion played out in front of him like a silent film as Little Henry's two lackies took notice of Todd's escape, pointed in various directions trying to speechlessly assess his direction, and ran off after him. Skud cartoonishly slipped and fell onto the gravel while Dingo had no luck matching Todd's pace. With perfect form, Todd managed to run alongside the train and then hop into the first accessible freight car.

Jeremy stared in awe as Todd looked back and waved, their eyes catching for a moment. An earnest smile grew on Todd's face. Though he was relieved to be starting a new life, he knew he was losing a friend; someone who made time for him in his darkest hour and stood by him when things got rough. Jeremy couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment himself, not due to any feelings of kinship with his departing friend, but because he knew someone was going to have to cover his shifts at the gas station and he would have to work overtime.

A few moments passed as they waited for the rest of the freight train to pass. Jeremy made sure to look at the bikers and give several shrugs in an effort to communicate that he too did not know that would happen. As the rear engine car finally passed, Jeremy looked to Little Henry.

"I honestly don't know what the hell just happened," he said, trying to bring some levity to his tone in the hopes it would catch on. "So, I guess since he was the one who was hustling and now he's gone, we're pretty much good, right? Like, no need to kick my ass since I didn't really do anything wrong. I'm good to go, right?"

Little Henry pondered this question briefly, and for a moment Jeremy was optimistic at his chances. That was, until Little Henry cracked his knuckles again and looked him directly in the eyes.

"No."