Page 8

Sheila isn't home, and neither is Jimmy. Instead, there's a rousing party going on inside Sheila's little apartment: druggies and drunks all abound! Ahoy! I'd settle in and join, but obviously I have a mission nagging my dulled conscience. Oddly enough, I feel super in-to dealing with my problems today. Maybe I needed something this bad to pull me together? If that's so, why wasn't it Corrina on my floor like that? Why Jill?

Someone notices the look on my face, and murmurs spread. "I think you should leave, Joey-boy -- you're bringing down the party, with your long look," a man says to me. I recognize him as Tony Buglaas. He wipes his nose with the back of his oil-coated back hand. His lumberjacket looks especially grimy tonight. Way to go, Tony! You're greaaaaaaaaaaat in that get-up. Tony is a homeless-mechanic, who surprises people with free tune-ups with the hopes of some spare change.

"Greaaaaaaaat!" I tell him, still amused with my own wit. My look is especially winsome tonight, also, dear chap. "Hey, don't bring me down. I'm just a fellow alcoholic, with a taste for fun." I get up, and head for the door, anyway.

"No man," he says, waving a hand. "Even alcoholics stop drinking sometime. You're beyond." He flicks a finger at a bug crawling across the couch arm. "You're shiiiitfaced, man. You're beyond shitfaced."

"Well hell, it's not like anyone else here didn't come wasted, or tooo get wasted."

"Just go, man. We don't need another drunk asshole here; we have plenty."

"Quit yer bellyachin' -- get an abortion."

Tony is not impressed. He frowns terrifically, his whole wrinkly face pulled down. "Funny, funny, Mr. Comedian. Get the fuck out."

I stop, just shy of the door. I turn & face him again. "Wait; this isn't even your crib, motherfucker. Why are you telling me to go or not?"

"I --"

"-- No, man. I came here to find Jimmy -- d'you know when he'll be back this way?"

Tony doesn't get in a reply, because at that moment, Sheila storms through the door & barrels past me, knocking me face-first in to the wall. She swings a hefty shotgun at the herd. Tony spots the gun, and ducks gracefully in to her bathroom. "OKAY, FUCKERS. EVERYBODY OUT."

There's a rush of movement, like a herd of buffalo, as everyone in the room leaps out, off her balcony. I manage to hang on to a couch arm firmly enough not to get sucked out with the rest of them. Soon, Tony & I are the only unwanted guests in the place.

"Well," she says, pointing the barrel at my face. "What have we here? Another drunk, leeching bastard. Who the fuck said you -- any of you -- were welcome at my place?"

I look up, in to her eyes from my crouch on the floor, probably for the first time ever. "I'm just looking for Jimmy, not to score."

Her eyes sweep over the room, surveying the damage. "Strangely enough, I think I believe you, this time. You don't sound as fucked up as you look."

"Oh, trust me. I ain't sober. Whatever Jimmy fed me, this last time, has kept me fucked up. For longer than I like, at that." I let go of the couch, instead sitting on it, trying to look a little less cowardly. Sheila stands over me, looking down upon me curiously. I toss my hands up dramatically, folding them under my chin, like a good little boy. "Please, Sheila. I'm so fucked up that I could kill people." You know, because that hasn't already happened. Ha, ha, ha. You keep going, Mr. Comedian!

Sheila avoids my eyes. "I don't give a shit about you, or, for that matter, any of Jim's.. eh.. clientele. Especially ones like you -- you come to the parties to join in for free, you leeching bastard. Why Jim gives you breaks, and freebies is beyond me."

"I pay for my own liquor, if that counts. This is leading up to you coyly telling me that Jim-bo's got something new, tried it on me, and it's very, very illegal, right?" I cross my legs.

"You're somewhat more clever than I credit you with, Joe. And, it's Jim. Remember that name: Jim." She sits in an easy chair, across from me. She rests the shotgun in her lap.

"You realize that no one aside from you refers to the doof as Jim. I knoow you're old enough to be his mom, but shit." I raise an eyebrow, feeling goofy still.

"You're doing nothing now that convinces me I should tell you more." She pats the shotgun lovingly.

"As far as I can gather, he laced something, maybe one of the pills. Maybe my drink. I bet it's something crazy & untested, until now. Do you like what you see, so far?" I open my arms up wide, ta-da!

"Where'd you get that idea from?" She raises her own eyebrow, kicking a leg lazily.

"Outta my ass. Lemme know when I start to get warm." I cross my arms, imitating her leg-kick impatience.

"It's something like that, sure. Keep guessing, big boy." She stops kicking her leg, and sits rigidly.

"No definites, no hints, hmm?" I smile, an easy, drunk smile. Boy, I feel clever, just now. I probably would never think of this stuff sober.

"Fuck no. You're still pissing me off. You have a goddamn knack for that shit." She frowns, flipping me the bird.

"It's a gift, what can I say? I'm full of talents." I lounge back in the seat, lacing my hands behind my head.