Lucifer's Lottery (3 page)

It was a line from Proverbs, one of many that warned men of the power of lust. Hudson had studied the Bible with great zeal—and he still did—but what would seem strange about that? He’d graduated from Catholic U. with a master’s in theology, and within a month would be entering the seminary. No, what might seem strange, instead, was
his
presence in this bar, a place known to be a
whore
bar, or at least that’s what he’d heard.

His first name was the same as his last—Hudson—something he’d never understood of his parents, who’d both seemed distant or distracted since the time his memories commenced. He didn’t get it. They were dead now.
They’ll never get to see me ordained, and I’ll never get to ask them why they named me Hudson
.

Six tiny cracks could be seen in the long bar mirror, but why would Hudson count them?
Obsessive-compulsive?
he wondered. How could he really ever know? His contemplations itched at him. He
knew
why he was here, and was slightly discomfited by the patrons. The bar was simply called
LOUNGE
; that’s what the tacky neon said outside, and aside from its notoriety as an establishment that condoned
prostitution, his friend Randal had warned that the place catered essentially to “white trash.”

So
. . .
what does that make me?

His reflection in the mirror looked like that of a bus bum. Unkempt, hair in need of cutting, eyes open wider than they should be as if used to looking for something that wasn’t there.

When he glanced down the long, dark room, he counted only six customers—three men, three women—then he noticed they were all smoking. Tendrils of smoke hung motionless in the establishment’s open space, like slivers of ghosts. Hudson didn’t smoke. He’d never even tried because he recalled a childhood sermon: “Your body is a gift from God, and any gift from God is a temple of God. When we inhale cigarette smoke into our bodies, it’s the same as throwing rocks through the stained-glass windows of this very church. Desecration . . .”

Hence, Hudson never lit up. He did drink a little, however, and not once did he consider that the same minister who’d given the smoking sermon had never added alcohol to his list of substances that desecrated one’s God-given body, nor that said minister had died years later of cirrhosis.

“I ain’t kiddin’ ya,” one redneck with a Fu Manchu affirmed to another redneck with a bald head. “I know it was the same ho’ who ripped me off a year or so ago. But she was so fucked up on Beans the bitch didn’t even remember me!”

“What’chew do?” asked the bald one.

“Jacked her out’s what I did—”

“Bullshit.”

“Think so?” Fu Manchu pulled out a blackjack, jiggled it, then put it back in his pocket. “Jacked her out right in the car, gave her a poke, and took her cash but ya know what? All the bitch had on her was
six bucks
. . .”

The bald one looked suspicious over his Black Velvet and Coke. “You didn’t jack no one out, man.”

“Buy me a drink if I prove it?”

The bald one laughed. “Sure, but you
can’t
prove it.”

Fu Manchu flipped open his cell phone. “I love these camera phones, man.” He showed the tiny screen to the bald one. “What? Ya think all that red stuff’s ketchup?”

The bald one slumped and ordered the guy a drink.

A real highbrow crew tonight
, Hudson thought.

One of the women—a middle-aged blonde—had drifted over to the cigarette machine. Very tan, in a clinging maroon T-shirt and cutoff jeans. She’d knotted the T-shirt to reveal an abdomen whose most obvious trait was an accordion of stretch marks. Lots of eye shadow. Veiny hands.
Too weathered
, Hudson judged.

“Hi, honey,” she said in a Marlboro-rough voice and as she headed back to her stool, her hand slid along Hudson’s back. “Come on over, if ya want. I mean, you know what this place is all about, right?” But before Hudson could even dream up an answer she was already back in her seat.

Indeed, Hudson did know what the place was all about—that’s why he was here. Prostitution that was not quite the bottom of the barrel. He could afford little more. His conscience squirmed amid his blooming sin. Obviously she’d struck out with the other men in the bar.

Yeah, but the weathered ones know what to do
. . .

“Another beer?” asked the barkeep. He was a ramshackle rube with a circular patch on his gas station shirt that read
BARNEY
.

“Yes, please.”

The keep leaned over, as if to relay a confidence. He had shaggy hair, and a pock on his cheek that looked like a bullet scar, and he was probably sixty. “Don’t worry, it’s all cool. I know you ain’t a cop.”

“What?” Hudson questioned, dismayed.

“I can tell at a glance, you ain’t got the look.” The keep grinned. “ ’N’fact, ya look more like a
priest
.”

Terrific
, Hudson thought.

“And you been sittin’ here a while, right?”

“Yeah, an hour, hour and a half, I guess.”

“I figure you must know what the Lounge is all about—” He jerked his eyes down toward the old blonde. “Like she done said.”

Hudson’s chest felt tight. “I-uh-” One of several TVs showed a baseball game. “I’m just in to watch the game.”

“Sure, sure,” the keep chuckled. He pulled out another bottle of beer and set it down next to five empties. Hudson paid for each beer one at a time, for in establishments such as this, tabs were never run.

“I kinda look the other way, got no problem with what a gal feels she has to do for money—” Then the keep winked. “As long as there’s a cut for me. You wanna get some action in the bathroom, that’s cool. Just make sure you slide me a ten first, ya hear?”

“Uh, uh-sure,” Hudson blabbered.

“Ya been here a while now so I thought maybe ya didn’t know the deal.” The keep winked again. “But now ya do.”

“Um, thanks for filling me in . . .”

The keep leaned in closer to Hudson. “But as for Thelma over there—”

“Who?”

“The blonde.”

Hudson glanced over, and suddenly found that the woman’s burgeoning bosom possibly nullified her beat looks. “What about her?”

“She’s been around the block more times than the mailman, get it? Just some neighborly advice. She fucks like a champ but if you make any deals with
her
. . . wrap it—if ya catch my drift.”

Hudson flinched when a toothy grin floated just to the right side of his face. It was Fu Manchu. “Wrap it? Shit, man. Thelma’s cooch is
toxic
. She’s got stuff up there that can melt a triple-Trojan like one’a them Listerine breath strips.” He elbowed Hudson. “You do
her?
Put a scuba foot on your pecker.” He and the barkeep broke out in laughter.

Hudson couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. “Thanks, uh, thanks for the pointers, guys.”

Hudson gazed up at the TV. Tampa Bay led New York six to nothing, but the sound was down. He glanced aside, pretending to be looking for someone. Two more women—younger but nearly as weathered as Thelma—sat apart at the far end, one brunette with a ludicrous mullet and a shirt that read
DO ME TILL I PUKE
. The other, a rusty redhead, wore a T-shirt that claimed
NO GAG REFLEX
.
Well, there they are
, Hudson thought.
So what am I doing? When am I going to make a move?

But Hudson hadn’t noticed the other man—he must’ve just come in. Young but somehow despondent, a false smile that looked on the verge of shattering. He was in a wheelchair.
Those two prostitutes must know him
, Hudson figured, for they both stood stooped, talking to the young man. Their grins could be described as vulturine. The man shook his head; then Hudson overheard him say, “I can’t anymore.” Then the redhead said, “Pay us twenty each to try. We’ll give ya lots of time.” But the man in the chair shook his head and wheeled away.

“Fuckin’ cripple,” the redhead whispered to her cohort.

Oh, what a bounty of goodwill in the world
, Hudson thought, and then that’s when it occurred to him: he’d seen the man before, in church.

Another TV hung just above the brunette’s head, also silent: a dashing evangelist in a huge stadium. Hudson could read the closed-caption blocks as the revivalist’s mouth moved.

WHEN YOU STRIVE TO NOT SIN, WHEN YOU MAKE THAT
EFFORT
, GOD HOLDS YOU IN SPECIAL
FAVOR
. GOD PUTS HIS SHIELD OF PROTECTION OVER YOU. SO TO
STAY
IN GOD’S FAVOR, WE MUST
ALWAYS
STRIVE NOT TO SIN. WE MUST DO EVERYTHING WE POSSIBLY CAN TO RESIST THE TEMPTATIONS THAT LUCIFER THROWS BEFORE US . . .

Hudson’s eyes lowered—in shame.
No shield of protection for me today
, he thought to his beer.

Sin was everywhere. And he needed to know it before he could absolve it, just like Monsignor Halford had said . . .

I know I shouldn’t be here but I’m staying anyway
, he realized.
I’m here to pick up a hooker
. . .
and that’s what I’m going to do because I’m not strong enough to walk out
. . .

He did good deeds. He felt he had true compassion. He gave to charities, he gave to the homeless—even though he was poor himself. Above all, he believed in God, and he could only pray that God’s mercy was as everlasting as the Bible claimed.

AND MANY OF YOU MIGHT BE THINKING RIGHT THIS SECOND, “BUT PASTOR JOHNNY, I’M A GOOD PERSON, I GO TO CHURCH, AND I TRULY DO STRIVE NOT TO SIN . . . AND I’M TRULY SORRY WHEN I
DO
SIN . . . LIKE LAST WEEK WHEN I WENT TO THAT PORNO STORE, OR THE WEEK BEFORE THAT TEEN-SEX WEB SITE, OR THE WEEK BEFORE THAT WHEN I PICKED UP THAT PROSTITUTE . . .

Hudson stared.

IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EASY, MY FRIENDS, AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING. IT WASN’T EASY FOR JESUS EITHER.

Hudson’s soul felt stained black.
He’s talking about me.
Maybe Halford was wrong, but if I believe THAT, then how can I believe in the infallibility of the church?

AND SOMETIMES WE WANT TO
CHALLENGE
GOD, WE WANT TO SAY TO HIM, “GOD, YOU’VE GIVEN ME THESE DESIRES BUT TELL ME IT’S A SIN TO ACT ON THEM. WHY? IT’S NOT FAIR!” The evangelist seemed to look directly at Hudson. BUT HERE’S WHY IT
IS
FAIR, AND PLEASE, MY DEAR FRIENDS,
LISTEN
TO ME. IT’S FAIR BECAUSE GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON . . .

Hudson felt sick. Were his palms sweating? He couldn’t keep his eyes off
NO GAG REFLEX
.
All I have to do is slip the keep a ten and go over there
. . . The other one, with the mullet, looked not half bad as well (except for the mullet). Had she tweaked her nipples? They stuck out against the
DO ME
shirt like bullet casings.

She looked right at Hudson—in the same way the evangelist had—and mouthed,
Blow job?

MOST OF THE TIME, FRIENDS, BEING A GOOD PERSON ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH. WE SIN AND THEN DO GOOD WORKS BECAUSE WE THINK ONE GOOD THING CANCELS OUT THE BAD, BUT DON’T BE DECEIVED BY THIS. DON’T BE A
CRUMMY PERSON
BY PURSUING YOUR TEMPTATIONS. DON’T LIVE A CHUMP-CHANGE LIFE. WE TEND TO SIN IN SECRET, BECAUSE NOBODY CAN SEE. HUSBANDS, YOU THINK THAT NOBODY SEES YOU WHEN YOU WALK INTO THAT PORNO STORE, OR SLIP INTO THAT MASSAGE PARLOR. YOUR WIFE CAN’T
SEE
YOU WHEN YOU’RE DRIVING DOWN THAT DARK ROAD AFTER WORK TO LOOK FOR A STREETWALKER. AND WIVES? YOU THINK THAT NOBODY SEES YOU WHEN YOU
SNEAK INTO THE BATHROOM TO DO THAT LINE OF COCAINE. NOBODY SEES YOU WHEN YOU CHEAT ON YOUR HUSBAND WITH YOUR OFFICE MANAGER. BUT HEAR ME, FRIENDS. GOD
DOES
SEE YOU . . .

Hudson felt percolating now, half aroused just from the contemplation, even as the evangelist’s silent words haunted him. Now
DO ME
was standing next to
GAG REFLEX
, whispering. Every image of carnality steamed in Hudson’s mind.

GOD LOVES US
ALL
, HE WANTS
ALL OF US
TO JOIN HIM SOMEDAY IN THE FIRMAMENT OF HEAVEN, BUT THE TRUTH, MY FRIENDS, IS THAT MOST OF US WON’T GET THERE BECAUSE MOST OF US DON’T TRY
HARD ENOUGH
TO RESIST THE DESIRE TO SIN. AND SOME OF YOU MIGHT WANT TO SAY TO ME, “PASTOR JOHNNY? IF GOD REALLY LOVES ME, THEN HOW CAN HE SLAM HEAVEN’S DOOR IN MY FACE FOR ACTING ON THE DESIRES THAT HE GAVE ME?” BUT I SAY TO YOU,
JESUS
WAS SUBJECTED TO THE SAME TEMPTATIONS THAT WE ARE BUT HE
NEVER
SINNED, SO IN THE LIGHT OF THAT TRUTH, WHEN YOU DON’T TRY HARD ENOUGH TO TURN YOUR BACK ON THOSE TEMPTATIONS, IT’S NOT GOD WHO’S SLAMMING THE DOOR IN YOUR FACE. IT’S YOU.

Hudson tore his eyes off the TV, then groaned to himself.
DO ME
and
GAG REFLEX
were gone—

Damn it
, he thought.
They must’ve left
—

He almost yelped as several hands played across his back.
DO ME
pressed in on one side,
GAG
the other. Cheap perfume and shampoo suddenly intoxicated him.

“Hey, there,”
GAG
said. She began to rub his back where he sat, her breasts pressing. “My name’s Sylvia.”

“My name’s Jeanie,” said the other. “What’s yours?”

Hudson couldn’t resist. “How about . . . John?”

The two women looked at each other, stalled, then laughed aloud.

“I like this guy!” said
GAG
. “And we were wondering . . .”

“Yeah,” said
DO ME
. Her hand rubbed his chest, and when the keep disappeared in back, she smoothly rubbed his crotch. “Ever had a doubleheader?”

Hudson was taken aback. “Uh, well—”

GAG’S
breath smelled like Juicy Fruit. “Ask anyone. Me’n Jeanie do the best doubleheaders. We know all the right stuff guys like—”

Hudson opened his mouth . . .

They both flashed their bare breasts right in Hudson’s face. Four pink, plucked nipples looked back at him. Hudson got drunk just from the sight. A side-glance showed him Fu Manchu and the bald guy both grinning at him, and nodding approval.

The T-shirts came back down when the keep returned.
GAG’S
lips touched his ear when she whispered, “And it’s only fifty bucks each, plus ya gotta give the—”