the Onion Field (1973) (18 page)

"Let's take the ones and fives, Greg," said Jimmy eagerly, thinking it would make for a fatter looking flash roll. Jimmy was carefully rolling the large wad of ones and fives when Greg dressed to go out. Oh shit, Jimmy thought when he saw him in his tight pants and a string tie. Jesus, I gotta teach him how to dress, but I got to be cool about it so he don't get tight-jawed.

"You and me're just almost exactly the same height and build, Jimmy. Wear anything of mine you want," Greg said waving toward his closet.

"Thanks, Greg," Jimmy said, selecting a sport shirt and a jacket.

"How about some pants, Jim?"

"No thanks," said Jimmy. "You wear them a little tight and I'm bow legged, and all."

Jimmy managed to squeeze into a pair of Greg's shoes, and tight as they were, they were infinitely better than the hot dogs, which he vowed to get rid of tomorrow. Then they were rattling along the Harbor Freeway heading for Jimmy's hotel. Greg once again impressed Jimmy with some fancy driving and gear shifting, bad clutch and all.

At the hotel Jimmy found a card in his box from his P. O. saying he'd been by and would see Jimmy tomorrow, March 7, at the parole center. Jimmy was nervous when he went back outside to the waiting station wagon.

As they drove west on Eleventh Street Greg said, "It's getting late but I gotta stop and see a friend. You'll notice, Jimmy, that I'm loyal to all my friends. That's a quality I admire, loyalty."

"Righteous. Me too."

"And a fink is someone I loathe, you know? I'd kill me any one of my friends who ever ratted on me."

"Don't blame you, Greg. I damn near beat a dude to death one time who rolled over on me," Jimmy lied. "I found out he snitched me off and I broke his arm and two ribs." Then Jimmy thought that didn't sound too out of line and added, "I broke his jaw too." He was going to add a leg, but thought it would be too much and Greg wouldn't believe him.

"I imagine you can handle your dukes, Jim."

"I boxed a little in the joint, and of course I had a million street fights, and that."

"I boxed in Vacaville," said Greg. "Pretty good welterweight if I do say so."

"Yeah, you said."

"Anyway, this friend I'm taking you to see is the first one I lived with when I came to California. She helped me out when I was broke and was good to me. Now I wanna see if she needs anything."

"Okay," said Jimmy always anxious to meet a strange broad, but then thinking any one of Greg's broads would no doubt be a strange one. And she was.

"Oh, looky here," said the drag queen when the door opened. He was a tall black queen in a tight blouse and women's slacks, eyebrows arched, hair upswept. He had his hands on his hips, grinning wide, lips red and wet, shaking his head slowly, saying, "Looky looky here." He threw his arms around Greg, hugging him close. "Good to see you, baby, good to see you."

Jimmy Smith was to tell of it in detail at a later time: "As soon as we got in the pad it was plain he was havin some fun. On the couch was some young white. Guy about twenty years old. He was in his shorts and nothin else. The freak had the little apartment all gussied up with colored lights and had crammed couches and easy chairs to match all into the one room. The place was fixed up for easy livin or layin around doin the things homos did. After goin over and kissin the pigeon on the couch, the freak went on into the kitchen and fixed up drinks. I turned down the drink sayin I just got outta the joint and wasn't able to handle too many drinks. I just wasn't all that hungry for a drink from the freak's glasses, not that it was dirty, and that. I just got a complex against those kinds of things. In the joint I seen some of the dirty rotten things freaks do on the sex side, so when I'm around them the pictures come to mind and I sorta choke up.

"It dawned on me that Greg seemed to have only black people for his special friends and that he dug on freaks. Later I connected the two together. It turned out Greg was a half-ass homo his own self, one that dug on both men and women. When he was a kid in some juvenile place some black guy musta been his jocker. One thing sure, when we ran together he never let me know he was a homo. In fact, he impressed me as bein a fairly tough guy, just a little off his nut, is all.

"We only stayed at the sissy's pad for about fifteen minutes and cut out. I think he was glad to see us leave so he could get back to work on the young pigeon. Before we left, Greg told the freak if he needed any bread, just to say the word, the sky's the limit for a friend. The freak turned him down, sayin everything was all right. Like, I'm sure he didn't want his victim to know if he was broke. Most of the freaks that hustle young guys know that without money they're outta luck.

"We left the sissy and went out on Normandy and Adams to the hot dog stand where all the brothers hang out at night. A few nice lookin broads was hangin around lookin to turn some tricks, but they give me the ol freeze out. They could see Greg hangin in the background and thought maybe he was the heat, bein a paddy and dressed in that square style he wore. One of the whores was a little bolder but when she heard Greg's square little remarks she froze up too. She woulda gave up some action if Greg talked like a hip white guy"

Hollywood was the next stop that night. Greg drove Jimmy up and down the boulevard and finally stopped at a strip joint on Santa Monica Boulevard where the cocktail waitresses wore tights and cat ears and long cat tails which drunken customers could pull when they wanted a drink.

"This is all right," said Jimmy as Greg got them a good table, ordered two whiskeys and soda, and giggled as the kitten took off with tail flying.

"Looky that horny ol buzzard," said Jimmy pointing to a florid bald man who had one cocktail waitress by the cat tail, and was stroking it, and wouldn't release her.

"Let go, honey, and I'll come back to you," she cooed, patting him on the head.

This was to be the biggest night in the life of Jimmy Smith. The future looked bright indeed, and he was ready for some real action, but the nightclub didn't look like what he had in mind. As he was to describe it:

"I kept my eye on the other tables and saw that most everybody was elderly or middle aged guys. They all at one time or other had their hands on the waitresses bottoms or was pullin at the long skinny cat tails. Most of the girls were good at avoidin the sudden hand holds, but some got fondled regular.

"After the stage show started, it was somethin to see. Each broad got announced like some famous movie star. The names was all male and the broads kinda matched the certain star in some offhand way. Like, Miss Sammy Davis Jr. was black and a little short slender thing. But it wasn't really much of a comparison to the star because the little broad had teats like bowlin balls. A couple of the dancers did a lightweight all-the-way-off thing, which ended with the G string gone, but still some very small thing was blockin the view. One broad had a special act with the teat thing. Like, she would rotate one tassel one way and the other teat and tassel would rotate in the opposite direction. It reminded me of the old thumb twiddlin game which I could never do."

As they sat and drank, and Jimmy gazed with a permanent leer at the stage, Greg talked. Jimmy nodded politely every few seconds, looking blankly at Greg, hearing only snatches of his words which Greg spat like bullets. "Yeah, Jim, I wish I was big like my kid brother. He's about six one, and two hundred pounds."

"Uh huh," said Jimmy, watching the little pussycat serving the table off to the left. "She's rubbin it right in that old fart's face," said Jimmy. "Right in his goddamn face!"

"My dad's a big guy, Jim. Not too tall, but big, you know? I wish I was big boned like him and my brother. But I was a hell of a football player in junior high anyway. Probably coulda made a hell of a running back someday. You ever play high school ball?" "Uh huh."

"You did?"

"I mean, uh uh."

"Well, I sure did. And Christ, you should hear me with the tenor sax. I can play just about any instrument. Tell me the scale and Til figure it out. I used to sing quite a bit. I ever tell you that? Harmonize too. I got perfect pitch. When we get a real stake I wouldn't mind living in a small town again. I mean growing up in a town like I did, a town of ten thousand, that's the way to grow up. You always live in a big city, Jim?"

"Uh huh."

"In a small town you get to do all kinds of things. I used to paint, ski, skate. Moreover, I had a band. You name it, I did it. Don't you have any hobbies? Anything you like to do?"

"Pussy."

"I mean besides that. Hell, I could tell you about bed artistry. I've had some very strange sexual experiences in my time, Jim. Maybe someday when it's the right time I'll tell you about them."

"Uh huh."

"You boxed. You said you did some boxing."

"Uh huh. In the joint."

"I was a hell of a welterweight at Vacaville. A hell of a fighter. Furthermore, I think I could've made it on the outside as a boxer, but I had this brain operation. Can't afford to get hit in the head."

"And Jimmy Smith started getting a headache, and stopped turning toward Greg, and gave up nodding politely, and Jesus, he thought, how much longer can I take this fuckin paddy compone with his fuckin family, and his fuckin moreovers, furthermores, alsos, wherefores. And when Greg got up to go to the men's room, Jimmy tossed down the drink and scowled at the empty seat and whispered: "Don't gimme any more moreovers or furtherfores or whereovers or any of that other honky bullshit!" But when Greg returned Jimmy nodded politely as Greg talked of Cadillac, Michigan, and the girls he had conquered with the bedroom virtuosity he learned in strange mysterious places.

"Want another drink, honey?" asked the cocktail waitress who was coming by the tables every four or five minutes.

"Naw," said Jimmy. "I want some real action, and know what? Nothin on that stage does half so much for me as you, kitten. Like, what time you get off work?"

"Sorry, baby." She smiled brightly. "It's against house rules to date customers. Besides, I got a boyfriend."

"Maybe this'll change your mind," said Greg throwing his roll of bills on the table.

Without dropping her smile the waitress said, "See you fellows again, I hope." She swished her tail at them, and wriggled away.

"Fuck it," said Jimmy.

They went back to the car, but Jimmy was not through yet. "Greg, Small told me about this pad on the west side. Two extra fine chicks work outta this here pad. Cost us maybe twenty, twenty-five bucks apiece, but Small says they're worth it."

"Let's go." Greg shrugged, making a U-turn on Santa Monica, slipping the car up on two wheels and burning rubber all over the asphalt.

Fifteen minutes later they were standing on the porch of a darkened apartment, striking matches and peering through dusty windows.

"There ain't a stick of furniture in that place, Jimmy."

"No, there ain't."

"There's nobody living here, for chrissake," said Greg.

"Guess it's one of them floatin whorehouses," said Jimmy.

"Let's go home," said Greg.

And so ended the biggest night of Jimmy Smith's life, when the future was glowing and he was full of good whiskey. When, for the first time in his life, he felt like new money. He spent the rest of the night on Greg's living room floor and woke up with a hangover.

It was the moaning which woke him. "What the hell," Jimmy growled, feeling the pain in-the front of his skull as he sat up. Then he heard a muffled scream and a laugh and more moans.

Greg hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door and now Jimmy was awake, had to urinate, and was getting angry waiting for the bedsprings to stop squeaking. Finally, it was quiet for a moment and he cleared his throat, pulled his pants on, made sure they could hear him moving around, and walked through the bedroom on his way to the toilet.

}immy tried not to look as he passed through, but Jesus, they were lying there naked, and what could he do but glance down. Max paid him no attention, and just lay there. It was Greg who looked at Jimmy in an odd way, half smiling. It was strange the way he looked at Jimmy so intensely. Jimmy wondered about it at the time.

I didn't hear that bitch go in the bathroom, Jimmy thought angrily as Max fixed the ham and eggs. She better had washed her slimy mitts in the sink or I ain't eatin her dirty fuckin eggs. He thought about going to the sink to see if the soap was wet, but thought, what the hell, as the aroma of fried ham struck him. He downed four eggs and two large slices of ham.

Afterwards, Jimmy sat and smoked contentedly and thought about not waiting until the weekend to cut Greg loose. After all, he had over five hundred bucks coming right now. That was more than enough for a stake and a transportation car. He could join the union and be on a painting job by Monday morning. On the other hand if he hung around with Greg until the weekend as he planned, he might be in the morgue Monday morning. Or in jail.

"Jim," said Greg walking into the room, drying his body with a large bath towel. "I got an idea. After we take you to the parole office for your naline test today, let's cut out. Look, you don't have to test again until next Thursday, right? Well, that's a whole week. Let's the three of us cut out to Las Vegas and Frisco. I'm sick of these two-bit jobs. I heard that in Frisco you just walk in a bank with a note in your hand and walk out with the dough. They say a Frisco bank is nothing to knock over."