Nobody Bats a Thousand (41 page)

Rob was now playing with a pen he had pulled from his coat pocket, tapping the top of the cap against the palm side of his left forefinger. “Boy, I bet you and your strange Ad Man buddy had some real heavy conversations, huh? Some real, deep, deep, New Age, tree-hugging stuff, huh?”

Kane folded his arms against his chest. He could feel his upper body begin to steadily rock against the back
of his chair. “Hey, I know what.” H
e smiled widely and leaned forward. “Since I’m back to stay
for awhile
, maybe we could hang out together. Maybe I’ll strip you down to your shorts, tie you up, soak you down with the hose and leave you out in my backyard again like I did when you were fourteen. That was fun wasn’t it?”

Rob looked away with the expression of someone who just discovered he had stepped in a pile of fresh dog crap.

“But thinking about it Robbie, I bet you are a great salesman, an ass-kicking salesman.”

“I do all right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s a gift and not just anybody can be successful at it. And you, you got the look, the correct demeanor, you’re friendly but knowledgeable. Plus, you innately have that one key trait—you’re not afraid to cheat, steal or lie, or go for your own mother’s jugular if it means putting an extra two cents in your pocket.”

“Go ahead and try to insult me. You don’t bother me, but I came over here to be friendly, not to be insulted.”

“I’m sorry if I’m rude to you, Robbie. I’m not normally this way to anybody. I guess it’s because when I look at you I just don’t see a close relative who’s deeply concerned about me and my family. All I still see is that obnoxious kid I used to slap around. I guess it’ll always be that way.”

“I really don’t give a damn about what you do or don’t do. I couldn’t care less about your future. I wasn’t asking for myself, but you’ve got your mother and sister to think about. They worry about you.”

“Well, Robert, since you’re pulling out the family on me, let me be sincere. I would say, strictly going by instinct and pure intuition, I’d say the only solid plans I have are to somehow survive to be sixty, so I can be the fat bald guy at all the baseball games who sits around drinking beer, eating peanuts, and ragging unmercifully at all the players on both teams. Other than that, nothing seems too pressing. Everything seems to be pretty much up for grabs.”

“
Just
going by instinct
, still a student
. It’s going to be a sad, sad day for you when you are finally forced to wake up and realize you are totally full of it. You just better hope it happens before it’s too late.”

“Too late?
Too late for what?
To pay off a mortgage?
To start a pension plan?
  People lived on this earth for a million years without 401k plans or money marketing accounts.”

“JOHN, YOU’RE UP.”

Kane stood. “Don’t sweat it all so much big guy. Nowadays
sex,
or even an undercooked burger can kill you, so why sweat the small stuff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have a date with destiny.”

John walked to the pool table and squatted down to rack. The player in gold still held the table. He set
his cigarette on the ledge of the table as he chalked his stick. “What do you want to play for?” he asked.
“A buck?”

“How about ten bucks?”

“Sure.” T
he player in gold smiled brightly, a lame attempt at intimidation; he broke, sinking one; then he sunk two more before he hung himself up and missed.

Kane chalked his stick as he walked around the table, plotting, planning. He could not believe his good fortune all his balls were out exposed, either near a pocket or the middle of the table. John decided on a long straight shot to test the alcohol’s effect on his game. He sunk the ball dead center; then continued, methodically downing a ball at a time. Getting lucky on a couple of shots he didn’t hit completely pure, he quickly took
them
all down except for the eight ball. But he hadn’t rolled the cue ball quite far enough for good position, leaving a scary angle, a potential scratch. Kane looked over the shot, hoping for an alternative, but he could see none. Having gone too far with the drama not to go on, instead of playing safe, against his better judgment, he decided to go for the winner.

“
Beee
careful.”
T
he player in gold was on a barstool, banging the butt of his stick on the linoleum.

Kane gracefully cut the eight ball into the corner, but the game wasn’t over as the cue ball slowly crept toward the side pocket; creeping, creeping. It held up an eighth of an inch from dropping in.

“That’s ten.
” Kane took the short walk to his table to stand and sip his beer.

“Double or nothing,” the player in gold demanded.

Kane shrugged his shoulders. “Rack ‘em.”

John stood over the table waiting. When the time came he firmed up his stance and broke apart the rack, sinking two, one of each. He slowly walked around the table, contemplating as if it
was
a giant chess table, and he was mentally testing a series of moves. He
choose
the stripes as he could see, using the proper spin and rhythm, a three shot series, but he missed the first shot.

The player in gold made three, but then missed, allowing Kane another go. This time he could project a three, perhaps a five shot parlay. Again he overlooked the present and missed his first shot.

“A little nervous?”
T
he player in gold went after his remaining balls quickly, knocking them all down. After smashing the eight into the corner for the easy win, his smile suddenly waned as he watched the cue ball bounce firmly off the cushion and roll directly into the
far corner for a loss. “Damn!” T
he player in gold struggled to appear composed. “Let’s go again, let’s go again.” He jerked his head and neck around
as he spoke.
“Double or nothing.”
H
e began digging into the pocket of his tight pants for the change to start a new game.

“This could go on all night.
” Kane said
.  “Just pay me, I got to split.” H
e held out his left hand.

“I ain’t paying you
diddley
.”

“Fine, but you’ll never drink in here again. That’s still the rules, right Lucky?”

“Right.
”
Lucky, behind the bar, foot up on the sink, flicked an ash on the floor.

The player in gold turned to see Lucky standing directly be
hind him. “Hey, I was just bullshitting
around.” H
e smiled. “Come on, one more, what do you say?”

“Okay, but Lucky holds the stakes. One more, win or lose. Rack ‘em.”

“All right.”
T
he player in gold rushed to get things together.

Kane cracked the balls apart. Two solids fell and the rest of the balls scattered, finally rolling to a stop. Again Kane slowly walked around the table chalking his stick.  He had grown up with a full-size Brunswick table in his den and had not played the game without attempting to control and project the subsequent action several shots ahead since he was twelve years old, but now something told him to set aside any expectations and to focus on one shot at a time. He cut the five-ball into the side and was looking for his next move when
Cream
playing
Crossroads
stared blaring from the ancient jukebox.  Kane relaxed and almost smiled,
nodding his head in time to the song.

“Don’t look good,” said the player in gold, sure Kane was stymied.

John called an unlikely three-ball combination and nailed the shot dead center into the corner pocket, breaking up and clearing out the pack. He took down two automatic short straight-in shots in adjacent corner pockets; then, feeling a wash of confidence rush over him, he drilled the seven-ball into the far corner. The cue ball spun back in line for a shot on the six in the side which he made, sending the cue ball off two cushions directly in front and in line of the eight-ball and the corner pocket.

“Don’t choke,” the player in gold prodded.

As he chalked his stick, Kane felt the warmth of a presence, the gift of belief. He imagined his dad hovering, looking over his shoulder, watching and weakly smiling. The yellow blanket still tucked under his chin. He took his time, setting his feet, centering his balance, filtering out the world and forging his concentration into one concise moment.  John smoothly and slowly struck the cue ball, which solidly clacked the eight-ball, sending it the short distance into the hole.

The player in gold wasn’t happy. His head bounced up and down like it was on a tight spring. “You were lucky. Let’s go again.”

Kane smiled and went to the bar to collect his winnings.

“Just like old times,” Lucky said. “You haven’t changed. You are still the shakiest good player I’ve ever seen. One minute you’re knocking ‘em dead, lights out, and the next you can play as bad as a cross-eyed retard.
Must be lack of
real
killer instinct.
Some people have it, most don’t, and some can fake it for awhile, once in awhile.”

“Well, my mother
still loves
me.
” Kane looked up and down the bar. Three here, two grouped there, the oldest guy in the room sitting alone at the end of the bar. They all had the look and lines of laborers and blue-collar survivors, a wide span of ages, but all had drifted past the wildness of youth, and all saw their after work smoke and beer or two or three or four to be as natural and necessary as their daily bread.

“Buy all these old boys a beer, one for me, one for Rob and one for yourself. 
Ev
erybody but Mr. Cool over there.
”
Kane nodded in the direction of the player in gold ten feet away. “He doesn’t play nice.”

“You were lucky, buddy. I killed you in that second game. Let’s go again.”

“No matter how good you are at anything, you can always run into someone better…or luckier. You s
hould trust me on that one, pal.
” John smiled, picked up his change and returned to his table.

“Forty bucks for fifteen minutes work, not bad, huh?” Kane said to his brother-in-law.

“Big deal, John.
I’ve seen you lose forty in an evening remember? Where I come from that ain’t winning. That’s just breaking even.”

“
Lordy
,
lordy
, Robbie. Don’t you know that’s the
real
bottom line?” Kane killed off his old beer and slid the empty away from him. “When I worked with the terminally ill, I doubt you could relate to them, none of
them
could fit into a five-year payment plan on a new truck, but that’s definitely one lesson I learned from them. That no matter who you are, no matter what you have, no matter what anybody has, the bottom line is we are all just breaking even. Nobody wins, nobody comes out ahead.
Nobody gets out alive.” H
e smiled to himself,
and then
drank deeply from his fresh victory beer.

About twenty minutes later, surprisingly feeling just a little drunk, Kane left
Lucky’s
and went home. When he got there the house was quiet, his mother sitting upright in a big stuffed chair in the living room, was dosing in the light from the TV.  John could not remember seeing her nap before bedtime. Obviously she was wearing down more than she would admit.

He went into his father’s room. An unburdening light was spread throughout from the small lamp next to his bed. John pulled up and sat on the wooden stool and waited a few tense seconds, waiting for the rising of
a blanketed chest, a sign of breath, a sign of life.  The breath came. John expelled a breath of his own.

He continued to stare at his old man, the blanket and sheet still pulled tight under his chin. A few moments later the old man blinked,
and then opened his eyes;
a thin, sullen corpse suddenly coming to life.

“John.” H
e blinked. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Just a few minutes.
I was over at
Lucky’s
. I saw Lucky, and Rob stopped by.”

“That old Lucky is a good guy.
” H
e paused. “And Rob’s all right.”

“Oh, come on, dad. We’ve both known him since he was a little kid. Rob’s the kind of guy who’ll spit in your face and tell you it’s raining.”

The old man’s eyes drooped; his lips formed a slight smile.

“Hey, I won forty bucks shooting pool.”

“You did!” T
he old man smiled more. “Great.”

“Yeah, I set him up and watched him fall, playing with his money. You would have loved it.”

“You never play with their mon
ey. Once you win it, it’s yours,” t
he old man’s voice was wavy and soft. “I’ve told you that before.”