No tape to self-destruct in five seconds.
He puts in a new 8 track.
Ironic, wasn’t It?
“A guy I know works at that beer distributor across the street.” He pulls out a couple of crumbled dollar bills from the army jacket, tosses them in my lap. Oh Jesus, what shit have a gotten myself into cause i’m in love with this girl?
“His name is Mark. he has long blonde hair tied back, he’s missing part of a finger like Jerry Garcia.”
I have no idea who this Garcia guy is, but I have to be cool.
“Go in, buy yourself a Coke or something. When he rings it up, tell him you’re my friend. He’ll ask you for something. You hand him this–” A small piece of neatly folded paper emerges from another pocket. “He’ll tell you a message for me. You come back, and I’ll take it from there.”
Well, even a 7th grade oversexed dweeb such as I know what’s going on. This guy in here is either getting an underage Doug beer, be it free or paid for.
My mind spins slot machine wheels. I’m doing nothing wrong. And my future with my dream girl slightly depends on this. I open the door, before my head hogties my feet.
The sun is lowering and a cold wind blows. I hustle across the empty street into the distributorship.
It’s cool and damp inside, stale beer/yeast hangs like a shroud. ‘Must be Mark’ is behind a counter, paging though what looks like a hunting magazine. He glances up, I’m unimportant, return to his reading.
A small clear glass fridge is ahead, I snag an RC Cola, walk to the counter. A tin ashtray is loaded with Winstons, smoked to the filter. He rings it up without a word; I’m checking out his hands…….hmmm, is that middle finger missing?
I find my tongue. “I’m with Doug.”
He freezes at the register. “Where is he? Who the fuck are you?”
“Across the street. Here.” I lay out the paper. He looks behind me, then unfolds the secret document. “Hmmmm, yea, um-hum, well, gotta check that. OK, tell him to give me 5 minutes. And tell him dickhead just left, we’re cool.”
“OK” Doesn’t he owe me change?
He thinks the same thing. “Here–” He hands back my bill. “On the house. You know Doug, that’s all I fucking need to know.” He smiles. Two lower teeth are missing.
I smile. Oh yea, I’m a cool guy now.