Heartstone

“I sympathize with you,” Al said, and he really did, “but I can’t guarantee anything. You’ll just have to trust me. If I think you’re leveling with me, I will promise you that I’ll try to help you out. That is, if the information is important.”

Toller examined his fingernails and Caproni said nothing. Toller raised his head and sighed.

“I guess I gotta take the chance.”

Caproni took a writing pad out of his attaché case.

It was the second week in January, 1961, and Eddie Toller felt like shit. He always felt like shit from late November to late January of every year. Come February the feeling would gradually begin to wear off.

The cause of his spiritual malaise was the cornerstone of American democracy, capitalism, and the commercialism that this theory of economics fostered. From the end of November until the begi

And that was Eddie’s problem in a nutshell. He missed his momma, ’cause she was dead, and his daddy was long gone, so that meant no American family, no firesides and two months of depression.

As it was the second week of January, Eddie’s depression was on the downswing, but it was still strong enough that he had sought solace in the cups at the bar down the corner from the fleabag hotel he was staying in until he could find work in Portsmouth.

Eddie wasn’t alone at the bar tonight. He had made the acquaintance of an unshaven young man who wore a black leather motorcycle jacket and who combed his hair in what was popularly called a “duck’s ass.” It was the motorcycle jacket that had started the conversation. Eddie knew a lot about ’cycles and so did the fellow in the jacket who introduced himself as Willie Heartstone.

They talked motorcycles for a while, then drifted into other areas of discussion, finally arriving, when they were both good and drunk, at the end point of most male bar conversations that aren’t about sports: pussy.

Eddie told Willie about this great black pussy he had eaten in Georgia, while in the army, when he was so drunk that his piss had risen level with his eyeballs, and Willie told him that he wouldn’t fuck nigger pussy ’cause he heard it would bite you back. They both howled at that and the bartender had to caution them when they laughed so hard that Eddie knocked the pitcher off the bar.

“I’ll tell ya,” Eddie said, buying the next round, “a little pussy right now would sure cure all my ills.”

Heartstone was as drunk as Eddie. The beer from his mug slopped onto his clothes every time he waved his arm to make a point.

“How about a big pussy,” he said, making a point. Eddie roared and Willie spilled some of his beer on Eddie’s chino slacks.

“Any old size pussy,” Eddie conceded. “Just as long as it don’t have teeth.”

Eddie started laughing again, but Willie was thinking and starting to look a bit crafty.

“Say, Eddie, I know where you can get some of that good pussy, but it might cost you a bit. You got some dough for some good stuff?”

Eddie had to think about that. He leaned against the bar, almost missing the counter top with his elbow. For some reason the bar stool wouldn’t stay in place. When he had steadied himself, he reached back slowly and pulled out his wallet. He had thirty-five bucks, plus, of course, some money he had hidden in his room.

“How much this pussy go

Willie leaned over and peeked in Eddie’s wallet.

“Ah, shit, Eddie. You’re a good old boy. Five bucks. How’s that?”

Eddie thought about how little money he had left, but then he thought about how he hadn’t had a woman since San Antonio and he lurched off the bar stool.

“Let’s go. You only live once, I say.”

Willie slapped him on the back.

“Only once.”

Eddie slapped some change on the bar and they staggered outside. Willie’s car was parked in the tavern lot. They drove at breakneck speed over icy roads that threatened to throw them off at every turn. Willie’s driving was begi

Eddie must have dozed off after a while, because they had started in the city, but they were in the country when he opened his eyes. The car headlights were bouncing off trees and the car was tilted on an incline. Willie was nudging him and he realized that they were parked on a hilly, dirt driveway in front of a one-story weatherbeaten wooden house.

“We here, boy. That good pussy’s just around the corner,” Willie said with a leer and a grin that revealed several rotting teeth.

Willie tripped over an empty paint can on the porch and swore loudly. Then he banged the front door open, because of his frustration at not being able to get his key in the lock until the third try. Eddie was giggling and Willie started laughing again, once they were inside.

“Who the fuck is makin’ that noise?” a voice yelled from a back room. Eddie peered down the hall to see if he could make out where the voice came from. It was too dark.

“It’s me, Ralph. I got my good buddy here and we go

Eddie could hear someone getting out of bed in a hurry. He looked into the front room. The place was a pigsty. Beer cans on the floor, the stuffing poking through a couch cushion.

A man was coming down the hall pulling on his pants. He stopped when he saw Eddie. Anger suffused his face and he grabbed Willie by the arm.

“Who is that, you asshole?”

Willie looked a little put out, but didn’t try to pull his arm away.

“Lay off, Ralph. This is my good buddy Eddie. Knows more about pussy and motorcycles than any man alive.”

“You brought him here? You crazy? You want to go to…” Ralph started. Then, casting a hard look at Eddie he thought better of finishing his thought.

“Listen, get your ass outta here.”

Eddie looked at Willie. For the first time, he realized that he didn’t know where he was and that he didn’t know Willie too well. He decided not to make an issue of it and began to back toward the door. Willie caught his arm and pulled away from Ralph.

“Now wait one fuckin’ minute, Ralph. Eddie’s okay and he said he could pay ten bucks for some good pussy, didn’t you, Eddie?”

Willie winked at him and Eddie thought better of contradicting him on the terms of the contract. He just shook his head.

“Yah. Sure. But I don’t want no trouble. If your friend…”

“Ain’t go

Willie and Ralph walked down the hall. He could hear them arguing in low voices, but he could only make out an occasional word. The door of the room they had gone into opened and Willie and Ralph returned. Willie draped his arm around Eddie’s shoulder in a fatherly fashion and led him aside into a corner of the hallway.

“Listen,” he whispered in Eddie’s ear, “my buddy loves this pussy so much he don’t want to share it around, but I talked to him and told him what a good old boy you was, so he’s relentin’. Only I had to tell him twenty bucks. That’s okay, ain’t it?” Willie asked, giving Eddie’s shoulder a manly squeeze, “’cause when you taste this pussy, you go

Eddie was getting frightened. He could smell Willie’s stale breath over the beer smell and he did not like the looks of Ralph, who stared menacingly from the hallway.

“Sure, twenty’s fine,” he agreed, managing a weak smile.

“Good,” Willie roared, slapping him on the shoulder. “Now you slip me that twenty and we go do some rootin’.”