The Fuck-Up

I awoke the next morning in a sweat. I had dreamt that Helmsley had died, and so he had. Gle

Went to work. If you need any money, there’s some on the cabinet. If you need the car, help yourself. One problem is I need to be alone tonight. I must work out some problems. But please, this is not meant to be a rejection. Call me tomorrow

Gle

The alarm clock had been set for seven; so she was up four hours ago. I went downstairs and fixed myself some breakfast. While eating, I kept thinking about Helmsley. I went downstairs and saw the Mercedes, loaded up to the ceiling with his books.

Without removing the books, I took the car out and drove back to Helmsley’s neighborhood. I drove along streets that we had walked together just a week before. Finally I stopped in front of his house. There, next to a line of garbage cans, I saw all the remaining books loosely piled. They trumpeted: Helmsley is dead. I drove some more. When I passed the bar where I first met Angela, I parked the car, entered, and ordered a beer. It was a perpetually shaded room with old men just killing time. A placard over the bar read, Italian American Legion Post #118, Veterans of Foreign Wars. Carefully I looked around; there was no sign of her.

Eventually I got up the nerve to ask the old bartender, “Hey, you know anything about that guy that jumped off the bridge the other day?”

“Why?” he barked back. “You a snoop reporter?”

“I served with him in the 107th back in ’Nam,” I replied Americanly, and then raising my beer mug toward the flag, I drank it down.

“You served with that guy?”

“Sure, he saved me when I got hit at the Diphthong Delta.” And then taking the liberty, I kicked my leg up to a bar stool, rolled up the hem of my pant leg and showed him where Angela bit me the other day.

“The wound looks fresh,” he commented.

“Some wounds heal faster than others.”

“I can’t believe that guy served.”

“Hey pal, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in combat, but you change afterwards.”

“I know,” he muttered pride fully, and without a request he gave me another draft.

“Look, that poor guy was here fighting with his girl that night.”

“Did you know the girl?” I asked.

“Oh sure, she’s a local girl.”

“Angela? Was she with him when you saw him last?”

“No, he raced in here alone. It was about two nights ago. It was about midnight. He got loaded pretty quickly and just sat quietly for a while. He looked pretty roughed up.”

“What do you mean roughed up?”

“Someone had beat up on him. You know, he had blood coming out of his nose and mouth. I had to clean up a whole pile of bloody napkins later.”

“Then what?”

“Bar closed, he left, and that’s all she wrote. I guess he went right to the bridge.”

When Helmsley was sitting here, drinking his heart out, I was with Gle

“Have you seen Angela since then?” He shook his head no, walked to the other side of the bar, and there he poured a drink for someone.

“Do you have any idea where she might be?” I asked when the bartender passed by again. “I just want to talk with her.”

“Sorry,” he said. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He knew he was treading the line; a snitch is the lowest form of life everywhere.

“Listen,” I said finally. “When I got hit, I went down. My leg was a shred, the VC were hopping around us, finishing us off. That guy carried me out of there. Do you understand? Now I just want to find out what happened, and I’m go

“Try the OTB around 1:30,” he said. “But listen, I didn’t tell you dirt, all right?”

“Not a word,” I replied and threw him a salute. Then I drove around the corner, put a quarter in the meter. I leaned up against the car across the street from the local betting place and waited. After fifteen minutes or so, I saw her enter with a group of guys. She was wearing a large cowboy hat and a wide-framed pair of dark sunglasses. Through the store-front glass, I watched her clown around awhile with the guys until they took out their racing papers, and chatted: “Devilrun’s got bandages and is ru

When there was no one around, I quickly grabbed her arm and muttered, “If you don’t mind, I want to talk with you.”

“Who the fuck are you?” She broke loose hollering. Out of nowhere a fat guy with a neck the size of my waist had me in a painful headlock.

“You want I should knock his teeth down his throat?” he asked Angela. I felt like a taxidermed head mounted above a fireplace, and as she slowly realized who I was, I impossibly tried to prepare myself for a great deal of suffering.

“What the fuck do you want?” she asked. “You’re the little shit that broke my nose.”

“And you killed my only friend,” I hoarsely replied in the vice.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You and your brothers.”

“You want I should snap his neck?” the pizzeria owner asked.

“Let him go,” she issued a reprieve. The guy let me drop and walked away.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Who killed Helmsley?” I asked.

“He killed himself, the stupid shit.” Then she lifted up her sunglasses and showed me a shining black eye. “Look what the little shit did to me.”

“What happened?”

“We got into a fight and I decided that he was a fun fuck but it was all over. He wasn’t a man. He was a pretty boy and I told him so, and I told him that it was all over.”

“And then you beat him up to amuse yourself further.”

“He was playing with me! Using me!”

“And you got even, didn’t you?”

“I got hold of an ashtray and knocked the shit out of him till he dragged himself the fuck out…then I heard on the TV that he did himself in.”

“Wonderful.”

“Listen,” Angela said, “I just want you to know that I let you talk like this because I respect you. I was drunk and you straightened me out. But I also want you to know that I ain’t scared of you.”

“Does it make any difference to you,” I asked Angela, “that a person killed himself because he loved you?”

“Look, one night I was horny so I went to a bar and picked up a guy for a quick fuck, capisce? I never adopted him.”

“But couldn’t you…”

“Look pal,” she interrupted, “you’re talkin’ to someone who was dropped more than a yo-yo, and got more final disco

I started the ignition and drove down Court, but I had nowhere to go. I didn’t care to return to Gle