Serge drew three
He pounded the briefcase with his fists — “Why! Why! Why!” — then his forehead.
“Why! Why!…”
“So you were kinda into that game?” asked Lenny.
“Stabler might as well have stabbed me through the heart with one of the yardage poles!…Lenny?…Lenny, are you listening?”
“Why’s that guy at the bar looking at me?”
“Probably because you’re looking at him.”
“He looks familiar. Doesn’t he look familiar to you?”
“No.”
“Of course! I know who it is! That’s the drummer for — — .”
Serge studied the man some more. “You know, you might be right.”
Lenny waved for their waitress. “Who’s that guy at the bar?”
“The drummer for ——.”
“I knew it! I’m getting an autograph.” Lenny grabbed a napkin and went to the bar. “Aren’t you the drummer for — —?”
The man killed a whiskey on the rocks and smiled. “Yes, I am.”
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Sure thing.” He took the napkin from Lenny and wrote his name.
“Thank you.” Lenny stuck the napkin in his pocket. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Go ahead.”
“Man, I can’t believe I’m meeting you! I loved you guys! Whatever happened to the band?”
“We’re still together.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have any new albums.”
“We’ve released one every year.”
“I don’t really go in record stores a lot. You guys should start touring again.”
“We tour all the time.”
“…Gee, sorry…. Well, anyway, I love you guys!”
“Thank you.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure.”
Lenny waved over at Serge. “Buy this guy a drink. And can I get one, too?”
Serge got out his wallet.
Three drinks later, they were all back at Serge’s table.
“Serge, do you know who this guy is?”
“You told me.”
“I did? Well, let’s buy him a drink!… I’ll take one, too.”
Two more. Lenny turned to the drummer. He put his thumb and index finger together and put them to his lips and sucked. Then he raised his eyebrows in a question.
The drummer nodded.
“You get high?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah, wanna get high?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
They got up from the table and headed for the men’s room.
“Uh-oh,” said Serge. “Here we go.”
Lenny checked the stalls. No one there. He met the drummer back at the sink and rubbed his palms together in anticipation.
“Okay, break it out,” said the drummer.
“What do you mean?”
“Break out your shit.”
“I don’t have any shit. I thought you had it.”
“You said, ‘You wanna get high?’”
“So?”
“So that’s the guy that’s supposed to have the shit.”
“No, no, no,” said Lenny. “You said, ‘Let’s go.’ That’s the guy with the shit.”
“Usually, but you said the other thing first, and that’s the thing that counts, first.”
“I’ve been doing this for a while, thank you.”
“So you don’t have any shit?”
“No!”
They sighed and left the men’s room.
“How’d it go?” Serge asked as they sat back down.
“Miscommunication…. Wait! I almost forgot! I have some emergency money in my sock. Let’s buy some dope!”
“Great!” The drummer got his own money out. “How much you got?”
Lenny pulled crumpled bills from his sock and piled them on top of the briefcase. “Looks like forty-three dollars. How much you got?”
“Sixty,” said the drummer. “That ought to cover us. A quarter’s still a hundred, right?”
“Last time I checked.”
“You’re not a cop, are you?”
“You kidding?”
“I’m a target, you know. They’re always looking for high-profile busts to get on the news.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So you’re not a cop?”
“Not remotely.”
“Okay, we’ll meet right here in, say, an hour?”
“Here in an hour?”
“Yep. You sure you’re not a cop?”
“Yep, you sure you’re the drummer for ——?”
“Yep.”
“Then it’s all set.”
“Let’s do it!”
“We’re on!”
They sat there staring at each other.
“Well?” said the drummer.
“Well what?”
“Why are you just sitting there?”
“I thought you were going.”
“I thought you—”
“Shit.”
“But you were the one who said, ‘Let’s buy some — ’”
“Stop,” said Lenny, shaking his head. “This is getting way, way too complicated. Let’s back up and start over.”
“Okay.”
They each grabbed handfuls of money off the briefcase and stuck it back in their pockets.
“How much you got?”
“Forty-three dollars. How much you got?…”
Serge smacked himself in the forehead. He slid the briefcase off the table and set it down on the floor between his leg and the wall. Except he unwittingly set the briefcase on the ledge of the wall. The bar was revolving. The ledge was not. The briefcase began rotating away.
“I know this pot dealer with a scar…” said Lenny.
“I know him, too!” said the drummer.
