Fussels charged up to the bar and jumped on a stool. “I’m going to have to kill someone!”
“What happened?” said Jerry.
“I just got ripped off! One of those little mom-and-pop motels. Oh, they’re so fuckin’ sweet and countrified when you arrive. You know what they did to me? They stuck me in the last room over the office. Then after they closed up, all the heat rose and the window unit couldn’t handle it. I had to check into another motel!”
“Didn’t you ask for a refund?” asked Jerry.
“Of course! I called the after-hours number, but they refused!”
“That’s not right,” said Jerry.
“I’m going to get them!” said Fussels. “I’m going to get them so good!”
The gang at the pool table was having difficulty focusing on their game with Fussels yelling and pounding the bar with his fists. Sop Choppy concentrated on a shot. He pulled the stick back.
The five went in the corner pocket, followed by the cue ball. Sop Choppy slammed the butt of his stick on the floor. “That’s it. He’s gotten on my last nerve.”
“We can’t wait any longer,” said Rebel. “This used to be a great place.”
Jerry came over with a tray of drafts the gang had ordered. “Here you go, guys….”
“Jerry, why the hell do you talk to that jerk?” said Bob the accountant. “You’re just encouraging him!”
“What?” said Jerry. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Jerry. You didn’t do anything,” said Sop Choppy. “You’re just a nice person. Bob’s upset about something else.”
“You’re upset about it, too,” said Bob.
“What is it?” said Jerry. “Maybe I can help.”
“Trust me. This isn’t in your area,” said Sop Choppy.
“We need to figure out how to get rid of Fussels,” said Bob.
Jerry looked puzzled. “Why? What’d he do?”
“See, that’s what I mean,” said Sop Choppy. “You like everyone. It’s not your nature.”
“He’s fucking up the whole pub,” said Rebel.
“He is?”
“Jesus, Jerry. You talk to him more than anybody, and he doesn’t annoy you? All his offensive jokes? We’re the most offensive people we know, and we find
“You like it if I got rid of him?” asked Jerry.
“Shoot, we’d
“I know how to do it,” said Jerry.
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really…” Jerry told them what he had in mind.
“Jerry, that’s awful!” said Bob. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s so out of character. It’s perfect!”
“You really think so?”
The guys started laughing. Rebel put a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “We always knew we liked you…. Serge, what the hell are you doing?”
Serge was working with the wooden break triangle, tediously assembling an elaborate triple-deck configuration of balls in the middle of the table. “Pool trick. Saw Minnesota Fats do this once on TV, but not nearly so complex.” He grabbed the bridge, three sticks and some chalk. Coleman was already kneeling on the floor behind the right back pocket, holding the eight ball on top of his head with an index finger.
“Serge, you’re not going to knock that ball off Coleman’s head, are you?”
Serge’s tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth. He carefully set the last ivory ball atop the pyramid inside the triangle. “Not at first.” He arranged the three cue sticks in the bridge with their ends jutting over the edge of the table. He stepped back. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Don’t take your eyes off the table because it’ll be over in a blink. I’ll have to go all the way to that corner on the far side of the bar because I need the biggest running start possible. Then, when I get up enough speed, I slam the ends of the three sticks. If I do it just right, the balls scatter and one will immediately fly into each of the six pockets. But that’s just the beginning. Other balls will leave the table altogether, the three ball caroming off the rest-room door, the seven taking a short hop on that wall, the two skipping back, knocking the eight off Coleman’s head” — Serge patted the side pocket near his hip — “which ends up right here.”
“I gotta see this,” said Rebel.
Gaskin Fussels banged the counter with an empty glass. “Jerry! Getting mighty dry over here!”
“Coming, Mr. Fussels!” He hurried over and stuck a frosted mug under a tap.
“Hey, Jerry, I got a new joke for ya.”
Jerry poured foam off the top of the mug. “What is it?”
“Why did God give women vaginas?”
“I don’t know, why?”
Fussels slapped the bar. “So we’d talk to them!
Jerry set the refill in front of Fussels. “And we talk to them and then what?”
“No, you see the thing about women… screw it, this one’s easier. Stay with me, boy. You know why my ex-wife threw away her vibrator?”
“No.”
“It chipped her teeth!
“She threw it away? What? It didn’t work right?”
“Jerry, you gettin’ enough oxygen back there?”
Serge passed behind Fussels, counting off paces to the far corner of the pub.
Jerry wiped the bar down with a towel. “So, Mr. Fussels… that motel business really got under your skin?”
“Damn! You had to go and remind me! Of all the underhanded, chicken-shit—”
