Quick Eddie

 Part 2 of 2

Things were going like clockwork that Saturday night. There had been some guys who wanted to try their luck and ended up donating lots of money. Pete was sipping beer and going to his flask and getting louder and louder. And finally, everybody was out but Eddie and the money was all in. Pete tanked a few shots and Eddie won the big pot. The beauty part was watching Pete just barely miss a critical shot or two. Pete was a master.

“I’ve got five hundred dollars …” Pete went into his big speech. And sure enough, a bunch of guys came to Eddie and said they’d back him, and for him to kick Pete’s ass. The final game was moving along with Eddie about to miss a critical shot by a fraction when he heard Pete curse under his breath.

“Jeezus, Mary and Joseph!” Pete looked like somebody had punched him in the gut.

“What is it?” Eddie stood next to Pete at the ball return.

“The house manager is up there talking to a guy that looks familiar. I think I saw him in Walnut Creek when we were there last month. Oh, shit! It is him. We’ve been made.”

Eddie looked up and saw the manager in earnest conversation with a tall, thin man wearing a plaid jacket. The manager stepped out from the counter and began to talk to one of the men who’d put money on Eddie.

“Okay, kid, we’ve got to run for it,” Pete said. “Head across the lanes to the pit area and out the back door. My car is out there. You run for the bus station and I’ll take the car. They’ll follow me and I can lose ’em. We’ll hook up later in Frisco. Go!”

With that, Eddie took off across the darkened, empty lanes, heading for the back of the house, skipping over the ball returns and trying not to trip in the gutters. Pete was right behind him, change and keys jangling in his pants, huffin’ and puffin’, his big belly bouncing along. They blasted through the back door and Pete headed for his car. Eddie sprinted around the building and across Sonoma Boulevard to the bus station. He peered through the plate-glass window of the station and saw Pete tear out of the parking lot and onto Sonoma, heading for Highway 40 and the bridge. Sure enough, a group came charging out the back door and jumped into two cars. They sped off after Pete.

He waited a few minutes to let his heart rate return to normal, then he went to a ticket window and bought a one-way ticket on the next bus scheduled to leave. It was heading to Oakland and he knew he could get home to San Francisco from there. He boarded the bus and sank down in his seat. He didn’t begin to breathe easy until the bus had crossed the Carquinez Bridge. He glanced down at his feet and realized he was still wearing his bowling shoes. His ball, his bag, his street shoes, and his jacket were all back at the Vallejo Bowl. And his suitcase was sitting with the desk clerk at the Casa De.

He made it back to San Francisco the next day. Later he heard that Pete was back in town and they arranged to meet. Pete had ditched the posse by heading off Highway 40, through Crockett and down past Port Costa. It was all pretty funny and they had a good laugh over their adventure. Except for one thing: Eddie couldn’t go back to Vallejo and he didn’t know what to do about Jodie. It wasn’t long before his dilemma was resolved. On December 7, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. A week later, Eddie enlisted and shipped out for basic training at Fort Ord, near Monterey. He never saw Jodie again.

Eddie called Don over to settle his bill. When the young man returned with his change, he had a question waiting for him: “Donnie, why doesn’t a rooster have hands?”

“Don’t know, Eddie.” Don could see it coming again.

“Because chickens don’t have tits.” He let it sink in, then let loose his best Pete Pannel laugh and got up to leave. “I’ll be coming through from time to time. See you later, kid.”

“Not if I see you first,” Don mumbled under his breath.

Eddie started for the door, then stopped and stared at an empty booth in the corner. He hoped Jodie got everything she wanted: art school, a career, a great guy, a bunch of little green-eyed kids, and happily ever after. She was a great kid and nobody deserved it more than her. She deserved better than Quick Eddie Clark.

***

The door swung open and a well-dressed woman with flowing brown hair walked briskly into the Ritz. She waved to several of the regulars at the bar and they called out her name in greeting.

“Whoa, who is that?” one of the barflies asked his friend. “What a knockout!”

“Forget it, man. The lady is all class and she’s way out of your league.”

Don exchanged smiles with the woman as she sat down at the bar. He scooped ice cubes into a tall glass, dropped in a wedge of lime and filled the glass with club soda. He placed the drink on a coaster in front of his new customer.

“How’s it goin’, Mom?”

“Good, honey. How’s your day?”

“Not bad. Hey, you wouldn’t believe the guy I just had in here. What a piece of work! Oh, yeah…answer this: why doesn’t a rooster have hands?”

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