Greenwich Killing Time (Masters of Crime Book 1) by Kinky Friedman

Author:Kinky Friedman [Friedman, Kinky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vandam Press
Published: 2011-02-28T11:00:00+00:00

27

I entered the Ear as surreptitiously as a stray Q-Tip but was captured by Martin, the owner of the place, before I got by the bar. ‘Cheers,’ he said, as he laid a shot on the bar for me. Martin was a Brit too. Or maybe he was Irish. They all looked the same to me.

I stared into the main room of the Ear where some guy was spouting forth and the ten tables in the place were full of people listening raptly.

‘Bit of culture never hurts anything but the cash register,’ said Martin.

‘You know how I love your poetry nights, Martin,’ I said, indicating with my thumb the poet on the stage. ‘I’d like to buy that bastard a muzzle for Christmas. How many more are left? They all recite the Yellow Pages, don’t they?’

‘There’s about three or four more who’ll be giving readings. Have you ever heard Peter Myers?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘he’s terrific. He’s the bee’s knees.’

It was a quaint place all right, with a giant skylight, pictures of old battleships on the walls, and crayons at the table for customers to draw on the paper tablecloths when they got bored with the poetry readings. I took a few steps into the main room. A figure was slumping semicomatose in a chair at a corner table. Almost all of his body was under the table except for his head and his feet. The prehistoric shoes looked familiar. They’d obviously once belonged to a person who was no longer with us. I couldn’t see how the figure was clothed, but I checked the head and it was Ratso’s. There were a number of empty bottles on the table. He’d apparently been there since eight o’clock and he did not look pleased.

I walked over and sat down. ‘Kind of exciting, isn’t it?’ I whispered.

‘Keep on your toes,’ he whispered back.

‘Why? ‘I asked. ‘They raise the urinals in this joint?’

The guy standing on the tiny stage never missed a chance to take a simple idea and intellectualize it until it disappeared completely. I didn’t know what he was yapping about and I didn’t much give a damn. I wished I could get a forklift to get him out of there.

Ratso was sitting up now. ‘Keep on your toes,’ he whispered, ‘because Barry Campbell’s sitting over there in the far corner.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’d like to harm that child.’ I signaled the waitress and she took our order. Four shots of Jameson and a cup of coffee for Ratso. Had to keep the boy straight.

The drinks arrived about the time Pete Myers hit the stage, which was a good thing because the guy was a driving bore. You couldn’t’ve told that to Barry Campbell though. He was hanging on every word. I’d like to have seen him hanging from a shower rod.

Myers went on interminably and Ratso and I drank. What else could a sane person do? Finally it was over. It was about 10.45. To this day I have no idea what he was reading.

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