The Dick by Bruce Jay Friedman

Author:Bruce Jay Friedman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504019552
Publisher: Open Road Media

Almost as though he were tuned in to LePeters’s thoughts, Boners said he would tolerate a man regardless of color, “but only up to a point.”

“What point’s that?” LePeters asked, with a small edge in his voice. Sensing his friend’s irritation, Boners said, “I don’t know what that point is. I guess you might say I’m a great friend of the colored man.”

The bartender, who had been grim and sullen, suddenly leaned forward and said, “You guys go for a little clean pussy?”

Without waiting for an answer, he told them to spin around, not making too much fuss, and they would see the girl he had in mind. Across the road, they could make out a plump, light-skinned native girl, hanging out wash on the second-floor balcony of a run-down building. The dicks smiled at her and she returned the gesture with an unevenly toothed grin of her own. “Now there she is,” said the bartender, taking a photograph out of his wallet, “and this is what she looks like.” The girl in the photograph was slender and festive as she skipped through a meadow, joyously gathering flowers. Additionally, she had red hair and a kind of wild Irish coltishness about her.

“You sure that’s the same one?” LePeters asked.

“’Fore she got sick,” said the bartender. He then went on to say that she took immaculate care of herself and was the cleanest girl on the island. “You make the gratuity deal with her yourself,” said the bartender. “I just like to see the kid get herself straightened out.”

The girl in the picture seemed a far cry from the one on the ledge and LePeters wondered if it was possible they were the same doll; before he could make up his mind, Boners had hopped down from the bar-stool and in his cocky, bandylegged China Coast style was walking across the street. LePeters noticed an enormous curved tooth hanging from a chain around the bartender’s neck and wondered about its significance. He imagined tribal dances and sacred white-killing blood oaths around secret, darkened Congo campfires.

“What’s the tooth all about?” he asked the bartender.

“A customer give it to me,” he said. “It come out of one of them cereal boxes.”

LePeters sipped his rum and before he knew it, Boners was back, cockily hitching up his pants and leaping up on the stool. It seemed to LePeters that he had operated with incredible speed. “How’d you make out?” he asked his friend.

“Like a dream,” said Boners. “You see, I could tell she was eyeing me, all the way from that balcony. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made my move. Anyway, it was just like I expected, clear sailing.

“Most important of all, she didn’t take a dime.”

A bit later, when Boners had left him, a Haitian fire-dancer leaped up on a stage to entertain the visiting black businessmen. Her act involved starting small fires about the room by spitting gasoline on the floor, shouting “Olé!” and then erotically damping them down with her behind. LePeters found himself idly speculating on how the act would go in a big eastern nitery.

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