Jeff, finds himself in
Chapter 3: Pick, the charming con man takes Jeff around the
Atlanta Underground with Jeff buying all along the way. Finally after dinner Pick
convinces Jeff to go with him to Magic Town. Jeff figures that rabbits coming
out of hats would be something he could tell his mother about, but when he
rounds the corner he sees that there won’t be any rabbits coming out of hats
here!
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Thanks for taking time, and enjoy!
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Author contact: Chris Lamela,
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Magic Town, Chapter 3
Friday,
5:56PM: The Mark
With that thought, Jeff deliberately turned left continuing on.
He walked on slowly keeping his eyes peeled for an ATM so that he could fill
his pockets with dollar bills. He laughed to himself, “Yep, need dollars so I can have people take bullets for me!”
He meandered along windows looking in, not seeing anything in particular
that he had to have, leisurely walking along to the next. There were a few
bars, a barbeque restaurant with blues music spilling out its doors, farther
down some kind of Ricky Rocket burger place at the far end by the exit.
There was a funny looking place, Jeff guessed it was kind of a bar, a
wall filled with colorful circles with little pour spouts in front of each.
Seeing laughing glassy-eyed adults with colorful plastic drink cups in front of
them he guessed they were some kind of fruity slushy rum and other liquors. Slurpees for alcoholics, now that’s an invention!
He laughed to himself imagining a line of kids at the Seven Eleven all eager
for the cherry flavored one. Yeah, this could really be good! You could have
seasonal treats, “Here, little girl, peppermint schnapps for the Christmas
season!” What flavor would you have for Fourth of July he wondered? Would that
be Gin or Vodka? No, on such an American
holiday it couldn’t be British Gin or Russian Vodka! “American,” he said to
himself, “would definitely have to be Jim Beam.” He laughed to himself at the
thought of a Jim Beam flavored Slurpee. He didn’t like bourbon, shuddering at
the thought.
Unlike your usual bar with dim lights, this place was all lit up, every
seat at the counter was taken by mostly Yuppy looking younger people; their
bleary eyes said a good time was being had by all. Jeff smiled watching at the
window, “I guess that’s the advantage of public transportation, right? You
don’t want a bunch of alcoholic Slurpee drivers out there!” He made a note to
come back to have one of those slushy drinks after dinner.
Finally, Jeff came to the Underground’s last exit, seeing the evening’s
darkness coming through the glass doors. He turned around seeing an ATM sign
down the way past the Ricky Rocket’s thinking he must have missed it, turning
back toward the ATM sign.
Jeff walked up to the ATM seeing that it was going to cost him a
dollar-fifty to use the machine. “Charging me to get my own money back,” he
said out loud as he frowned. He was a businessman, he knew that businesses had to
make a profit. But somehow paying to get your own money had some fundamental
flaw in logic. Oh well, it didn’t matter, he was almost out of cash. He thought
for a minute about how much cash he would need. This was Friday night, he
needed money for tonight, then for the weekend, then enough to get him around
until his flight on Monday night back to Seattle.
He inserted his ATM card, paused, “Oh, what the heck,” punched in one-hundred
twenty dollars. The money came out, he stuffed it into his right pants pocket,
took the receipt, studied it realizing he had entered two-hundred twenty dollars.
He pulled the money back out of his pocket counting it. Sure enough, two
hundred twenty dollars. He stuffed the money and receipt back into his pocket.
Jeff looked to his right seeing a black man about his height, portly
built, standing next to him watching Jeff’s hand at his pocket, back to Jeff’s
face, “Looks like a man who is out and about, ready to have an interesting
evening! I mean, you probably have credit cards, so why would you need cash?”
Jeff turned to the man, the man pulled back with a startled expression!
The man leaned toward Jeff, “What are you doing here!” He took a slight
step back, studying Jeff’s face. Jeff felt uncomfortable, taking a half-step
back from the man. The man continued to examine Jeff’s face, scanning him up
and down. “Wait. You’re not him, are you? Who are you?” he leaned toward Jeff
with an intense glare.
“Name’s Jeff, who are you? Why are you talking to me?”
Jeff glanced quickly around nervously wondering at this man, why was he
talking to him? Satisfied that there were people around he felt reassured,
looking back at the man in front of him.
But the man still stood there silently studying Jeff, “Well, I’ll be. Jeff,
huh?” Jeff nodded timidly. “Well I’ll be. It’s like his own twin brother…” the
man’s voice trailed off. The man’s face was youthful looking with small pock
marks on his cheeks, chicken pox or acne as a kid maybe, sparkling dark eyes, a
big wide smile with bright white teeth that contrasted with his dark face, beacons
gleaming from shadows.
His voice was low, almost sonorous, robust with just enough of a
Southern accent to make it charming. What is it about the Southern accent that
can sound so charming coming from one person but come across like finger nails
on a chalkboard from someone else? Maybe it’s the twang, but this man standing
in front of him had a rich southern voice with an open sincere look, no twang, still
though…
The man had a stout build, not fat, certainly not Jeff’s thinner build.
His expression seemed like it could be friendly if it wasn’t so intent on Jeff
at that moment. He wore a dapper black
hat with a small front brim, turned up in the back with a silver hat band. It
reminded Jeff of hats he saw in some old Cary Grant movie. Rarely did Jeff ever
see a man in anything but a baseball cap, maybe an occasional cowboy hat. This
style of hat made the man in front of him seem well turned-out, suited his
manner.
The man continued examining Jeff, suddenly starting to reach up to touch
Jeff’s chin. Jeff stepped back pushing the man’s hand away, “Hey, what are you
doing? Who are you?”
“Sorry man, didn’t mean to scare you or anything, just being sociable.” A
smile crept onto his face as though he was satisfied with something, “Pete is
my name,” said the man holding out his hand, “My friends call me Pick.”
Jeff looked around him, uncertain what to do.
“You look worried there, no need there friend Jeff, I’m just out and
about myself and am always looking to make a new friend.”
Reluctantly Jeff reached out shaking hands meekly.
“Where are you from?”
Jeff still unsure, muttered, “Seattle.”
“Seattle Atlanta
“Yeah, it’s pretty rainy up there, it rains a lot here?”
“You’re obviously not from here or you would know. When did you get into
town?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“Let me guess, businessman, right?”
“Yeah.” Jeff took another small step back.
“Well we get lots of businessmen down here, all by themselves and want
to get out of the hotel, right?” He gave Jeff a deliberately open smile. “Yeah,
I’ve met lots of businessmen down here. All kinds. Nice guys, mostly.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Jeff wondered at the sound of this man’s voice. There
was a certain lulling quality to it, a mild smoothness that had a way of saying
don’t worry everything is fine here.
The words of the shuttle driver and his wife’s warnings suddenly rang in his
ears, feeling his expression tighten as he wondered what to do here.
“So, you getting a chance to get in a little early Christmas shopping
for the wife? Lots of nice stores here.”
Jeff reached into his coat pocket pulling out the scarf, holding it laid
out in his hands.
Pick leaned forward to look at it, “Nice! From
Tallot’s! That had to cost what, thirty dollars?”
“It was on sale, I don’t remember, but there was a nice lady there who
helped me buy a really nice coat that was a heck of a lot more than thirty dollars.”
Pick gave a nod, “Yeah, I hear rumors there’s an enterprising young lady
that works there.”
“Yeah, she’s a heck of a sales person. Kind of cute, too!”
Pick flashed a knowing smile, “Yeah, well I’m pretty sure you’ll see her
again.” Jeff didn’t pay attention to the words as he eyed the man in front of
him suspiciously. “But see, that’s the Underground for you! Nice stores, very
friendly clerks to make sure you spend as much money as possible!” as he waved
his hand around the cave, at the stores in front of them.
They both laughed, Jeff tucked the scarf back into his pocket.
“And there you go, you gentlemen come down here, spend a few dollars on
a gift for the wife, then wander around without a clue about where you are, where
to go next and miss all the good things about the place you’re wandering.” He
took a half-step toward Jeff who didn’t back away this time. “Well, if I was
you I would want someone who knew the place. And seeing as I am the only one
here, I’d be happy to be your someone––kind of a guide if you want.”
“A guide?” Jeff thought of the confusing tourist booklet he got at the
hotel, how he had tried to make order of it as he was hopelessly trying to plan
his evening. While he was in the shuttle he had actually wished he could pay
the driver to be his guide but he knew that couldn’t be arranged. It would be
nice to walk with somebody who knew the ins-and-outs of the place. Maybe this
wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Still, there was just something about this guy
that put him on edge.
Pick threw up his hands in declaration, “Hey, if this makes you
uncomfortable, then I guess, but really,” he leaned forward, “I’m a nice guy, lived
here all my life.” He could see Jeff’s expression slowly turning to a scowl.
“And there’s no harm in a little company right? I mean, you probably get around
a lot, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And how many times do you go back to Seattle without ever having a
chance to get to know the place you spent so much time in, I mean, how many
days are you here?”
Jeff counted days in his head, “Three, uh, five. Wednesday, going home
Monday night.”
“Exactly, how many of those nights do you get to tour around?”
“Tonight and tomorrow night, I guess.” He flashed the alternative of
either touring around or just sitting in the hotel bar or in his room. Besides,
what is there to do in his room, watch TV? Not exactly the things you want to
go back home to tell your wife and mother about, huh? Hey mom, guess what I did in Atlanta
“Exactly!” Pick smiled, “And when you go back to your hotel won’t it be
nice to have had dinner and a couple drinks with someone nice––that would be me
by the way––get to know the town a little?”
Jeff felt himself warming to the idea. His mind flashed to what he had
already discovered about business travel. His wife’s and his friends and their
families were constantly asking about where he had been lately, Toronto , New York , Washington DC , Silicon Valley ? He had been traveling like this for a few
years. People seemed to think there was some kind of glamour to it all. He
often wondered what they pictured. Oh, yeah, glamorous business travel. A
hundred thousand miles a year only meant a hundred thousand hours of butt in
the airplane seat, a thousand times through airport security, a thousand times
checking into hotels, checking out of hotels, meeting a hundred thousand faces
that he would never see again, getting up a four-thirty to catch a shuttle,
going places where people had families. If he was lucky might get one early
dinner at some restaurant where the food tasted just like the last restaurant
only to have people start looking at their watches trying to get home to tuck
their kids in to read them bedtime stories then get to climb into bed with
their wives or husbands so he could go back to the hotel, maybe have one more
drink before passing out in front of David Letterman. And then doing it all
over again tomorrow. He remembered the week when he had very late dinners at
four different TGI Fridays in three states because it was the only restaurant
open by the time he checked into the hotel. Talk about food tasting the same!
But mostly business travel was lonely. Just plain lonely. In an instant
he brightened that there might be someone who wasn’t rushing home to tuck in
the little ones. Pick could see Jeff’s expression start to open a bit, a smile
beginning to creep onto his face.
“And if you don’t want my company, just walk away. No harm, no foul, I
won’t try to stop you. Of course it might cause me to question if I have lost
my charm,” he made a motion as though to elbow Jeff, “just kidding about that
part.” Jeff nodded smiling. “Then how about we go and explore this place? I
know just the place to start!”
Jeff hesitated, glanced left, right, back to this man, saying slowly
with a cautious smile, “Okay, I guess there’s no harm.”
“Exactly! No harm, see? Don’t you feel better already? You met me and
I’m gonna give you an Atlanta
Jeff shrugged, there was that interesting
evening again, “Okay, it’s Pick right?” Pick nodded. “Okay, Pick,” Jeff
smiled, “I’m in, lead on!”
Pick reached out pulling at Jeff’s arm, “Come my friend, just follow me.
It’s time for a little rum.”
Smiling Jeff turned to Pick as they started off, “Drink, yeah, I could
definitely do with a drink.”
Soon Jeff found himself standing at the well-lit bar with the colorful
circles of alcoholic Slurpees spinning in front of him. There was only one seat
at the bar, Pick insisted Jeff sit there while he stood next to him. “Okay,
here’s how it goes. They give you a sample of whatever you want. Some of the
names are pretty easy to figure out what’s in them. But like that one, the Blue
Fizz, you might have to ask or just get ‘em to give you a sample.”
The bartender walked by, Pick called to him, “Two Blue Fizz samples
here!” The bartender gave Pick a knowing smile that was not lost on Jeff. Soon
two tiny plastic cups appeared before them. With a small touch of tiny cups in
a toast, they were swallowed down. Jeff could taste the bourbon trying not to
wince; the cool slushy sweetness definitely softened that nasty bourbon taste
on his tongue.
“Bourbon,” said Pick, “how do you like it?”
“I’m not much of a bourbon guy, is there some rum drink here?”
“Yes, rum you want?” Pick called to the bartender, “Pink paradise!” In a
few seconds two tiny pink sample cups appeared in their hands.
Jeff tasted it more carefully than before, smiled, throwing the rest
into his mouth, “That’s nice, okay, I’ll have some of that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a tequila man myself!” With that declaration Pick
ordered two drinks, one pink the other a bright orange. Jeff noticed again an
expression that the bartender gave to Pick that made him wonder how often Pick
came in here.
Jeff sipped at his pink drink, enjoying the sweet taste of rum. He
looked around the room noticing how the mix of people had changed since he
first looked in through the window. The crowd was definitely older now, he
thought that maybe the others he saw earlier were office workers, now these
were more their managers from the high-rise office buildings a block away out
for their end-of-week alcohol relief break.
The bartender walked over stretching across the bar talking into Pick’s
ear, pointing to a group across the room. Pick turned nodding.
Pick turned to Jeff, “Will you excuse me a minute, there’s a man over
there I need to speak with.” Jeff nodded slurping from his pink drink as Pick
got up, walking to the table the bartender had pointed to. Jeff watched, Pick
stood with his back toward him, the others at the table leaning toward Pick.
Money appeared moving to Pick’s hands, he turned walking back toward Jeff.
“Everything okay?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah, they just need a little help with a project.”
Jeff shook his head finishing off his drink, “How often do you come in
here?”
“Oh, I get in here once in a while, not as often as I’d like,” said Pick
taking a deep slurp from his drink finishing it off.
Pick signaled to the bartender for another round. The people next to
Jeff got up. Pick came around sitting next to Jeff. Soon new drinks appeared, the
bartender held out the tab, Jeff signaled he’d take it, looked at it, asked to
keep it open, handing it back to the bartender with a credit card. Jeff had a
second thought, signaling the bartender back, asking him if he could have some
change, handing the bartender his wad of cash from the ATM machine.
“How do you want it?”
Jeff pulled back five twenties answering, “Twenty in ones if you have
it, the rest in fives and tens, mostly fives,” the bartender turned, “make sure
at least twenty in ones!”
Pick leaned over to Jeff, “That’s easy for them to do, they get their
tips all in small bills.” Jeff looked around at the crowd hugging the bar, along
the back wall. These were definitely an older crowd than before, he imagined
that they would be a lot more generous tippers than the younger ones here
earlier.
The bartender returned with a much bigger wad of cash than Jeff had
imagined. He set about counting it turning away from Pick, suddenly realizing
that he had way too many eyes on him so he just stuffed it all into his pocket.
He couldn’t help noticing the smile the bartender gave to Pick as he wished he
had the nerve to count the money.
Jeff stood up, “Uh, I gotta go to the men’s room.”
Pick pulled his arm down, “No, no you don’t. Not after you just flashed
that big wad of cash. You’ll get a big smack on the head and that’ll be it for
your night. Sit down, hold it, we’ll get to it on the way out.”
Jeff gave a suspicious look around him realizing that Pick was probably
right.
Soon they had finished their drinks. Pick ordered another round, in a
moment they were both working on their next drink. Jeff could feel a genuine
buzz as he sipped trying not to drink so fast that he would get a cold headache,
piggy pains as his brother called it.
The drinks were strong!
He could feel himself warming up to his new-found friend’s company. Pick
began talking all about the history of the Atlanta Underground, about Atlanta
in general. Jeff noticed a few second glances at him, the same he saw in the
Tallot’s store, as people sat or walked by. He shrugged, didn’t pay much
attention.
Pick described, “Atlanta
Jeff reflected, “How does that work? I see lots of white people around.”
“All tourists and white people from the suburbs.”
“I do business up in Norcross, is that where you mean?”
“Exactly, the only black faces you see there are waitresses and taxi
drivers. Black people don’t live up there, god no! But here, the black man
rules.” Pick went on to talk and talk and talk about Atlanta
“What exactly is your situation? Do you work?”
Pick hesitated just enough for Jeff to notice, “Work? Oh, yeah, I work.
I work hard!”
“What do you do?”
Pick straightened up with a proclaiming smile, “I officiate arrangements
between certain business parties, taking a commission for those transactions.”
Jeff realized he was starting to move beyond the buzz from the alcohol.
“Those are a lot of big words there, Pick. What does that all mean? I mean,
exactly what is it you do?”
Pick countered, “Well, mister Jeff, you tell me first, what is it you do?”
“I work for a company that sends me out to find new contracts. Then I
bring them all together to make deals. After that I stay with the deal to make
sure that all the contracts are signed, that everyone gets along so they can
make money together and my company along with them. Then I go onto the next
deal.”
Pick beamed, “That’s exactly what I do!”
Jeff frowned trying to fill in the gaps in his mind that was becoming
just a bit fuzzy from the rum. Looking at his watch he couldn’t believe they’d
been at the bar for over two hours.
“Oh, man, I’ve got to get some food in me. Where’s there a good place to
eat?”
“I know just the place!” He waved to the bartender, “Tab!”
Jeff got the receipt and his credit card back, signed it calculating the
tip when Pick leaned over quietly, “Be generous, this guy was pretty good to
us, right?”
“Yeah, I was thinking five dollars.”
“Five dollars! I’d never be able to show my face back here again!” He
slapped Jeff on the back with a big laugh, “Ten at least!”
Jeff frowned, reluctantly scribbling ten dollars on the tab, wondering
just how often Pick really came in here.
Before Jeff could put words to his thoughts, Pick stood up, “Okay, where
do we get some dinner?” Jeff shrugged, Pick gave a big smile, “Don’t worry,
just follow me––I know just the right place!”
Soon they were back walking down the way in the darkened cave, Jeff
could feel the effects of the rum, not too bad to worry. As they walked Jeff
looked at Pick, “You know, this is nice, like a mini-vacation! I appreciate you
taking the time here.” Pick responded with that big white-toothed smile.
They passed a newspaper rack. Jeff started to lean into look at it, Pick
pulled at his arm, “Hey, no newspapers! You’re on your on a mini-vacation here,
right? You don’t want to be dealin’ with the real world on a night like
tonight, do you?” Jeff shook his head in agreement. “I never look at the papers,
nothin’ but bad news anyway, right? Always bad, bad, bad.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Never?”
“Nope, one of the very few things I am definitely religious about. Only news
there is bad news, I get plenty of that already. Any news I wanna know people
will tell me.”
Twice as they walked along the darkened corridor with bright store
lights on each side Jeff noticed someone give a familiar nod to Pick, both times
he noticed Pick’s short flick of fingers brushing them off. Jeff was quickly
figuring out that Pick was no stranger here, obviously a regular as he continued
wondering what was the game that he stumbled into. And more than once he saw
those double takes again as people passed with quick glances at him, he still had
no idea why people would be looking at him so he just shrugged it off. But
there were definite looks.
Soon Jeff could see the same club he had noticed earlier with the blues
music pouring from the door. Pick was pointing toward it saying something when
a thought occurred to Jeff. He laughed out loud, Pick turned to him, “Are you
okay?” They stopped in front of the restaurant with gaudy neon lights of music
notes blinking in different colors.
Jeff laughed again. “Faulkner, you ever read any Faulkner?”
Pick look puzzled, “What’s that? What was the word you just said?”
Jeff turned to Pick, “Faulkner, William Faulkner, the author. Ever read
any Faulkner?”
“Never heard of it, don’t do much reading.”
“Yes!” Jeff smiled, “I was just remembering a story, where he meets someone
like you. Takes him out, buys his drinks and meals. Faulkner called himself the Mark.
Am I your Mark?”
Pick got an exaggerated pained expression on his face, “Is that what you
think this is, that I am taking advantage of you?” he laughed in mock hurt.
Jeff laughed again putting his hand on Pick’s shoulder, “No, no, I know,
you are just a nice guy trying to show me a good time, that’s okay, don’t worry
about it. I’m not upset. Don’t worry,” he chuckled to himself.
Pick frowned, “Really, it’s okay?” Jeff nodded.
Jeff thought back to the reading he had done. William Faulkner was a
southerner, as he recalled. Had won a Nobel or something if he remembered
right. Jeff had read a few of his books way back when he was in college. He
read As I Lay Dying and some other
drama pieces. This situation reminded him of New Orleans Sketches, a collection of short stories filled with all
sorts of characters. As he looked at the man standing in front of him one story
in that book came to mind, mainly of the character that Faulkner met up with in
New Orleans
He looked at Pick smiling, “Yeah, I’m okay. In fact, I’m having a good
time, but I really need do need to get some food in me, and I really need a bathroom!”
“Well, then, you’re in luck! This is some of the best barbeque in town.”
Jeff turned looking at the restaurant, skeptical. “Best? Here?”
Pick laughed, “Okay, maybe not the best in Atlanta Atlanta
Jeff grinned, “You mean the black man’s barbeque capital?”
Pick pulled back with a stern expression that surprised Jeff––just as
quickly Pick laughed, “Oh, yeah, right, the black man’s capital, right, just
like I said. Throw in some barbeque and there you go!”
“Still, the best in Atlanta
“Okay, like I said, let’s just say it’s the best here in the
Underground!”
Jeff laughed, “Good enough for me, I’m hungry. Could do with a little
barbeque. And a bathroom!” He smiled to himself pretty sure that he could have
some barbeque tonight without worrying about naked women running all around him
like back in Denver. Yes, definitely no strip clubs for him tonight!
They walked into the darkened restaurant, loud blues music streaming
from the tiny stage in one corner. A thick haze of cigarette smoke hung in the
room. Jeff coughed a little at first breath. Pick stood scanning the room, Jeff
pointed to the men’s room, they parted company.
Jeff came back out. Pick pointed to a table. “I’ll get us that table in
the corner,” he signaled to a waitress whose expression brightened when she saw
Pick pointing to the empty table in the corner, she gestured back to go ahead, sit
down.
They snaked their way around tables to the corner, sitting down facing
the stage. The music was so loud that they had to nearly yell to each other, so
most of the time was spent signaling each other pointing to the menu, making
drinking motions to order alcohol, sitting in silence watching the three
musicians on stage. The music wasn’t half-bad Jeff thought picking up his
drink, realizing it was bourbon, grimaced setting it down again.
Soon the food arrived, the waitress bent over talking to Pick, her mouth
to his ear. Jeff figured the music was so loud that’s what she had to do,
though he did wonder what she had to say to him, what he was saying back to
her. He couldn’t hear a word but there was a definite exchange of nods that
said something important was being communicated.
It probably wasn’t about barbeque.
How is it that we can so easily feel like the outsider? Jeff thought
about all the communications that are constantly swirling around him, some he
doesn’t care about––probably most of it––but then there are the things that he
wished he was privy to. He thought about in his work, how we was constantly
having to piece together little scraps of information, overheard conversations,
subtle exchanges of looks mixed with nods, memos that seemed to have some
underlying message. He wanted to think that he was good at picking up little
undercurrents of dialog. He was continually surprised when things popped out or
the formal message was finally transmitted. And that didn’t even count his
family! He often thought about all the intrigue between his wife’s family, her
mom and her sisters and brother, though her dad was pretty much a straight-shooter.
Then there was his side of the
family, the way his mother would never tell him what was happening; it was only
when he picked up on someone’s expression or a slipped word that he could find
a handle to grab onto then maybe, just maybe, he could find out what was going
on. Even when he did it was seldom the whole story. And here it was happening
again with his so-called guide making who-knows-what schemes with the waitress
at a place where his guide “so seldom
comes.”
He gave up watching them starting to eat immediately when the food was
served. Soon Pick joined in, filling his mouth, reaching for this barbeque
sauce or that cornbread muffin. Soon the waitress realized Jeff wasn’t
drinking. She bent back over to Pick, said something Jeff couldn’t hear over
the music, she took Jeff’s drink returning a couple minutes later with a rum
drink. Jeff took a sip nodding, smiling in thanks to the waitress. He had the
feeling like he was a passenger on a bus that nobody spoke to––the bus was just
driving on, all he could do was sit and watch everything going on around him,
flying past. No point in asking questions or engaging any conversation. They
wouldn’t tell him anyway.
It didn’t bother him until he had the sudden vision that maybe he was
just a passenger on the bus of his own life.
Here he was being led along by this stranger, following this guy around like he
was trustworthy, putting his whole evening into his hands, just hoping that it
would all come out in the end. How often was he just led around, how often did
he not even know? He chuckled to himself at the funny notion deciding that he’d
drunk too much to think about this seriously tonight, making a note to remember
the thought. He realized that he drank too much to put any thought into this
tonight, shrugged to himself taking another swill of his drink.
When his last finger has been sucked free of barbeque sauce, Jeff turned
his watch toward the candle seeing that it was already nine-thirty. Damn, he
had an hour to get back to the airport to get the shuttle to the hotel.
Jeff pointed at his watch, Pick motioned to the waitress who came over
to take Jeff’s credit card, returning with the tab. Jeff leaned into the candle
light to read it seeing they had spent thirty five dollars on their dinner and
drinks! Expensive! He signed the credit card slip, started to calculate the tip,
Pick leaned over looking intently at the slip in the dim candlelight. Though
Jeff would usually give maybe seven dollars, he glanced to his right at Pick’s
expectant expression, scribbled down fifteen. Pick nodded smiling, signaling a
thumbs-up as Jeff totaled the tab. The waitress came back, picked up the tab without
putting it to the candle light, smiled with a thumbs-up to Pick completely
ignoring Jeff. She knows I left a big tip,
Jeff thought, watching the pair realizing that he really was being drug around
to these places so that he could leave these exorbitant tips so Pick could get
the credit! Ah, yes, thank you mister Faulkner for the Mark. Oh well, this was his mini-vacation, right? As long as
everyone was having fun, that’s all that mattered. And he was having fun. Good
food, great music, his guide that so far was making some pretty good choices.
Pick was just leaning back listening to the music when Jeff pointed to his
watch again. Pick smiled, got up motioning for Jeff to follow him, a moment
later they were back in the quiet of the Underground mall corridor. There were
hardly any people in the Underground now, Jeff starting to feel just a little
uneasy.
Pick turned to Jeff who was looking for something in his inside coat pocket.
When he saw Pick looking at him, he quickly let go of his jacket. “Just trying
to see if I had my train ticket.” They turned walking toward the exit. “Look
Pick, thank you for everything. I’ve really got to get back to the train so I
can get to my hotel. They gave me a deadline to get back in time for the
shuttle.”
“What? A curfew?” Pick half-frowned, “Well if that’s what you say. You
heading south?”
“Yeah, to the airport.”
“Well say, what a coincidence! I’m heading that way, too! Want some
company?”
“What, to my hotel?”
“No, no, my stop is the next one down, I thought you might like a little
company at least part way to the airport,” he leaned toward Jeff as they
walked, “And maybe a little company from the assault of these panhandlers,” as
one walked up, Jeff reaching into his pocket to pull out a dollar bill handing
it to him.
Jeff smiled, “No way, I got a pocket of ones for these guys.” Pick
laughed shaking his head. Almost out of nowhere another homeless man
materialized in front of them. Pick made to shoo the man away but Jeff was
already reaching a dollar toward the man. “Here man, have a good evening,” they
pushed past him.
“Thank you sir! Thank you!” trailed off behind them as they walked on.
“What the hell, are you just giving money away now?”
“Why not, that’s what I’ve been doing all night!”
Pick paused with an intense expression, bursting into a good-natured
laugh, “Exactly! So what’s another dollar, right?” Jeff gave away four more dollars
on their short walk to the train station.
The streets were nearly deserted by the time they reached the train
station, only one other man on the platform. After another minute they were on
board.
“So you’re just going to go back to your hotel?”
“Yeah, it’s late.”
“It’s not even ten o’clock. What, you got a date with David Letterman?”
Jeff looked sideways at Pick, annoyed.
“Look, I know a place, it’s called Magic Town
Jeff listened to the train’s clacking on the rails, soon hearing them
slow as the train approached the next stop. He looked up seeing the sign for Garnett
Station. He looked at the map board seeing that it was just a couple stops from
College Station which was the short cab ride to the hotel the shuttle driver
told him about.
Jeff said to himself, “Magic, huh? That sounds like fun. That could be
really cool to see a little magic.” He thought about rabbits out of hats and
all that. Yeah, a little magic might be just what the doctor ordered! He turned
to Pick with a determined smile knowing that he had at least until midnight, he
could take a cab from the other station like he was told. “Magic? Okay, you’re
right, it’s early still. Let’s do it!”
Pick rubbed his hands together as the train was stopping. He stood
chuckling to himself, “Yes, sir, magic! You, my friend are going to be amazed. Amazed!”
Jeff walked down the isle of the train behind Pick, turned left out the
door onto the platform thinking maybe he would do something tonight that he
could actually tell his mother about, “Yeah, magic, I could definitely do with
a little magic. Yeah, that will be fun!”
They walked along the platform. Jeff looked out across the parking lot
seeing nothing but dingy industrial warehouses, barely lit, faded signs on
their sides barely visible in the light from the Marta station parking lot.
Peering intently across the road, Jeff whistled, “Wow, what is this
place?’
“Yeah, well this is not exactly the best part of town, but stay next to
me, you’ll be fine.”
“What kind of place is this for magic?”
Pick gave him a quick glance and wry smile walking as Jeff traipsed
beside him, “Don’t worry, you’ll see. You’ll see!” He laughed out a gregarious
laugh, patting Jeff on the back, “Magic. Yes, let’s put a little magic into
your interesting evening!”
Jeff laughed again out loud.
“Yes! Let’s make it an interesting evening!”
They walked along the sidewalk that had been destroyed by years of use.
Twice Jeff tripped over its jagged surface, looking around wondering where he
had managed to find himself. He glanced over his shoulder, all around, peering
into the darkness at the darkened tall shoddy buildings. There wasn’t a soul to
be seen.
Finally, they turned the corner. There in big neon lights was the sign MAGIC TOWN with a large neon woman
pulling her top up-and-down to expose two enormous neon breasts.
Jeff laughed out loud, “Magic Town! Of course!”
There won’t be any rabbits coming out of
hats here!
-------------------------------------------------
NOW READ THE NEXT CHAPTER IN
MAGIC TOWN !
CLICK THIS LINK:
http://chrislamela.blogspot.com/2012/05/magic-town-chapter-4.html
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