“You’re the superhero who can do the portaling trick, aren’t you? Let’s see it.”
He looks like Ziggy Stardust on a GQ cover. NASA engineers built his three-piece pinstripe suit. It’s a work of art.
“Are you talking to me?”
“They say you can shadow-walk. I want to see.”
He looks at me with a combination of arrogance and boredom. You never know what a guy like this is going to do. He has one hand in his pocket. What he’s holding could be anything from a joint to a water pistol to a box cutter.
“Sorry. I don’t speak French. Or is it Chinese? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“You think you’re hot shit because you have a cartoon nickname and the Golden Vigil watching your back? Do you even know who I am? Do you know who my father is?”
“Maybe what you need is an asshole-to-English phrase book. I hear they have some fine bookstores in Kansas. You should start walking.”
“My family owns this place. This city. L.A. to the Valley and out to the desert.”
Carlos gives me a look and I give him one right back. He stays put, but starts cutting up limes so he has an excuse to hold a knife.
“People listen to me when I talk.”
“I guess the rich really are different. Most of us come from monkeys, but you’re giving off a whiff of rattlesnake.”
Ziggy has a friend with him. Not quite as handsome. His suit isn’t quite as nice. He’s trying to maintain his cool in front of the girls, but he’s about sixty seconds from running.
The friend says, “Please just do the trick, man, and we’ll get out of your hair.”
“I just killed five people. I’ll show you that trick if you like.”
I go back to my drink and the tamales. Ziggy is about to make another strafing run, not knowing that when he opens his mouth, I’m going to stick my fork into his eye and make him dance like a marionette. But the girls get on either side of him and pull him to the door.
As they go out, I hear one of the girls say, “Daddy would say that man looks like a sheep-killing dog.”
When they’re gone, Carlos curses quietly, so fast I can’t tell if it’s English, Spanish, or Urdu.
“I hate that shit.”
He wipes off the spot where Ziggy was leaning.
“No, you don’t. You encourage it. Look at you. You walk in here with that burned-up arm and dried blood all over a monster movie T-shirt and you don’t want to be noticed? Normal people bet on football or collect stamps to pass the time. Your hobby is telling people to fuck off, but you can’t do that unless they notice you in the first place.”
“You understand how being a bartender works, right? I complain and you bring me drinks and sympathy. Don’t start trying to get reasonable with me.”
“You like these little fights because you don’t have any real ones right now, is all I’m saying.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for Armageddon.”
“Don’t sweat it. I think your star is beginning to fade. New people keep coming in, but a lot of old ones have disappeared.”
“If I take up knitting, think the rest will go away?”
“Louie Toadvine is one of them, which is funny because I owe him money.”
Carlos pours himself a glass of seltzer and drops in some of the lime wedges he was cutting.
“Your friend Candy was in here last night.”
I dig into the tamales.