Outside the rain had started. Every time the door opened the smell of sorrowful pleasure and wet pavement escorted each patron into the belly of the Sunken Steam. It was a night where anything could happen; it was there for anyone willing to take it. Don and I had other plans.
“There’s good money in transporting,” he said. “My cousin Willy used to drive the fifty-one fifties from one hospital to another. This one company he was with kept him around for almost ten years. He made a pretty good living until his accident.”
I sipped my beer. “What kind of accident?”
Don signaled over Debbie, the bartender. You could tell she at one time had been very pretty. She liked to fool herself these days. She wore the bright red lipstick and had a collection of low cut tops she rotated over night. When her shift came on all the barfly’s had something to look at. I would always notice the tattoo on her left breast. It stayed covered but just the corner of something, a little greenish-blue piece of what could have been the stem of a rose, or an ex-lovers nickname would catch my eye. Don ordered two neat bourbons and I finished my beer. Debbie laid out the glasses and poured.
“My cousin Willy worked for this company that was connected to the hospital for the criminally insane. He’d driven a taxi most of his life and one day he got laid off. He answered this ad and next thing he knew he was in there. They had him pushing around carts of towels and soap for a while at first. And he would tell me about all the strange shit he used to see in that place: Motherfucker’s walking into walls, loud screaming from behind closed doors–he even walked in on the electro-shock treatments. He said there was this recreation area where the patients would sit and watch television and smoke cigarettes, burn themselves, that kind of thing. He said this one guy used to eat the chess pieces, just swallow ‘em whole. Said he’d mastered the game. They should have these guys running the corporations, y’know?”
Don laughed, sipped his bourbon.
“So, they had these vans. They looked like normal white conversion vans from the outside. But when the side doors were opened there were these cages in there. The cages took up the whole rear of these vans. All the back seats were removed. They had turned them into these little containment units.”
“What about the front seats?” I asked.
“The cage was only in the back,” Don said. “But once you were in the cage, you had nowhere to go. The patients had to sit in these cages with no seats or anything. They couldn’t do much in these things. Willy said he would hear the patient screaming or banging against the cage, but most of the time they would just sit there, stare at their feet.”
Don finished his bourbon and I followed soon after. We ordered again. Debbie was quick.
“So, my cousin and this supervisor named Mike would take one of the patients, escort them through all these hallways in the hospital sectioned off by fences. The fences were always locked and Mike carried the keys. They’d take these patients and load them into the cages in the vans and then transport them to other hospitals.”
“What for?” I asked. “For fun?”
“Some were found fit to be mingled back into society, some had health problems and had to be put under different supervision. It was always happening, things were always changing.” Don scooped a handful of mixed nuts, chewed them down, then sipped his bourbon. “The last time Willy drove one of these vans, they had this paranoid schizophrenic to take up north to San Mateo County. Willy said this guy was a talker. He spoke in the way you’d speak when you’re being rushed and can’t get all the words out. He claimed he did this, claimed he did that. Said something about how he invented music with no time signature. Talked about people he had killed, and other crimes he committed and whatnot.”
“Was he telling the truth?”
“Well, Willy never really got into that. He didn’t know whether the guy was even aware of his surroundings.”
“What was his name?” I asked.
“Ah, shit. I think his name was, uh, Lance . . . something. So anyway, Lance was in the cage, Willy was at the wheel, and Mike was supervising. And this guy Lance just kept up with the talking, like he hadn’t said a word all his life. It started to get to Mike, started getting on his nerves. He started telling the guy to ‘shut up, or I’ll let you have it!’ and Lance just kept talking away like he couldn’t hear what Mike was saying.”
I sipped my drink. Don cleared his throat and poured down half of his.
“Mike started smacking his flashlight against the cage. Lance just didn’t shut up. He began going on and on about how something bad was going to happen. And his voice got louder and louder. They were halfway up the coast and Willy had the sun in face, and Mike to his right yelling at a schizophrenic blurting out these rushed little sentences sitting behind him. Said the hair on the back of his neck was standing upright, and he started to feel like something bad might actually happen at any second . . . Deb?”
She brought over the bottle and just left it there for us.
“Thanks, doll. So, they got off the highway and entered town, made it to the first stoplight. By then everything had started to calm down.”
“Maybe it was the highway or something, y’know? Some people are affected by travel.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Don poured a full glass, then topped off mine.
“So, they’re at this stoplight, and as it went green Willy said this guy came out of nowhere, running straight at the van with a gun. He opened the driver’s side door, and demanded they give up the van–right there in the middle of the intersection!”
“What the fuck?” I said. “Where did he come from?”
“That’s what I said!” We both laughed, drank. “Willy told me this guy was in a shitty brown suit, and had blood running down his forehead! He was sticking the gun in Willies face and threatening to shoot him! He came out of fucking nowhere! Just appeared! Then Mike started yelling at the guy to fuck off, then the schizo in the back started yapping away even louder than before! Then the cars behind him started honking. There were people leaning out their windows, shouting at Willy, then the guy with the gun started yelling at them, it went on and on and the light turned red again.”
“Shit, that’s a fucked place to be in. What did Willy do?”
“He fucking floored it! The son-of-a-bitch went into the intersection, against the red light, cars coming from the cross traffic, the door was wide open, and the fucker with the gun was still there! He had held on, and was still shaking the gun in Willies face demanding the van!”
I downed my glass and Don filled it again. Don downed his drink, pushed the glass away, pulled the bottle back and started swigging from it.
“Willie’s got people at all sides screaming in his face, one of them had a gun, one of them swinging a flashlight, one of them chattering impatiently, and BOOM! A fucking semi t-bones the van!”
I threw my arms up and roared. “What?! Are you fucking kidding me?”
Don sat there laughing, shaking his head.
“What side did it hit?” I asked.
“The passenger side! The windows suddenly popped and shattered, and Mike was thrown out of his seat! He dropped his flashlight and slammed into Willy. The truck kept pushing and pushing, and Willy said the horn coming out of it was what made him deaf in his right ear.”
“Jesus, Don. That’s some fucked up shit. It’s like something you’d see in a movie. Was anybody injured?”
“He said Lance broke his collar bone and his left arm on account of no seats or restraints being in the cage. Mike busted his head hard, lost a lot of blood. Willy said he didn’t see him much after that day. Willy had some nerve damage in his spine, that’s why he doesn’t walk so well anymore. The fucking guy with the gun had run off so I suppose he wasn’t banged up too bad.”
“Did they ever catch the guy?”
He took a swig. “No. Willy never heard anything about it afterward. But the damage to the van was enough for him to lose his job.”
I looked over and the bottle was empty. We ordered two beers and Debbie scoffed at the bourbon stains on Dons shirt.
“Eh, what’s the matter Deb?” he said. “You’re telling me this doesn’t do it for you?”
“I think you’ve had enough, Don.”
“No, no, doll, I’m just warmin’ up!”
Don made an ugly face and there was drool coming from his mouth.
“Jesus, Don. I shouldn’t have left you the bottle,” said Debbie.
“I’m always with it. C’mon girl! Let’s have those beers!”
“You’ve had enough. Both of you.”
She started to retract the beers but Don snatched one from her and started downing it while dancing away from his stool. I stood up and the booze had a hold of me. I started laughing and I kicked Don in the ass. He spit beer in my face and I shoved him against the wall. I heard Debbie shouting but couldn’t make out what she was saying. There was noise suddenly everywhere. Then I felt an arm around my throat and then the cold night air was in my face and the rain followed.
Don and I were standing out front of the Sunken Steam laughing while Deb’s big stupid boyfriend shoved us and pointed his finger in our faces, threatening us and Don kept saying, “Fuck you!” to him and then the guy disappeared.
“Dumb motherfucker,” Don said. “Let him kick us out, it’s getting late anyway.”
The rain was coming down harder than I thought and before long we were both pretty soaked, and Don looked at me and said, “Deb probably called the cops.”
“Yeah, but she’ll let us back in tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Don said, “We might as well sleep in the drunk tank tonight! They feed you in the morning!”
“Why would we do that, Don? My place is just down the way.”
“Fuck it, man! The cops are already coming! Might as well get a free room out of it! I don’t feel like staying at the Motel tonight anyway. C’mon, if there’s only one cot it’s all yours. What do you say?”
I saw the lights approaching, but they had kept their sirens off. They always did that until they pulled up, then they’d chirp them once or twice to let you know they were there.
“Yeah, alright, fuck it, Don. Let’s do it.”
Don removed his teeth, leaned back and threw the first punch.
Author: Lawrence Goodwin
