Chapter 29.
One of the first post-apocalyptic jobs George ever took was from a Vegas show girl. He heard about her while he celebrated a hard won victory over some low level drug dealers who were skimming off the top. Whatever that means. George explains to me it means that they were given some drugs to sell, they would add a little baking soda to the "yeyo", then pocket the rest and sell it, keeping the profits from their bosses.
This went on for several months until one of the dummies tried to rip off a coworker. When the coworker reported it to their boss, the boss didn't want to start an internal war, so the boss hired George to make the two drug dealers look like they had an "accident" with a zombie. George is sitting in a club. A nudie club. I don't want to get too graphic, as nudity and zombies don’t mix.
George is sitting there. Sure enough, like clockwork, these two Cuban guys come in. Sideways hats, basketball jerseys, torn jeans. George hangs out over by the bathrooms. He tells me that's where most of the drug dealing happens. I remind George that I did live in Vegas for many years, so I know how those things go. Then me and George get into an argument about just who is telling this story.
"Fine, fine," I say. "If you want to be the mouthpiece, be my guest."
"His fine. You don’t know how to tell a story anyway. So I wait by the bathroom. And in walk my amigos. They sweet talk with the dancers. They have the pretty girls all around them. The men in the club, they stand around like dumb cattle, because this cantina is close to the Amazon territory."
"One of the drug dealers, he smoking a cigar. He has the punk rock chick hanging on him. She very pretty, but she have the ring through her nose like the bull. She hanging on him, and he just looking at the dancers. She get mad, and pour a drink on his face. And his funny, to me, because I know in a few minutes this man go to meet his maker. And I send him to his maker with a soggy limp cigar, smelling like a fruity drink."
"I go inside the bathroom when he go in, maybe he clean himself off, maybe he make a deal. I don’t care. Few men mess with me. In a crowd I just say, 'This is business,' and the people leave me be. So he not making the deal in the bathroom. He standing in line to use one of the urinals. I standing behind him. I wait for him to take his turn. The two urinals in front go empty. So he takes one, and I go to use the other. Just as I walk forward, a big man, bouncer...much bigger than me. He put his hand on my chest, and says 'Excuse me, pardner.' And he cut in front of me. I just standing there, and the men in the other line look at me. And a black guy, he say, 'Oh dayum', and he go to use the stall with the toilet inside."
"I watch the drug dealer flush the toilet, and he washing his hands. And the bouncer, he standing there peeing, looking at the ceiling. So I takes the gun in my left hand, and I cock it, and point it at the drug dealer, and I take and cock the gun in my right hand, and point it at the bouncer. And I say, 'This one is business,' BANG! I shoot the left hand, 'This one is personal.' BANG! I shoot the right hand. I say, 'You should not cut in line, Amigo. One at a time.' Everyone in the bathroom, they just hug the wall. I tell the black amigo on the toilet, 'Flush the toilet, Senor. You stinking up the place.'"
"I look around, point my guns, go out the bathroom. Walk up to his amigo. He just stare at me. I say, 'Business, nothing personal' BANG! I go to leave, bouncer come. 'This personal,' BANG! Another guy, he get up fast, BANG! The men behind the bar, BANG! BANG! The DJ stop the music. I spin around the room, slow. Two bouncers by the front door. BANG! BANG! Now I has only three more bullets. So I stop. I reload. That’s when a nudie girl, she come over to me."
"She tell me she has a friend up north, dancer. But she can't come down because the Reds they make her a dancer. I say, ‘His no my problem.’ She tell me the Reds, they cut up the Chicanos up north, and make them zombies. I say again. ‘His no my problem.’ Then she tell me what she will pay to bring her friend down here. I say, ‘Now his my problem.’"
"I charter a flight. An it so happen it’s your amigo with no legs. He ask for a lot of money to fly me up there. His a warzone up there, back then. Oh, his bad Senor. Your country, his chaos. Brother against brother. All that strange bacon they eat."
"It's just ham, right?" I ask.
"Si, his no bacon that I know of. Like calling a sneaker a tennis shoe-"
"Or more like a boot a tennis shoe-"
"Senor, his no your turn to tell the story, comprende?"
I nod. He continues. He actually allows me to tell his story, since his broken English is so difficult to follow. So he flies up north with Dodge. Back then, Dodge was just making a living being a courier for the drug dealers. George finds the girl. Real pretty. One of the last Vegas show girls up north. And they got her dancing in between these sets of really lame comics. Canadian humor is second only to their bacon.
So George and Dodge sit through this one comic set. The comedian got a zombie on stage with him. Basically, he's the Gallagher of the post-apocalypse. Only instead of smashing fruit...
His assistant is the show girl. She’s standing in because his last assistant got bit. And instead of helping the girl when she was bit, he just made it part of the act. I mean, the guy is just bad. The show girl is nervous, not sure when she is to participate, when she is to stand back and smile. She holds the zombie down over a block of wood, and then the guy comes in with a big sledge hammer and smashes the zombie's head. Bits of brain and skull go flying out into the crowd. The audience, mostly Canadians, are laughing it up. Dodge, of course, is laughing hysterically, because that is his type of humor. The "I don't know why I'm laughing, but if peons laugh at something this farfetched, I'll just laugh at them! Hahaha."
The girl goes to bring out another zombie, and the comedian is making Bill Clinton Jokes. The audience, being Canadian, just groans, and the comedian says, "What are you, a bunch of zombies?" They groan some more, it's part of his shtick.
Word to the wise: If a comedian needs audience participation outside of spontaneous laughter, he is not that funny. He's just using the fear that most people have of public speaking to make the whole audience nervous. They're the nervous laughter comedians. Avoid them more than the zombies. At least with a zombie, you sometimes get slapstick humor. And besides, zombies are pretty harmless. One track minds. You're at a show, and the comedian says he needs a member of the audience to participate? Do yourself a favor: stand up, and then walk out.
Anyway, as he's making Bill Clinton jokes, the zombie breaks free from the girl and is shuffling on stage. The comedian hides behind the girl, and he's hamming it up for her to protect him. That's the true Canadian ham. She's unsure what to do, because she's just a substitute. Next thing you know, the zombie takes a chunk out her, and the audience breaks out in applause.
George is looking over at Dodge in disgust, because Dodge is clapping like a school girl. George shoots the zombie. The audience boos and hisses. Actually hisses. Canadians...wow. He takes the girl off the stage. She's crying. George wraps her bleeding arm in a table cloth. They all three fly back down to the Vegas show girl village out east.
"The dispute, Senor, between me and the Vegas girls. I bring them the girl. They no tell me before she must not be a zombie, or bit by a zombie, the terms are unclear. But I bring her back alive, and she’s not a zombie even then. Eventually…Si. But not then. So they no pay me. That’s why...I help you. But...to me, Vegas showgirl or Rockette...I no care either way. They all the same. Tall and pretty, but no honor."
I stoke the fire into the night. We each three take turns keeping watch.