Page 12 of Doozer

He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Do I get to fuck someone up?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Whatya got?”

I gave him all the information I knew on Judge Snodgrass, then gave him information about my dad, without giving too much family shit away, trusting that if there was something to find, Kitty would find it.

“I need to find anything that links Snodgrass to my father. Business or personal.”

“Leave it with me,” he said, and walked away.

My gut churned with unease, but thankfully, I had some drinking and pool playing to do to help take my mind off my father for a while. After a short while I found myself in an epic Saints Vs. Dogs nine ball battle.

“You keep saying you’re gonna run the table, but so far all you’ve done is run your damned mouth,” I said, trying my best to get under my opponent’s skin.

“Last I checked, I’m up by one game, fool,” Sparky replied as he lined up to sink the nine ball.

Not only was Sparky a member of the Dogs of Fire, but he was also the son-in-law of their club’s president, Hatch. Hatch just so happened to be Cricket’s big brother, the old lady of our president, Minus.

Hatch and Minus had a shady history and that shady history included Hatch maneuvering Minus’s exile to Savannah, Georgia over ten years ago. I got the impression, that even though the hatchet had been buried, the handle was still visible in the dirt in case one of them needed access to it.

“Yeah, but we’ll be tied once you miss this shot,” I goaded.

“Hey, kid, I don’t rattle,” he replied, quoting Paul Newman fromThe Hustler, a favorite of wannabe pool sharks the world over. Sparky and I may have worn different patches, but we were clearly cut from the same cloth when it came to billiards. In fact, I think we’d spent more time shit-talking during this game than we had playing.

“Okay, Fast Eddie. A hundred bucks says you blow it,” I said, taking a sip of Jägenogg.

“Aw, man. How can you drink that shit?” Sweet Pea, my Road Captain, asked from his seat at the bar. His face twisted in disgust.

“What do you mean? It’s not Christmas time until I down my first glass of Warthog’s holiday specialty,” I replied with a smile.

Sweet Pea made gagging noises and I laughed.

“Five-hundred says I make the shot,” Sparky said, ignoring the cross-chatter between my teammate and me.

“Shit. If you’re just gonna give your money away, why not make it an even grand?” I retorted.

Sparky paused and stood up straight. “You know what? I’ll take that bet.”

“Babe,” Poppy said cautiously.

“No, no,” he said, waving her off. “I’ve got this.”

Sparky nodded and returned to the table, bent down, and eyeballed his shot one last time. The nine ball was frozen to the rail and the cue ball was in the worst possible position. To sink the nine would be tricky in and of itself, but to do so without scratching would be nearly impossible. Unless, of course, Sparky was a far better player than he’d been letting on.

After a few ghost strokes Sparky took his shot, and my heart momentarily stopped as the nine-ball sank perfectly into in the corner pocket. Unfortunately for Sparky, his stroke also sent the cue ball flying off the table and into the air. I watched, in slow motion, as the ball hit Sweet Pea square in the sternum with a dull thwack. Sweet Pea’s hand went to his chest and he winced in pain.

“I’m sorry, man,” Sparky said, setting the pool cue on the table and raising both hands in the air. The universal sign for ‘I’m not looking for trouble.’

Sweet Pea shot Sparky a death glare. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred and the veins in his massive arms popped as he took a step towards Sparky.

“Hey, Captain,” I said, now concerned for Sparky’s safety. “It was just an accident.”

“Accident or not…” The furrow in Sweet Pea’s brow deepened and he continued his terrifying stare down. “That was funny as shit,” he said before erupting into a fit laughter.

Sparky shook Sweet Pea’s hand before handing me a roll of bills.

“It’s all there,” he said, handing me the cash.

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