Page 22 of Velvet and Valor
“There used to be a guy in my unit,” he continues, getting behind the wheel of the Charger. “His name was Daniel, I think. Anyway, he was short, Italian, and had a mustache so I called him Mario. Like Super Mario brothers?”
“I get the reference.”
“Right. So, I did this for months, and he never laughed but he never said nothing, either. Then one day, I heard Daniel talking to his Ma on the phone.”
Axel shakes his head and looks ashamed of himself.
“I found out that Mario was the name of his brother…and Mario died in a horrible accident when they were kids. So, every time I was trying to be funny, I was ruining his freaking day.”
He looks over at me and smiles sadly.
“So, I said to myself I would be more careful with my mouth.”
“And you were planning to start being careful when?” I say before I can stop myself. For a second, I think I’ve offended Axel. Then, he laughs harder than ever.
“Oh man, you’re good,” he says. “You’d have been a riot on the battlefield.”
He starts the rumbling engine, and we roll out. We don’t travel all that far, and certainly not to a better neighborhood.
“Just keep walking when we get inside,” he says, pulling to a stop in front of a condemned building. At least, it looks like it should be condemned.
“Inside where?” I ask. “Does that place even have a roof?”
He inhales through his nostrils and regards me for a moment.
“That you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Okay. Cryptic, not what I was expecting. He leads me inside of the two-story building, which turns out to be a bar. A very run-down bar with only a single passed out drunk sitting at a corner table and a bartender who looks like he’d rather shoot us than serve us.
Axel doesn’t even look at the bartender. He just walks straight across the uneven floor toward a set of thick doors markedemployees only.Axel does not even slow down, he just shoves the doors open with his shoulder.
As soon as the doors swing inward, the sound of music and laughter envelops me. Axel leads me up a short flight of stairs into a fog of tobacco smoke. I blink in the unexpectedly bright lights.
When my vision comes back, I find myself staring right at a waitress dressed like a French Maid…well, she’s dressed from the waist down. Waist up, the girls are just hanging loose and free.
“Axel,” I say through gritted teeth, “where in the Hell have you brought me?”
“Just follow me and stay close,” Axel replies. He doesn’t even look in my direction. He doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead.
I take in more details as we go. Well-dressed men squat around small tables stacked high with chips of various colors. Some of the men occasionally glance at the bare-breasted waitresses when they pass.
Almost no one gives us a second glance. I find myself struggling to keep up with Axel’s longer stride.
“Hey,” I gasp, trying to breathe in the thick smoke. My eyes burn. I can’t believe people willingly put that stuff in their bodies. It’s like the industrial revolution in here. With none of the progress.
Axel thrusts his arm behind him. I catch hold of his hand on instinct. It’s like holding a bunch of bananas. Christ, his hands are huge. And heavy as skillets. I guess they'd have to be if he was in the Army. Those guys are no joke. I did rewrites on a film about their mission to rescue hostages in Iran back in the 80s.
Axel stops beside a roulette table. He leans over and speaks to one of the players. Bent with age, but still possessed of a keen gaze, the player holds up a finger and bellows to be heard over the blaring Sinatra background music.
“Just a sec, kid,” he says. “God-damn, you’re uglier than I remember, Sebastian.”
Axel frowns. “Actually, I’m?—”
“Shuddup,” the old timer says. He slaps his arm around the attractive ebony-skinned woman in a sparkling evening gownbeside him. “Here we go, baby. You know what the secret to roulette is? Always bet on black.”
The ball bounces into one of the red squares.
“Oh no, come on, rattle outta there,” the old player moans.
