Kill Whitey

Kim was Yul’s girlfriend of two months, and lately, his world seemed to revolve around her. He spent less and less time with us after work, and more time with her. Apparently, Kim didn’t think very much of us—especially Jesse. She thought that Darryl and I were bad influences and that Jesse was the fucking devil. She controlled Yul in a way that none of us liked. Strings attached, like he was a puppet or something. Lately, Yul couldn’t do anything without checking with her first. To be honest, the rest of us were getting the shits of it. Or maybe we were just jealous, because Yul had somebody in his life and we didn’t.

“So don’t tell her, dude,” Jesse advised. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Some things should just stay among friends.”

Looking back now, those words haunt me. Some things should just stay among friends. When I think about them for too long, I start to cry. If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have sided with Yul—insisted on going to Thads, or maybe suggested we all just head back to my place and finish off the half case of Yuengling Lager that was in my fridge. We weren’t supposed to be drinking it because a few months earlier, the Yuengling brewery had busted its union and the Teamsters were calling for a boycott of all their products. We were supposed to stand firm alongside our fellow working men. Solidarity forever and all that bullshit—even though we didn’t have union jobs ourselves and worked for GPS. But I still had a case of the stuff at home. And we could have ignored the boycott and drank it.

Yeah, we could have.

Instead, we went to the Odessa.

And that was where I met Sondra.

three

The Odessa was busy, even at that time of morning. The parking lot was packed with cars, and I had trouble finding a space. I ended up squeezing the Jeep between an SUV and a tractor trailer parked out back. We got out of the Cherokee and I thumbed my remote, locking the doors behind us. The electronic chirp of the power locks was almost drowned out by the muffled music drifting out of the building. Hip-hop or trance, I couldn’t tell which. All we could really hear was the bass line. It rolled like thunder.

There were a few other customers in the parking lot. A guy pissed next to a Harley. I hoped it was his bike. Otherwise, if the owner came out, he was going to get his ass kicked. He seemed oblivious as we walked by him. He shook his dick and moaned. We avoided the trickling urine as it spread steaming across the pavement. Two more men stumbled past us, laughing and clutching half-empty bottles of Miller Lite. Because of Pennsylvania’s archaic liquor laws—designed when the Quakers and the Amish were still in charge—the Odessa was strictly a B.Y.O.B. joint. You could bring in your own beer or liquor, but you couldn’t buy it inside and the establishment couldn’t serve it to you. For a second, I considered asking the two strangers if they had any leftover beer they’d sell us. In our state, you can’t just pick up a six-pack at the grocery store or convenience store. You have to go to a bar or a state-licensed beer outlet, and all of those were closed for the night. Before I could ask them, the guys had brushed by us and lurched towards a muddy pick-up truck.

Sighing and thirsty, I followed Jesse and Darryl towards the front door. Yul lagged behind, staring up at the bright, flashing neon sign. The strip club’s name glowed in hot pink letters, and the dark silhouette of a generously proportioned female form stood beside it.

“I don’t know about this,” he murmured.

“Come on,” I said. “It’ll be fun. Kim never has to find out. Just tell her we went to my place. Or better yet, don’t fucking tell her at all. She doesn’t know we got out early. She thinks you’re at work.”

“Maybe…”

“Hey,” Jesse hollered, standing at the door. “You two coming, or you gonna stay outside all night?”

I flipped him the finger and he returned in kind.