The Feet of God

105 - AN OMEN I considered how lucky I was not to be choking to death on my own swelling throat, and I was sorta pleased I also managed to wash my clothes and take a bath at the same time.   Plus, the unexpected dip in the waterway had a nice, cooling effect overall. Presently I noticed a dark green tractor with a small trailer hitched in the back come lumbering down the dirt road in my direction.   I instinctively stuck out a thumb.   The tractor slowed down as it got closer.   I put on my best smile.   The driver looked me over. “ Señor ?” “ Si , ” I answered.   (I was now getting more comfortable with their native dialect.) “Master Hector and Master Esteban sent me to find you.” “That was mighty thoughtful.”   (Now what?) “They had to meet El Patrón .   So they asked me to escort you off the land.”   He gestured with his chin that I should hop in the little flat-bed attached in the rear.   It gave me pause ‘cause there w...

106 - MAKING A LONG STORY SHORT But the gods wasn’t gonna smile on the damned today.   It started raining pitchforks and hammer handles.   Cars and trucks continued to whoosh on by, ignoring me, while I got back up on my feet and wandered over to the protection of some kudzu covered palm trees and tall hedges. Then my luck turned again.   The torrential shower stopped almost as soon as it’d begun.   Although soaked, and still swollen and sore all over, I resolved to keep moving on.   I stuck my thumb out to allure somebody to pick a poor soul up, but I knew I cut a pretty bedraggled image for hitching a free ride.   Then, unbelievably, a Ford Pinto stopped.   This had potential. The driver rolled down the passenger window and we chatted.   I figured he was sizing me up, and probably making sure it’d be safe to transport me in whatever direction he was headed.   The passenger door swung open.   I knew to jump in before the driver ha...

107 - THE SETUP So this was Punta Gordita.   I surveyed my surroundings.   To the side of The Rusty Trumpet was a Ulele Gas pumping station.   A piercing and tattoo parlor called Mom’s was across the street next to Goldblatt’s Pet Emporium specializing in exotic birds.   Further down the way was a seafood restaurant called The Rosy Lipped Batfish.   On the other side of the pier was The Driftwood Inn.   And there was a McDonald’s.   This blew me away, I’m in Florida, and I’m standing in the shadows of a white clapboard chapel with a red-shingled steeple consecrated to the Sacred Bleeding Heart of the Sweet Baby Jesus, and it looks like a freaking Hallmark Christmas card without the snow. The church bells started to clang.   The day was growing short, and the sun was dipping down.   Sandi got out of her seat in the vehicle and headed toward me.   She held some ledger book or something like that which she slammed shut as she drew near....

108 - IT’S A JOB I sat at the bar keeping Jar-Boy company while he busied himself slicing limes.   He talked a lot about Punta Gordita’s past.   Pirates once roamed the island and local legend confirms they left buried treasure hereabouts.   It was a stopover for slave ships a long time ago, and it was later a major port for rum-running.   Two ex-presidents liked to vacation here during the summer months.   Punta Gordita’s now just a quiet little village set along gulfstream waters that bristle with harbor patrol gunboats and U.S. Coast Guard cutters. Jar-Boy recounted in detail the legacy of The Rusty Trumpet.   The bar itself was a simple, old, wood frame structure, with a corrugated steel roof and shuttered windows.   I don’t remember much of what he said about the bar, except its history included being a customs house, a boathouse and a whorehouse.   Also, several people was supposedly shot in the back of the head on these premises.  ...

109 - HARD NIGHT’S DAY I kneeled down and slapped her face.   She did not respond.   So I thought to open the bottle of ammonia and place it right under her nose.   Her face started to twitch.   Then her red-rimmed eyes fluttered apart and she gazed up at me. All Sandi said was, “I’m tired.” I tried to reassure her everything was gonna be all right and I would take care of her.   At the same time, I was struggling to pry her loose from that tight position she was in.   It wasn’t easy getting her un-wedged, either, since she was barely able to make the effort to budge herself.   Somehow I got her free at last and up on her feet, even if she was a little wobbly standing there.   Sandi looked pretty fucked up, too, I gotta say.   Her face was a mess.   Her dress was hiked-up and soaked from the deep pool of dirty water that accumulated under the john, and she was shoeless on the filthy, wet floor. “It’s getting late,” she squeezed m...

110 - TOO MUCH INFORMATION Suddenly there was light.   Not light from the sun exactly, but light all around.   Only everything was black and white, or, I suppose, brighter and darker shades of gray. Something lifted and propelled me forward.   The next thing I knew, I was floating inside the confines of The Rusty Trumpet.   And Sandi Dollar was sitting there by herself, in a white wedding gown, sopping wet.   She noticed I was in the room.   Although her lips didn’t move I heard her say, “Even my cats are dead.   Little jars of ashes next to my chair.   No wonder I spend my weekends in a dark room, alone, with a bottle of gin and a knife.” I then heard loud click-click-clicks, and I was immediately transported out front of the bar.   I could see a pack of pink poodles walking down the sidewalk.   It was their long toenails that was the source of all that clicketing racket I heard.   All the dogs had glowing yellow eyes. ...

111 - IT COULD’A BEEN WORSE I admit, I had no idea what I was doing.   It hurt my head to even try to figure it out.   The most important thing was, in my consideration, you had to do what you had to do, even if you had no idea what the fuck it was. It was getting close to Jar-Boy’s second shift, so I thought it might be a good time for me to turn in.   I was still adjusting to my new work schedule as a bar swamper. I got off my stool and yawned.   “I’m tired.” Sandi seemed to relate. “Think I’m gonna hit the hay,” I told her.   “Jar-Boy knows where to find me when it’s time.” As I turned to leave, Boo jumped off his usual spot on top of the jukebox and streaked out an open window.   Unexpectedly, the jukebox sprang to life and played “Unchained Melody.” My shift swamping The Rusty Trumpet actually turned out to be pretty uneventful.   In fact, my next several shifts was pretty easy, without hardly any paranormal disturbances to speak of,...

112 - THE MEMBERSHIP It didn’t take long for disaster to strike Punta Gordita a second time.   And this one had a particular impact on The Rusty Trumpet. Mr. E was driving to the bar for his afternoon cocktails and crossword puzzle.   But he lost control of his Bonneville and hit nearly every parking meter for a block, narrowly missing several pedestrians along the way.   His car crashed into a fire hydrant where it came to a final stop.   A huge spout of water shot in the air. Everyone ran to the scene.   I lit a Marlboro and witnessed events from a distance.   Sandi Dollar was one of the first to rush out and render assistance.   She opened the driver’s side door to check on Mr. E’s condition.   She apparently found a pulse and shouted, “He’s alive!”   She proceeded to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on the elderly gentleman until medical professionals arrived. Finally an ambulance did show up, and the emergency response tea...