Chapter 8

A Chapter by Judas Hammer

There is trouble at the spot as all the characters meet in a chaotic hurricane of confusion, while another man plays for his very soul.

Chapter 8

The black Accord idled at a red light of the intersection of Daruis tattoo parlor.

John watched closely as the two detective and three officers made their way into the tattoo parlor,

“What the f**k happen there?”

Josh took a quick glance over, even though his mind is on other things,

“That's Dars place. What the f**k happen there?”

“Something bad.” John surmised.

The Accord made a quick left and sped down the empty street. Josh glanced desperately at John, his eyes on the verge of tears with a quivering mouth,

“Man, lets go get a drink.”

“I agree with that. The Spot?” John asked.

“The Spot!” Josh exclaimed.

Jimmy: a young Latino man waited at the corner of the rundown bar. A large crowd formed outside making a semi circle around a Metro bus that had plowed into a car. An ambulance was parked on the scene along with a police car flashing its lights.

The bus driver Darnell was placed into an ambulance.

Jimmy threw his long black hair back and flexed his lean muscular build. He put his sunglasses on and entered the bar. Jimmy walked by the pool table and then stopped

to watch an impossible attempt at a Bank shoot. He made eye contact with Freddy for a second that seemed like an eternity. Jimmy shook his head and continued, glancing over at the group of intoxicated Longies. He noticed the seat next to Conner was open and made his way toward void. The bar was packed and rowdy. The air was thick with violence and tension. He strolled over to Conner and pointed to the chair. “Hey buddy is this chair taken. Conner looked over with a small smile and raised his High Ball glass filled to the brim,

“No my friend have a seat. By all means. Hey neat accent where you from?”

Jimmy pulled himself over the barstool,

“Jersey. Down near Philly.”

“Camden?”

Jimmy glanced over with a suspiciously,

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Good guesser. Hey let me buy you a drink”

Freddy concentrated on a hard shoot, as the small Mexican boy still watched from the door. His name was Octavious a small frame and dark skinned boy with a slick part on the right side of his Jet Black hair. His brown eyes studied the table.

Desmond held a loud conversation on the pay phone, moving around as he checked a clipboard,

“Okay, okay look we can't fit you in tomorrow. Maybe Saturday, is Saturday okay? Yori Sunday is cool okay we will see you on Sunday.”

He hung up the phone and headed toward the pool table.

Conner gossiped to Jimmy,

“That's is the greatest pool player in Los Angeles area. Right here is San Pedro.”

“Right here in this place? Get out of here!”

“Yeah right here. He never has to leave. Everyone comes here to play him.”

“That's amazing.”

Conner examined Jimmy,

“Hey what are you? Are you in the Industry?”

Jimmy faced him surprised,

“I am as a matter of fact. I'm an actor.”

“Been in anything I know?”

“Mostly extra work so far. But hopeful my luck will change.” Jimmy took a large sip of his Long Island Ice Tea,

“Tough business.”

“Yeah it seems like you have to sell your soul.”

“Everyone sells their soul my friend. It's what this place is all about.”

“Well hopefully I won't have to sell mine. I want to do things the right way.

Conner pointed the pool table and laughed,

“That's what Freddy thought. But he was mistaken.”

“What do you mean? What's his story?”

“Well pull up a drink I'll tell you his tale.”

“Okay, I got time. Tell me.”

Jimmy got comfortable, leaning back. Conner cleared his throat and drank his Greyhound. Stairway to Heaven played on the Jukebox.

The actor focused ready to dip his mind into the tale on Conner’s lips,

“I love that song. Zeppin was great. I heard that song was about selling your soul to the devil.”

Conner laughed , “I heard the same. I heard the same. But you know about folk tales and rumors.”

“I guess your right. What your name again friend?” Jimmy asked.

“Conner.”

“Okay Conner. Jimmy Rodriguez.”

“Jimmy let me buy you another drink.”

“Sure I'm drinking Long Islands. Is that okay?”

Conner called Barbara over,

“Barbara, can you get my friend a Long Island?”

Desmond tapped Freddy on the shoulder. Freddy doesn’t look up. He centered in on a corner shot.

“What's up man?” Freddy answered in an irritated tone.

“You got the Ukrainians on Sunday two thirty. You have James Woods on Monday eleven in the A.M.”

Desmond motioned for Octavious to step out the door,

“Hey, get you little a*s out of here. This is no place for a little kid.”

Freddy sprung up from the table and locked horns with Desmond.

“D leave the kid alone he's not hurting anyone.”

“S**t the cops come in, here see his little a*s and the shut the place down. They shut it down there goes our places of income.”

Conner nudged the actor slightly regaining his attention,

“That's Desmond Sullivan from the projects on Second Street. He used to be a leader of the Beacon Boys and the Dodge City Crips. He is a tough sonofabitch.”

“What does he do?”

“He collects.”

“Collects what?”

“Money from other tough people. He will use his hands. But on occasion I have heard him kill some people.”

Jimmy peeked back fearfully.

“He's bad news man. I'm staying away from him.”

“Just don't borrow money from anyone in Pedro and you will be okay.”

Conner noticed Jimmy's empty glass. He motioned to Barbra for another.

“So how did they meet?”

“I don't know. The story his Freddy owed a lot of money to RSP, that's Rancho San Pedro. Desmond bought his contract and came to Freddy. He pretty much strongarmed Freddy into letting Desmond being his manger. One year ago in the spot Desmond slammed Freddy on a pool table put him in a Half Nelson. He said, “okay you can be my manger.” He became his manger at a meager forty percent”

Desmond watched Freddy practice, prodding him while he made shoot after shot.

“Ms. Lui said it was cool tonight.”

“Good I need this place empty.”

Desmond scanned the bar cautiously.

“S**t I'll be around. I can't let you face this guy alone.”

Conner re-engages Freddy,

“Desmond was always there for Freddy. You see Freddy will never leaves this bar. He never played in Hollywood, Beverly Hill, even Vegas. He would only play people

here.”

Freddy took the drink to the head and cast his full attention to Conner. His mind absorbed every detail.

Conner squinted then dropped his voice to a menacing whisper.

“He has played them all. After the bar closes they comes the Italians from Long beach, The Crips from LA, The Armos from the Glendale, The Chinese from IE, Even the legendary Senior Quiezoes from East LA. Undefeated until he came across this table and a very determined hungry pool player. A god with the stick. An sniper with the eight ball. The old man used to make the balls talk as they smash each other like small worlds. He ran the table twice. The old school gangster bowed to him and said he was the best ever. Anyway that made him cocky. Started to act like an immortal. But he’s just a man and like men he was primed for a set up”

Jimmy was a captive to Conner’s words.

Conner focused on Freddy racking the balls.

A week earlier Freddy stood at the pool table with a James Forrest an indie movie star, slender with a face slightly pocked and a bad case of bed head. He attempted to show the celerity how to cut with an angle.

“You see you cut off the angle and you look at the center of the ball.”

“Center of the ball?”

“Yeah unless you’re hitting to an angle, then you hit it to that side of the center.”

Freddy drilled the nine ball to the side pocket and knocked the five ball directly in without hesitation. James smiled and shook his head in disbelief,

“You are truly the best I have ever seen. Why don't you leave this place. Play with the big boys. I have connections. Listen I have a team in Vegas you will be the perfect ringer.

Freddy grinned and bowed his head,

“Thanks. The offer is tempting but I can't leave this place.”

“Why? Do you know how big you could be?”

“I'm okay. All the big boys come down here. You know Tony Dugan?”

“Fat Tony Dugan. Who doesn't? He's a demi-god in pool!”

“The only time he touched the table is when he broke. I ran the table three times on him. He shot twice. I’m running the table on Fat Tony. The only thing can do is watch with a helpless look.

The James grabbed his custom made pool stick and broke it down then placed it back into its case. He stopped suddenly and stared Freddy right in his eyes,

“What keeps you here? In this place? It's like your trade here. Like you can't leave?”

Freddy looked at his feet, while speaking slowly.

“Have you ever done anything you wish you could take back?”

“Yes all the time. Every time I marry a woman. I'm like dayum I wish I had a do over. Or every time I go to Vegas and lose my shirt. I'm like dayum I wish I had a do over.” “Yeah I know what your saying. When I was a young kid about fourteen my idol was this guy name Frekka Slavolich. An old Croatian man. To me he was my Superman. There was nothing he could do wrong. I worshiped him. He taught me everything I know about this game. Well on day we played. Like we had so many other times in the past. I was having a great game. Then it was tied. Then I took the lead. At that moment things changed forever.”

“What do you mean man?”

“I was a young boys holding a stick in one hand and wiping the tears with his other.”

Freddy caressed his pool stick as the memory of Frekka came back to him.