Chapter 1

Bruno was about twenty, perhaps a bit older. He was a good-looking man, clean-shaven with dark, styled hair covering his ears. You've seen faces like his before on a million cigarette billboards. The outdoor type who like to smoke and don't give a damn who disagrees. But Bruno doesn't smoke, his uncle who lived with him did and Bruno had watched the day to day pain and anguish he suffered as the cancer ravaged his body. No, Bruno would never smoke another cigarette.

It was a typical Friday evening for him, nothing special, just a couple drinks at Ira's Manhattan Lounge after work to kill time and avoid going home to the empty apartment that still reeked of his uncle's cigarette's and the odor the dying seem to leave behind.

It was now twenty after seven and most of Ira's clientele had vanished into the bowels of the city, chasing after the rush hour crowd. Bruno threw down a decent tip for the bartender and strode quickly towards the door to catch up with a couple regulars whose names he'd never known. They had been playing dollar bill poker and had some of Bruno's money in their pockets.

"Where 'a you guys headed?" He asked, as they all stepped out into the humid mugginess Manhattan acquires during the dog days of August.

The taller one with the bony, emaciated face replied, "Down the Village," not bothering to look at Bruno, just staring vacantly down a deserted Chambers Street.

This piqued Bruno somewhat since it was in the opposite direction of their stated destination, and he wondered if they were bullshitting him. But Bruno followed the tall one's eyes and realized he was staring at a dead pigeon lying on the curb, half-emersed in a mound of day old horse shit. A typical New York street scene of that period.

"Yeah," the shorter of the two added, sounding more friendly while blinking his left eye furiously, as if a spec of soot was dancing a rumba in it. "Gonna grab us some food, have a coupla drinks, who knows? Wanna join us?

"Yeah, sounds good to me," Bruno replied, and found himself suddenly blinking his eye too. "Shit! I gotta cinder in my eye," he said quickly not wanting to offend the guy offering to let him join them.

"Yew all right?" the tall one asked.

"Yeah, be fine in a second," he replied wiping his eye with a handkerchief and was relieved as the cinder floated away on a tear. Somewhat startled by this good fortune, Bruno looked up through teary eyes and spotted a taxi headed towards them. He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled a piercing blast that caught the driver's attention and the cab pulled up to the curb beside them.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"O'Henry's down the Village," the shorter one said brusquely, still blinking, but not wiping his eye.

Bruno spoke to the short guy. "You get a cinder in your eye too?"

He was surprised when the taller one answered his question. "No he's gotta tick, ya know? Kind of... a nervous tick. Picked it up over in 'Nam.' "

He laughed as if at a private joke, then decided to share it with Bruno.

"Hah," he continued laughing without smiling. "That ain't the only thing he picked up over there, hah, hah, hah. See, he was a body bagger. Yeah! Ha, ha. The Cong killed 'em, and he bagged 'em."

Bruno didn't think it funny at all. He'd lost a few friends in 'Nam and had had several close calls while in the Delta area himself. He noted the short guy shoot a disdainful look at the tall one; and suddenly the blinking stopped. He turned to Bruno as if no one had spoken since hailing the cab and matter of factly stated: "They got the best hamburgers in town. And you gotta see the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. Unbelievable!" He giggled.

'A giggler, ' Bruno thought, 'oh well, I could be home pulling my pudding in an empty apartment.' Meanwhile, the cab raced the dozen or so blocks to the Village without encountering much traffic and dropped the trio off at the restaurant's entrance.

Bruno looked around. O'Henry's was on the corner of a worn down cobbled street. But O'Henry's itself was not deteriorated, although the surrounding buildings were. He felt he was looking at a grotesque mockery of modern architecture just standing there in the shimmering heat.

A cursory glance was all Bruno needed to see that the neighboring buildings were decrepit and rotting away to the point of collapsing upon one another. Even the sidewalk was uneven and slippery. Wet garbage littered the curbside adjacent to both sides of the restaurant. A fetid odor seeped from the walls and wafted up to Bruno's nose. He discovered it came from a mildewed mattress in the alley across the street. A drunken wino sprawled upon it, wearing an army overcoat in the 102-degree heat. Next to the alley was an X-rated theatre featuring "Deep Throat."

Deciding O'Henry's was safe enough to enter, Bruno followed the others inside. O'Henry's was vintage Greenwich Village. Standing at the confluence of a hundred crooked streets that seemingly led nowhere, it epitomized the Village. It had a huge interior, with big, smoke filled rafters and seethed with activity, reeking of pungent tobacco and commingled odors of good food being rushed from the kitchen. Bruno gawked at the rowdy crowd, packed three-deep at the bar, hollering at one another as if at a sporting event.

Just then a haughty waitress made her way over to them and brusquely informed them there were no empty tables for at least the next two hours. The trio nodded solemnly at her and prepared to leave. Bruno took a last glance around the place and was startled to see huge, thick, dusty cobwebs drooping at least four feet from the ceiling, seemingly defying gravity. Then he looked to his left and saw the long line of men and women sitting and standing at the bar and tables, lustily jawing juicy chops, porterhouse steaks, kidneys, mountains of oysters, and sweetbreads; quenching them with an assortment of beer, martini's, bourbon and rye. Every table was covered with food, drink and in most instances, a chessboard with an active game sat precariously near the edge as onlookers leaned close, kibitzing about each move, whether welcomed or not. He made a mental note to return on his own one day, just to sample the inviting atmosphere O'Henry's offered.

The short one giggled again and jabbed Bruno in the side with his elbow. "You ever seen anything like dat?" He asked, indicating the cobwebs overhead and without waiting for an answer took it upon himself to enlighten Bruno. "The City inspectors come in here at least once a month. I dunno if they pay 'em off, or if it's somehow legal, but it's been this way forever, man."

"Hell," Bruno said with a grimace on his face and trying to wipe away the smoke from a nearby cigar, "they're playing chess at more than half the tables. They'll be at it longer than any two fuckin' hours."

"Fuck it, " the tall one said laconically, his face down, involved in the ritual of lighting a cigarette. "Let's hit another joint."

The short one was quick to agree. Bruno followed, shoving his way through the crowd to the hot, steamy street outside. Four doors down the street was a place named Maude's. It was another lounge and not quite as crowded. Here the revelers were only two deep at the bar and there were several tables available. The group were seated and placed their orders quickly. Almost mimicking the classic John Belushi Saturday Night Live skit.

"Hamburger."

"Hamburger."

"Cheeseburger."

There were also fries all around and a Heinekens for Bruno. The others went for Budweiser's. Bruno found the service prompt and efficient.

"Hey," the taller one said, lifting his glass in an informal salute, "ain't nothin' like a Bud."

"Mmmmmm," said the short one.

Bruno licked some foam off his lips, but said nothing. As they wolfed down their burgers they all began scanning the crowd. The short one drew their attention to a young brunette.

"Look'it the ass on that one in the green dress!" He said, almost in awe. "Oh, Christ, I'd eat that out in a minute." This was uttered somewhat wistfully.

Bruno looked at her. He had only been with three women sexually and regretted that he had never gone down on one. After gazing at the woman's luscious rear end, he longed even more for an opportunity to do so. Tearing his eyes from her, he found several other above average women at the bar, but all appeared to be spoken for. He steeled himself for another disappointing night, stabbed another french-fry from his plate and chewed it vigorously.

The tall one shook a cigarette from of a pack of Camels and went through the macho ritual of lighting it as a very good-looking girl sauntered towards them from the deeper recesses of the bar. She was wearing a tight dress with a scoop top that seemed to be struggling to contain her breasts, which were bra-less. Bruno was impressed with her body and as she was about to pass their table Bruno was stunned when the taller one rose up and greeted her by name.

"Ginger! Hey Ginger!" He called out.

It was evident she recognized him although Bruno thought he detected a slight grimace on her face, indicating the tall one was not a welcome sight.

"Oh, hello Charlton," she said softly, extending her hand in greeting.

Bruno had time to study her while Charlton was distracting her. He took in the shoulder-length, artfully tousled, dirty blonde hair, framing a face with high cheekbones. He took in a pair of luminous gray eyes and a perfect narrow nose. The only break in the perfection was a slight over bite and pouty lower lip, but that only added to her appeal.

He decided her mouth was made for uninhibited love. His eyes wandered over the tight, short dress that accentuated her long, shapely legs, her lean waist and her high, full breasts.

Bruno was reeled back to reality when, rather than accepting her hand, Charlton reached towards her nipples and halting just short of contact, began braying in a falsetto voice.

"Come in Station TEAT, Do you read me? Come in Station TEAT."

Ginger froze, except for a crimson blush that must have started at her toes and now spread across her face. The short one was smiling as he took a swig of his beer. He'd seen this performance before.

Charlton looked at Bruno, nodded in Ginger's direction and said, " We went to high school together," as if that explained his gross actions.

Standing abruptly and knocking over his beer in the process, Bruno flipped a french-fry at Charlton's chest and tersely replied, "I don't care where you know the lady from, you're out of line."

Moving in so close to Charlton, he could discern the many blackheads on his nose, Bruno warned him, "Knock it off or I'll make mush out of your fuckin' nose."

Shaken by the threat, Charlton backed away, lost his balance and sat down on the corner of the table in the middle of a pool of spilled beer. The short one found this funny enough that Bruno dismissed him as a potential second threat.

Still laughing, the short one said, "Come on Charlton, ole buddy, let's get the fuck outta here before he cleans your clock for you."

Charlton roughly pulled his arm away from his friend and glowered at Bruno. And the still bemused short one finished his beer, and put his arm around Charlton's shoulder while maneuvering him towards the exit. "Hey, come on now, how many times I gotta tell you not to fuck wit the ladies?"

They left without another word and the rest of the bar crowd turned away resuming their interrupted conversations.

"I'm sorry I let him get that far," Bruno said, hating himself because she'd caught him staring at her breasts.

In all fairness to Bruno, as Ginger gasped first from fright and then from the chivalrous manner in which this stranger told that creep off, her lungs were taking in large amounts of air. Ginger seemed to take no offense at Bruno's staring. Actually, Ginger was highly excited. She couldn't recall a guy standing up for her, ever. And this guy was a dreamboat, tall, dark and handsome. Making up her mind in an instant, she took Bruno's right hand and shook it.

"Thank you. That was very nice of you." She purred, trying to recall how Marilyn Monroe would have done it.

She held his hand tightly and looking into his eyes, summoned up her most seductive smile, "Come on with me, I'm with some guy back there, but I'll tell him you're a high school classmate. He won't mind. Come on, join us."

"Okay," said Bruno, enjoying her touch and noticing that her hand was moist from perspiration. They returned to her place in the back with his hand resting lightly on her waist. It was more crowded here than the front. Couples were leaning on each other, some were kissing, and others were casually groping one another.

'So this is where the action is, ' Bruno thought, trying to absorb it all. Then he was being introduced to Ginger's companion.

"This is Jerome," Ginger said, gaily waving her hand indifferently at a very disturbed burly type. "Jerome, this is... err, David. We went to high school together."

Bruno readied himself for a confrontation. The beers consumed earlier and his successful showdown with Charlton buoyed his confidence. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose up and he curled his fingers into fists.