Homemade Sin (47 page)

As reluctant as the cabby was, John was just as determined. John's determination ‒ and the twenties ‒ convinced the cabby. “OK, buddy,” the cabby sighed, shaking his head, “I'll take you down there, but when you see that neighborhood you ain't gonna want to stop. And if you do, I ain't stopping my cab in
that
neighborhood for long. Maybe I'll just slow down enough for you to jump out.” 

John settled into the back of the big checker cab and gazed out of the window through the cold late-afternoon rain as the neighborhoods went from blue-collar row houses to tenements and projects, to what London must have looked like after the Blitz or Baghdad after the bombings. As John stared out of the window he twisted his pinkie ring.

When John was nervous he absentmindedly twisted the ring he wore on his left pinkie around and around. The ring was a family heirloom, once owned by his great, great, great, grandfather, Captain William Beauregard Wye, who was lost at sea at the end of the Civil War. The coat of arms engraved into the ring showed a shield divided into four quadrants: the upper two depicted the single-headed eagle of William the Conqueror and the double-headed eagle of the Romanoff family; the bottom two quadrants depicted a snake and a sheaf of wheat.

Twisting his ring around his finger Mike gazed at the windows of the burned-out houses and boarded-up shops and offices ‒ even the pawnshops and plasma centers were boarded up ‒ he entertained two possible conclusions. 

First, whatever had caused Mike to take refuge in this urban disaster area ‒ an area that made Brooklyn look like Central Park ‒ was a lot more serious than a paternity suit or a jealous husband.

Second, Mike had better come up with something stronger than Black & Tan. He'd better damn well have a bottle of single malt scotch and a box of Jamaican cigars. At the thought of cigars, John reached into his jacket pocket, plucked out his old Tilshead briar pipe, a half-empty pouch of Captain Black Gold tobacco, and leaned back in the seat to enjoy what, considering the neighborhood he was entering, could possibly be his last smoke.

John stuffed the pipe full of sweet, vanilla-flavored tobacco and dug in his pocket for his lighter, ready to fire it up when the cab stopped. Before he could locate his lighter, the taxi stopped with such force it slammed John into the backrest of the front seat and he came to rest with his knees in the floorboard.  

“Here it is, buddy. Fifteen bucks. Stay or go, I ain't sitting here all day.”

John climbed back into the seat and stuffed his pipe into his coat pocket.  He tossed another crumpled twenty-dollar bill into the front seat, to accompany the two he had paid up front. When he pulled out the money he examined his depleted wallet and counted two twenties and a few singles.  Damn, he thought, I forgot to stop by an ATM, and added it to his mental to do list. He grabbed his bag and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Before he could focus on the crumbling tenement facing him, the taxi had roared off into steady drizzle falling from the slate grey sky.

John looked up the street and back. No way I'm going to find an ATM around here, he thought.

Thanks to my wife Beverly who believed in this book from its conception. Thanks to Jayne Southern, editor extraordinaire, for polishing this book until it shined. Thanks to Bonnie Watson for creating the marvelous cover (believe it or not it started as a Christmas card). Thanks to Mark Castellane for telling me the first draft was Stinko, you were right ….

No, I didn't say Stinky, I said ‘Stink-o'. I wasn't talking about you.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah…And special thanks to Jodi Bock for lending me Stinky, I couldn't have done it without him. I'd also like to thank Stinky—

What? Oh … alright. Stinky wants to thank Ernest Hemmingway, Oscar Wilde, John Kennedy Toole, Kurt Vonnegut, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen …

What Stinky? Oh, sorry. He wants them to thank him.

Just drink your brandy and cream Stinky and come up with an idea for the next book …

V. Mark Covington is the author of two published novels,
Bullfish
and
Heavenly Pleasure.
His third novel,
2012 Montezuma's Revenge
is due out in August and his fourth novel
Homemade Sin
is due out in the fall 2011. His play,
Shakespeare in the Trailer Park
opened at the Barnstormers Theater in Philadelphia on April 1, 2011. He is currently working on a Southern Gothic novel.