Nine Ball

I walked into the room. I could see a dim light hanging from the ceiling on a single
cord. There wasn't any kind of light fixture. Just a light bulb hanging from that
black electric cord. A table big enough for about eight chairs sat underneath the
light and the light hung to just above head level for the people sitting at the
table.

Behind the five guys at the table was a cheap pool light. It was one of those cheap
kind that the beer distributor hands out. It was so cheap that the beer ad on the
light was Pabst Blue Ribbon. The bar that I worked in sold that shit. Except we
ran two taps off the same keg and one tap was Coors and the other one was Budwieser.
Rick used to say a drunk is a drunk and a beer is a beer to a drunk. He was so right.

Underneath this light was a standard six foot pool table. Looked like any pool table
that you would find in any bar. The dirty green felt needed to be restretched, but
I had played on worse. The coin mechanism was laying against the wall gathering
dust.

The room was filled with cigarette smoke. The sharpest knife would not have made
a dent in this fog. And all five of those yahoos were sucking a butt. Suck in blow
out, suck in blow out, one toke after another. The placed looked like a bad movie,
but it wasn't. I was there and it was real. Maybe it was too real, but real nonetheless.

In the corner behind the pool table was a small table and a couple of chairs. A
rack of your normal bar pool cues sat in the middle of the back wall. None of them
looked straight, but like I said, it was a bar. In fact you could hear the buzz
from the bar through the now closed door. There wasn’t any kind of window in the
door, but it did have one of those peepholes in it. It wasn't one of those small
ones that are in apartment doors, but one of those that showed the entire room.

I was nineteen years old and a typical hippie wantabe. I worked at a bar for Rick
as a bouncer, bartender, pizza cook and whatever else he wanted me to do. He liked
me and I liked him. I considered him a good friend. He grew up hard, but he was
kind to me and treated me with respect. I was not used to that and I liked him for
it.

Rick had brought me here several times before. It was on the south end of the city
and not too from the college town that I called home. Up to now, this night was
like the others. Rick told me the night before that we were going to go to the city
and to get my school work done ahead of time. Of course I was a stoned college student
in the seventies and I pretty much fucked off the books. Accounting was pretty easy
for me and I was making B's and C's partying my ass off. So I figured that studying
was something that I could do without.

Rick's place was called EndZone. That night Rick was sitting at his usual corner
booth drinking one of those nasty Pabst Blue Ribbons. He was wearing sunglasses
and sitting alone. He had this big bushy jet black mustache and with those sunglasses
he looked menacing. Rick was in his early 40's and was a big man. And by big I
mean he was fat. He stood about 5 feet 10 and probably weighed 250. But like I said
before, I like Ricky. He was as much my boy as I was his.

As soon as he saw me walk in this smile spread across his face. The kind of smile
one has when they have been waiting forever for a friend and that friend finally
shows up. You know the kind you get when you realize that there is someone in the
world that really is your friend.

Rick stood up and waved me over and yells at no one in particular to get me a beer.
Janet brought me one of those delicious Pabst. As we sit down Rick is beaming. He
tells me that I am a cinch to win. Some hotshot and his boy were down from New
York. This was someone that Rick had grown up with and he hated him with a passion.
This punk of his was suppose to be really cocky and Rick was excited to see the
look on his old nemisis' face as I schooled his boy.

We finished our beer and went to Rick's car. He had come through for me. He always
did. I held the shit up in the light and I could see the red tint. Panama Red, yes
Rick had done me good tonight. I quickly rolled me a smoke as Rick pulled out of
the parking lot and headed toward the city.

It was raining. Not hard, just a steady rain that made you keep your wipers on.
Fleetwood Mac was playing on the radio and I slowly slide into a quiet stupor as
the pot wrapped it's fingers around my brain. Another twenty minutes and I would
be walking into that smoke filled room.

We pulled into the parking lot. It was muddy. Rick killed the engine and sat there.
I could tell that there was something different about this night. He had something
to tell me and did not know how to start. Finally he turned towards me.

"You know that I love you like a son. Linda and I both hope that Ricky Junior
grows up to be like you. But I am in trouble and I need your help. If you decide
that you want to walk, then I will understand. But I really am in trouble."

You see, Rick liked to play gin. I guess that I should say he loved to play gin.
He would lose 5, 10 grand in a night. But somehow he would always pay off the next
night. Even though I was stoned off my ass, I could hear a voice in my head telling
me that Rick had gone to the well one time to often. I was about to be proven right.

"I went too far last night. I owe 50 and if I do not pay up, then I am dead. And
if you go in there tonight and lose, then you are dead too."

Great, I am getting ready to be fertilizer for a bed of daisies. I am too young
to die, but Rick was deseparate. I have never seen anyone so scared in my life.
And I was too young and too stoned to be that scared. Surely he was exzagarating.
Wasn't he?

But Rick was my friend and I stood by my friends. After all I really was one big
time bad ass. If I lost, I would just bust our way out and we would drive home and
that would be that.

"Rick, I am your friend and a friend does not walk away. Let's go in there and
get you your money."

Man was I small town or what?

Rick had this look of relief. Not the kind of relief that it was over, but rather
one that he knew he was not going to have to go in there alone. I guess he figured
he had a fighting chance. And that was more than he had had the last 24 hours.

I looked across the room and saw the "boy." He did not look like the others
that I had played before. He was dressed in nice slacks and had on a nice shirt.
His hair was freshly cut and he too was smoking. I would guess that he was in his
late 20's. He reminded me of what I had always imagined a pool shark from New
Jersey would look like.

I on the other hand looked like the unkept hippie that I was. My hair was half way
down my back and the jeans that I had on had patches all over them. The sleeves
on my flannel shirt were rolled half way up to my elbow. And I was stoned. He looked
straight. Of course everybody looked straight to me. I was really stoned.

I suddenly realized what I had signed up for. I was really scared of something besides
my dad for the first time in my life. A barmaid came in and I asked her to bring
me a bottle of Natural Light, and to keep them coming. I was going to need something
to help me keep my nerves on an even keel. And that sounded as good as anything
else.

We lagged and I lost. Shit, I needed some clean pants. I had always played nine
ball in this room and that was the game again tonight. We would play to 20. I racked
for Mr. Slick. A good lose SlaughterHouse rack.

The SlaughterHouse was a small bar in my hometown. I had learned to play nine ball
there. My dad would take me there. I would sit in the corner and watch him play
for hours. He was good. The best I had ever seen. My mom would be furious for him
taking me there, but if she protested to loud, dad would beat the shit out of her.
So most nights, I would be sitting on the stool in the corner watching my dad play
pool.

But Mr. Slick was good. He just looked at me and shook his head. He knew what I
was up to. But he still sank three balls. And he kept sinking balls. I was down
6 games to a fucking pigs ass before I finally got a shot. I was nervous. The card
game had stopped long ago and everyone was watching the pool. The smoke was still
and I felt like I was standing on some big stage somewhere and forgot my lines.
Shit I wanted to go home.

But I was good too, and I knew it. I had began shooting pool when I was five years
old and had learned from the best. I leaned over the table and had a clean combination
on the nine. And just like that I was down 6 to 1. My tail feathers came out and
I was pumped. When I finally sat down, I was up 11 games to 6. It was time for Mr.
Slick to feel his balls shrink.

Somehow I knew that I would get only one more shot. Mr. Slick was good. He won his
seventh game, then his eighth. Before I knew it he was playing for number 17. I
took a drink from my hot beer. It tasted like shit, but I did not care. I was starting
to sweat again. He was on a roll. Rick was starting to fidget. He got up and walk
to the door. One of the New Yorkers stood in front of the door.

"Do you mind, I need to piss."

"Go with him. And make sure he had to piss. No three shakes and he's done."

"I need to go, too. Mind if we take a short break?"

"Okay, but make it fast."

My stomach was in knots.

Rick and I made it back with Mr. Personality in tow. When we had left, Mr. Slick
had a shot on the nine ball to win number 17. He had not left himself an easy shot.
The nine was a couple of inches off of the far rail about four inches from the corner
pocket and the cue ball was back at the other end right in the middle of the rail.
Mr. Slick would have to be pretty slick to make this. He took his time. He knew
if he missed this shot, he might not get another one. He leaned over the table and
stared down the table. And suddenly as if he had not thought about it at all, the
son of a bitch made it!. But he hit it hard. My short break had worked. His adrenilin
was rushing and he hit it too hard. The cue ball came all the way back against the
end rail and carroomed into the side pocket. It was now 16 to 12.

I was in heaven. I methodically won the next eight games. Rick was stunned. I put
my cue back in the case and walked out of there so fast, I did not look at anyone. I
walked out of that room, through that bar and straight to the car. I leaned against
the car and waited for Rick. About five minutes later, Rick came out and unlocked
my car door. I slide into the seat as Rick walked around the car and did the same.
We look at each other and Rick handed me a stack of 100's. It was 2 grand. Tears
swelled up in my eyes. And then as if on cue, we both said "Never again." That
was the last time I played pool in that small smoking room on the south side.