The Five Point Café in downtown Seattle is dark, and a little dingy. The kind of place where bleary-eyed people drink heavily in the morning and the waitresses think nothing of pouring another double scotch for a hollow faced man before eight A.M. David had arrived just after nine and slouched in a booth near the front door on the restaurant side of the building, where he nursed a Bloody Mary. Yesterday’s newspapers sprawled across the table and he glanced at the headline before pushing it aside: ‘Break-in at Woodland Park Zoo.‘
A Zoo Robbery? He thought. Who the hell robs a zoo?
He looked at the ancient bar stools, the neon in the windows, the black tee-shirts for sale: Alcoholics Serving Alcoholics Since 1929! He chuckled and briefly considered buying one. Then his phone rang.
“Dave! What’s up, man?” It was Brian. His voiced sounded gritty and the signal faded in and out.
“Brian. Where are you? Are you driving? I can hardly hear you.” He absently stirred his drink with his free hand. Brian wasn’t often late.
“Kind of, man. I’m riding. Look, I had to get out of town. I’m not going to make it for breakfast.” David stopped stirring.
“What? We had a plan. Riding what? Where’s my fucking car? You said I had to meet this guy. You said . . .”
“Oh, he’ll be there. Vodka Rox will fucking be there. I called to suggest that maybe you shouldn’t be. The guy’s crazier than I thought. He said he could fix your car with piss. Piss! Don’t worry, it’s locked up in my garage. I mean, this guy is out there.” Brian sounded really concerned. Not like himself at all.
David thought for a moment and then said, “I mean, I’m already here. You said he might be able to fix my Volvo. So, can he or what?” He glanced outside at the empty space where his ’86 station wagon would have been parked had the damn thing started.
“I dunno,” said Brian. “But it’s not worth it, man. Don’t give it to him. But get it out of my garage soon, because he knows it’s there. Key is in the glove box. Look, I gotta go. Just stand up and leave. Just get out before he shows up.”
And with that, the line went dead.
David considered the situation. He really wanted the Volvo fixed. But Brian sounded spooked. Like, really spooked. What kind of name was Vodka Rox, anyway? It couldn’t be real, could it? A given name? He looked back out through the dirty window towards the empty parking space and smiled. There was an old Volvo wagon pulling in. Looked just like his. Same color and everything. Same dent by the door where he’d side swiped his own mailbox two months prior….
Shit! Thought David. That’s my car! A huge new dent marred the front right quarter panel. What the fuck happened to my car! He was just beginning to stand when the car doors opened and two men stepped out. The passenger was dressed in blue jeans and a tee-shirt. The man getting out of the driver’s side wore . . . is that a mink coat? A full-length mink coat? In August? And what kind of glasses are those? David squinted between the neon signs that took up most of the window. What’s he carrying under his arm. Wait . . . Is he wearing a fucking shower cap?
The man in jeans was screaming loud enough for David to hear him, even from inside the bar. “You called him a retard! You can’t call him that! You KNOW his kid has Down’s.”
David moved quickly to the doorway, where he listened intently. “Look,” said the man in the mink coat, “I only called him a retard because he was being retarded.”
“Whadafuckissofuckingwrongwithyouyoufuckingasshole!?!”Tee-shirt guy seemed almost berserk. Spittle flew from his reddened face ashe spoke in mangled half-screams.
“Not like that,” protested shower cap, adjusting the box cradled under his left arm.He spoke very calmly, as if addressing a child throwing a tantrum. “Retard is not an inherently offensive term. It means ‘slowed by an outside influence’. Crack a book you illiterate dingleberry.”
“Stop calling me that! You rear-ended him! He was being slowed by a fucking stop sign. Jesus.Just, fuck you!” Screamed Tee-shirt. “Never contact me again! Or Ryan! You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue you for wrecking his car!” He turned and started walking rapidly, almost running, towards Denny Avenue.
Mr. Mink Coat kept talking normally, as if the other man weren’t activelyfleeing the scene.
“He was slowed by his own irrational adherence to the law, dingleberry. If he found the word ‘retard’ offensive it’s because when HE hears it HE thinks of his mongoloid son. Maybe HE’S the bigot here.” He said it to nothing. The other man was already gone. Then he tucked the box deeperbeneath his arm and turned toward the bar with a grandiose flourish, the glistening fur coat streaming out behind him.
The strange man turned and walked directly at David, the mink flapping around his calves. He wore a half-smile pasted to his clean-shaven face and seemed unaware that a dozen peoplehad stopped on the street to watch the brief but bizarre argument unfold.
Catching David’s eye a few steps from the front door of the Five Point, he extended his hand.
“Vodka Rox!” He announced. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
David slowly reached forward and shook the outstretched hand, more out of habit and confusion than anything else.
“Is . . . is that my car?”
Rox glanced back over his shoulder then returned his gaze to David.
“Yep! Running like a top! Tuned her all up and flushed the radiator with badger urine. Don’t worry! The smell will only linger a month or two. Tops. She’s a real beaut!”
“What’s that dent in the front?” David looked Rox up and down. He could see the glasses clearly now. They weren’t eye glasses at all. They were two shot glasses held together with copper wire and electrical tape. How can he even see? Thought David. My god! Was he DRIVING in those?
Rox stepped around him and headed into the bar.
“That? Nothing really. It’ll buff right out. Wasn’t my fault anyway. It’s this retarded guy named Ryan that you need to talk to. Real son of a bitch. Pops out mongoloid babies left and right. A burden on society, that’s what he is. Barkeep! Whiskey!”
Rox brushed past and David spun to follow him, turning back momentarily to look at the car. Inside the door he stopped briefly to allow his eyes to readjust to the lower light. He was surprised to find Vodka Rox already sitting in his booth, a whiskey on the table in front of him. Rox had removed the mink to reveal an ill-fitting, pink tee-shirt with the words ‘Bun in the Oven’ shoddily embroidered across the front.
“Have a seat.” Rox gestured towards the bench on the other side of the booth. As he sat, he noted that his Bloody Mary was almost empty. Had he drank that much?
Rox smacked his lips and took a sip of whiskey before speaking. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here today, Herschel.”
“It’s David.”
“Right! David! I always get those confused. Hey, hold onto this for a minute. Don’t open it!” He slid the cardboard boxhe’d he’d been carrying across the table. It was a plain, gray package tied with brown string, about the size of a six pack. Scrawled across the front in sloppy, black letters read the single word “DAVID”.
“Now look, Herschel, we…”
“It’s David,” said David, staring at the box on the table before him.
“Right! David! Tell me everything you know about Cleveland.” Rox folded his arms on the table in front of him and peered through the bottoms of the shot-glasses jutting from the copper wire frames.
“Cleveland? Why? I don’t know anything about Cleveland. I don’t know anything about Ohio! I’ve never been there.”
“What?” Rox sat back and slouched, the smile dissolving from his face. “Brian led me to believe you were something of an expert on the subject. No matter! We’ll figure it out when we get there. Maurice — he’s my occult guy — he’s from there and he owes me a number of vials of . . . various things. Do you own a bear trap?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” David was starting to find himself again. “A bear trap? What the hell are we going to do with that?”
“Hopefully trap a bear. Duh.” Rox leaned forward again. “Never mind, we’ll use mine. It’s more humane anyway because it’s made from aluminum foil. Bear bile is a powerful aphrodisiac. Almost as good as Loris tears. Once we get to Cleveland . . . ”
David interrupted, holding up one hand and leaning as far away from the table as possible. “Once we get to Cleveland? I can’t just up-and-go to Ohio. I have things to do. I have responsibilities.”
“That’s nothing,” scoffed Rox. “I have16 keys.” He reached into his pocket, produced a crowded key ring and tossed it onto the table. He leaned back and stretched one arm across the top of his seatback, gazing low across the booth as if daring David to challenge him.
“…..Okay.” David offered cautiously.
Vodka broke into a wide grin and swooped the jingly mass of keys from the table top.
“Ha! That’s only 15 keys!” He took a long sip from his whiskey. “Idiot.”
David shook his head. “I don’t even . . . I gotta go, man. Thanks for fixing the car.”
“No problem! Your key is in the ignition. That was my sixteenth key, if I’d had it on me, so you were almost right. Hey, before you go, can you watch that box for me while I take a leak?”
David hesitated. Vodka Rox just kept staring at him through the bottoms of the shot glasses.
“Sure,” David finally said, throwing his hands in the air. “Why the fuck not?”
Rox got up, gathered the mink to his chest and started walking towards the bathroom, pulling a phone from his pocket as he went.
Minutes passed. David finished what was left of his drink, and the more he thought, the more he began to see the humor in his situation. He was laughing to himself, wondering at the majesty of this absurd man whose package he was looking after when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Behind him stood a large, mustachioed cop. Behind the cop stood another man in a khaki uniform rapidly shifting his weight from one foot to the other..
“Excuse me, sir,” said the cop. “Do you mind if I ask what’s in the box there?”
“What? It’s . . . uh. I don’t know. It’s not mine.”
“Okay. And what is your name, sir?” The cop regarded him sternly and the man in the khaki uniform flitted about behind him, wringing his hands.
“David. My name is David Opfer.”
The cop looked at the box where ‘DAVID’ was clearly written, then back at the seated man.
“David? Like it says on the package there? You sure it isn’t yours?”
The cop glanced back at the gray box and then surveyed the room. No one looked up. The Five Points is not the kind of place where people make eye contact with a random police officer.
“It’s not. I swear. It’s this other guy’s.”
The cop pursed his lips and nodded. He looked again around the room and saw no sign of any “other guy”. He looked back at David and said, “So, it’s the other guy’s . . . Right. Say, you mind if we take a look?”
David sat perfectly still, looking stunned. The cop reached out and picked up the box. He untied the bow that held the string and lifted the lid. The he looked back up at David before turning towards his nervous khaki-clad companion.
“This what you’re looking for?”
The man looked into the box and broke into a wide grin.
“Yes! That’s him! A slender Loris! He’s been missing for two days! I’ve got to get him back immediately. Thank God he’s alive!” He gingerly took the box from the officer’s hands and rushed towards the door. The back of his khaki shirt read ‘Woodland Park Zoo’ in large, block letters.
“I want that man arrested!” he yelled, and he was gone.
“What?” David sputtered. “What the fuck is a Loris?!?” He stood quickly and the cop reached a hand towards the butt of his gun. David reached up, grabbing handfuls of his own hair.“ That thing is not mine! I swear! It’s not mine!”
The cop stepped back and said, “Mr. Opfer! Turn around and put your hands on the table!”
David began to protest, but saw the cop’s hand quaver over the butt of the pistol. He did as he was told.
“It isn’t mine.” David emphasized again, very calmly. “It belongs to Vodka Rox. In the bathroom!”
David realized how insane it sounded the moment he said it. A low guffaw emanated from behind and he felt the cop pat him down before taking his hands behind his back and placing them in cuffs.
“You are under arrest for trafficking an endangered species. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford, an attorney one will be . . . ”
David nodded his head in stunned agreement, but he’d already stopped listening. He was led out into the blinding mid-morning light and rushed into the back of a police car. He felt nauseous and vacant, like waking up hungover from a bad dream — but he knew he wasn’t dreaming. As the cop pulled away from the curb and headed north toward Denny Way, David stretched his neck and glanced out the rear window. A man in a long, mink coat and a shower cap stood briefly on the sidewalk, smiling and waving at the departing squad car. He opened the door to David’s Volvo and clambered in.
Then he was gone.
Shameful Little Pieces 