Atlantic City

Dying in a dying town

I looked through the decaying window. It was raining. No one was there. I didn’t know if this was by virtue of the rain or because Atlantic City. Probably Atlantic City. F*****g Atlantic City.

The night sky used to ignite from neon flashes illuminating from casinos, but now the sky was as disgusting and malaise as the ocean. It smelled like garbage and scum. How fitting. F*****g Atlantic City. Only God would force a declared dead man to die in this shithole.

                Scrounging through the pile of clothes on the motel room floor, I grasped my old AFL-CIO hoodie. It was grey. I remember when I first got it. I was working as a dealer down at the Showboat. God knows the union leadership couldn’t give two s***s about us, so they gave clothes instead of benefits. It smelled like Atlantic City, so I threw it back down. I grabbed an old rain jacket instead. It was a Philadelphia Eagles coat. I hadn’t worn it in a couple years, so it would be a good jacket to hide myself in. It also smelled fairly well compared to my other clothing. Even Philadelphia was better than this f*****g place. After putting on the jacket, I cautiously shuffled to the door of the motel room. Opening the door, I glanced around to make sure no one was there. Left and right. Left and right. Left and right. Still no one there. F*****g Atlantic City.

                Walking, I forced my head down. I didn’t know what else to do. At best, I was just another schmuck Eagles fan. There were a lot of schmuck Eagles fans, so I wasn’t exactly unique in that area. Good disguise, I thought. I walked and kept walking, to wherever. What else to do and where else to go? A few cars drifted past me. It wasn’t like what it used to be, but it kept my mind busy. That and the smell. I kept debating whether it was ocean water or sewage water. Probably ocean water. A dimly lit green sign read: ‘Pat’s Irish Pub’. I considered the smell of s****y whiskey an improvement, so I wandered inside. There was hardly anyone there, except the bartender and a few other of life’s losers. I could barely hear the voice of Bruce Springsteen on the radio. The static made it hard to listen. The bar was brimming with New York Jet and New York Met memorabilia. What a sorry a*s place.

                “Eagles fan, huh? Well, at least youse no Giant fan. I guess I could serve ya.” The bartender said, laughing at himself. He was in his early 60s or so. Either that or he just looked awful for 50. He wasn’t balding, he was already bald.

                “Um, how ‘bout a Jack and Coke,” I replied. I always got a Jack and Coke.

                “Comin’ right up.”

                I rubbed my fingers on my forehead, trying to ease my headache as I waited for my drink. It didn’t work, so I decided to drink it away instead. When the drink finally came, I lazily seized the glass and gulped it down my throat. Somehow these shitholes have the best f*****g whiskey.

                “Another Jack and Coke, thanks.”

                “Whatever you say, Philly boy.”

                I looked down at the empty glass. What a poor way to survive.

                “Jack and Coke your favorite too?” a woman said.

                I eyed across the end of the bar where a woman was holding a glass of Jack and Coke. She was blonde with smooth, tan skin. If she weren’t a hooker, I might’ve bought her a drink.

                “Only when I’m depressed.”

                She got off her seat and inched towards me, placing herself on the seat adjacent to mine.

                “Well, why you depressed exactly?”

                “Oh, I’ve been depressed for 34 years or so. You know how it is.”

                “You tellin’ me youse been depressed since you was born? C’mon babe, don’t say that to me.”

                “Well, it aint exactly untrue…babe”

                “What’s your name?”

                I consumed another drink and looked back at her. “Um, Bruce.” I lied.

                “Bruce, huh? Fitting a Bruce would be here in Jersey, right?” She said laughing. “My name’s Allison by the way, but you can call me Allie, if you want. Whatever you want.”

                I looked deep in her eyes. She was abso-f*****g-lutely gorgeous. I glanced back at my glass, embarrassed, when I realized I was staring at her for too long.

                “You’re cute, you know that Bruce?”

                F**k it. I couldn’t resist.

                “Yo bartender, get me two more Jack and Cokes. One for me and one for Allie.”

                She smiled and massaged my right shoulder with her hand. I couldn’t resist.

                “What you doin’ tonight, Brucie?”

                “Well, Allie, I think I’m gonna go wherever you wanna go, if that’s ok of course?” I said jokingly.

                “Brucie, Brucie, Brucie �" anywhere you go, I go.” She playfully replied as the bartender gave us two more glasses to drink.

                “You know she’s a f****n’ w***e, right kid?” an older man, playing pool by himself, uttered.

                I looked at Allie, then at the old man. “And?” I said as Allie smiled and caressed my neck.

                “And she’s the hottest damn w***e I’ve seen since god knows f****n’ when. If you gonna f**k her, have fun, I guess.” He replied going back to his game.

                I eased my sights back on Allie. She was always smiling at me. She was beautiful. She was perfect. Grabbing, my wallet, I took out a twenty dollar bill and threw it on the table. I only twenty dollars left, for her of course. A bargain for her beauty, to be honest.

                “Keep the change” I said as Allie and I walked to the exit of the bar, my arm around her body.

                “Lucky b*****d,” the old man uttered to himself, as we exited Pat’s Irish Pub.

                The rain ended while I was in the bar.

                “Yo, um, Allie �" I don’t have a car. I’m sorry, but my motel’s only a few minutes up Atlantic Avenue, if that’s okay with you?”

                She smiled again. “Of course it is, Brucie.” My god was she perfect,

                I put my arm around her again and we walked in silence back to my motel. She made me forget I was supposed to be hiding. She was just too stunning to look away from.

                We finally reached my motel. I opened the door and walked in the room. She stayed outside.

                “What’s wrong?” I asked.

                “Oh, nothin’ Brucie, I just need to make a call to my guy and tell him I’m workin’. It’ll just take a sec. Don’t start without me,” she said, both of us laughing.

                “Well I can’t promise anything,” I said closing the door, leaving a small crease for her.

                She was fairly quick with her call, and finally slipped into the room. She slowly walked towards me and took off my shirt. Eyeing me with her hypnotizing blue eyes, she calmly inched her lips to mine. Soon, I was kissing her. My mind was on her and her only. I took off her top and we embraced. We began, but then the motel door swung open. Frank, one of the men who were after me, walked in. He was large and wearing a Hawaiian shirt. How innocent.

                “Frankie? What, uh, what the, uh…”

                “Cut the s**t Michael. You got the two grand or not?”

                I got off Allie and grabbed my wallet. “Frank. I…I….only got twenty bucks. I’m sorry Frankie, you know how it is, right? I’ll pay it back in a week, I swear, Frankie c’mon. I’ll do anything. Please Frank. Please Frank.” I said begging as tears began to roll down my face.

                “How many times you say that Mike? Too many times, and the Boss knows it. He gives ya two grand and you gamble it the f**k away at some run down casino? How many times Mike? How many?”

                I looked up at Frank, then at Allie. She was calm, sitting on the bed after putting her clothes.

                “How’d you know about me?” I said, staring at her, unable to blink.

                “They told me you like to drink Jack and Coke. A guy comes into a bar asking for Jack and Coke, I listen. The same guy orders Jack and Coke again, c’mon Brucie. You were too depressed and too drunk to hide ya self.”

                I kept my eyes on her as Frank lowered a gun to my head. F*****g Atlantic City.