It was Saturday night. I fought my way through the door into the throng and caught Jean-Louis's eye right as I hit the club's dance floor. I waved a crisp Corona cigar in his direction, his face lit up and he took am awkward step towards me, tripping big time, his feet flying forward as his ass hit the ground. The crowd knew who he was and gave him some space. One of the bartenders rushed over and tried to pull him up. No way. Jean-Louis was wasted. Another bartender stepped in and together with his mate, straightened up the boss. The crowd applauded as Jean-Louis was led off to the office. He disappeared into the john and from the gagging sounds I could not help hearing through the flimsy door, he'd evacuated whatever foul shit was left in his stomach. When he came out, he looked better but smelled like a box of week-old dead fish. I caught a corner seat and tossed him his cigar. We puffed away in silence for awhile and then talked Expos baseball. He was a rabid fan with box seats and had hardly ever missed a game until that summer. The provincial police had started to openly photograph he and his guests, sometimes standing in the aisle next to his seat and glaring at him. He glared back until he got sick of the game, gave the cops the finger and his people left. He hadn't been back. "Another reason to piss on their graves" was his final comment on the subject.
We puffed a bit longer, savoring the thick aroma. I decided to lighten the mood by asking about the origin of the club's name. It was a mistake. Jean-Louis stuck his forefingers in the small mountain of coke on the table, shoved them up his nose and slid onto the arm of my chair, leaning in close as he wiped his nostrils. I struggled to keep my stomach from flipping over. "Man, that's a story. Could have been a sad one. But the Good Lord willed a happy ending to it. See, my wife was a junkie. Bad one. She'd kick the habit but keep backsliding. Finally I went to the Basilica and paid a shit load of cash for a three month novena to be done for our special intention - if she stayed off the juice, then God would let her get pregnant and have the baby. And fuck me if she didn't do it. When she got off the shit, she was randy as a rabbit and we went at it day and night, The day the little sweetheart was born, I ordered the new sign. 'The Princess Club'. The most expensive model they had. Believe it. That's the God's truth."
I had to say something but was sure I'd start to laugh if I opened my mouth. I just kept shaking my head and said. "Hmmm, hmm! Huh! Whoohee!" The urge to laugh faded away and I looked up to Jean-Louis, offering my hand to him. "The Lord's will! Ain't that some shit?" When he raised his face, it was covered in tears. Tears of regret. Tears of joy.
Tomorrow - Knocking at heaven's door with a baseball bat.
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