I Know Candy
a short story
Trigger Warning: Violence, language, adult themes
It was late afternoon and the sun was doing its worst out on a town that had all but given up. The place was quiet except for the baseball game on the television and the oscillating fan mounted above the bar. The old writer sat at the far end scribbling in a notebook, only pausing to take tiny sips of gin every few minutes.
Two young guys in work boots and trucker hats came in and ordered bottles of Lone Star and started up a game of pool. The 15 ball was missing, but I’d used a red marker to write the number 15 and a crude red stripe on a spare cue ball. One of the guys walked over to the jukebox while the other guy racked the balls.
I wiped the bar where I’d set the beers down. Pain stabbed in my chest again. Fucking heartburn. I shook four antacids from a bottle and chewed them up, then washed the chalky remains down with a swig of beer.
Paulie walked in, right on cue. Paulie was a short man and had to hop up onto the barstool. He was wearing a fedora. I’d never seen him in a hat before.
“Hey, Paulie. How’s life treatin’ ya?” I asked.
“Could be better. Could be worse, I guess. Gimme a Jameson. Neat.”
I poured his drink. “What’s with the hat? You got a hot date tonight?”
“You could say that.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Name’s Candice. Very beautiful. I’ll introduce you sometime.” He took a drink.
“Love to meet her. Where you taking her tonight?”
“Well, it’s not a regular out-on-the-town kind of date. I’m meeting her at her work.”
“Oh? What does she do?”
“She’s a dancer. Over at the Landing Strip.”
I gave him a slow deliberate nod. “I see.”
“I think this is the one, Gus. She says I’m not like the other guys who come in there. I’m respectful, see? I’m not grabby like a lot of the men are. I ask her about her studies and what movies she’s into. She goes by Candy at the club, but she told me her real name is Candice. She doesn’t tell most guys her real name. She says she really likes me.”
“What’s not to like?”
The old man at the end of the bar lifted his empty glass and I went over to make him a new one. He waved off the garnish so I put the lime wedge back in its container.
“She’s trying to get through school, see? She’s only dancing to pay her tuition.”
“A girl’s got to work.”
“I’m a good tipper, too. She takes me back to this private room, see? I don’t like other guys gettin’ a free look see when she’s working on me. That’s our time, see?”
“Say, Paulie. How much you spending with this girl?”
“Oh, two, three hundred a night.”
“Three hundred dollars a night? How many nights you going down there?”
“Three, sometimes four nights a week.”
“Paulie, that’s a lot of money. How can you afford it?”
“Payday loan.” He finished his drink. “Pour me another.”
I shook my head and poured him another Jameson in a fresh glass. One of the guys playing pool came up to the bar and ordered two more Lone Stars. He turned to Paulie.
“Hey, you talkin’ about Candy down at the Strip?” the young man inquired.
Paulie looked annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business, sport-o.”
“I know Candy,” the young man said with a salacious grin. “Me and my buddy Rooster over there double-teamed her last weekend. That dirty slut gave us a two-for-one.”
Paulie’s face burned red. “Now you listen here you little—”
“Whoah, whoah, whoah, take it easy, Paulie. Hey buddy,” I said to the young man, “here’s your beers. Go finish your game, alright?”
The kid laughed, clearly unintimidated by the short man whose feet barely reached the foot rail. He took his beers back to his friend and they shared a laugh.
“Paulie, you can’t talk to the customers like—”
“Ah, what does he know? He made that up, Gus. Candice ain’t no whore!”
“No, of course not. That guy was just yankin’ your chain. Dust it off.”
“I know she ain’t a whore ‘cause I asked to take her home one night and she got real offended and said that was a terrible thing to say. I thought she was gonna cry so I apologized and offered to pay her double for another dance.”
“Gee, Paulie, I don’t think you should be—”
The guys in the back were howling in boisterous laughter. Paulie whipped around to witness one of the guys thrusting his hips against the corner of the pool table and something in Paulie snapped.
Paulie hopped off the bar and strode over to the fellas with fire in his eyes.
“Paulie, wait,” I said.
He picked up a pool cue and broke it over the one guy’s back.
“Paulie, no!” I screamed and ran around to the other side of the bar to intervene but my heartburn struck like a lightning bolt and I clutched my chest in pain.
The other guy came at Paulie and Paulie swung the broken pool cue back and forth as he backed up trying to keep him at bay. The guy tried to catch the broken end of the pool cue and it sliced his hand. Paulie dropped the stick and started throwing balls at the guy’s head until he dropped to his knees, covering his face. The guy slumped over as blood trickled from his forehead.
The first guy tackled Paulie to the ground and began pummeling him with his fists, over and over, until blood splashed up from open wounds.
I called the police, but the guys fled before they arrived. Paulie laid motionless on the floor, his face badly disfigured. I knew he was alive because I could hear him moaning pitifully.
“Paulie, you’re going to be alright. The paramedics are coming. Jesus Christ, Paulie.”
They took him away in a stretcher and I finished giving my report to the police officer. After they left, I went back to the bar and choked down another mouthful of antacids. The game on the television kept playing like nothing had happened.
I looked over at the old man, who was just finishing off his gin.
“Can I get you another?” I asked him.
He pushed his glass toward me.
“Sorry about all that,” I said as I poured him another drink. “We don’t usually get that kind of action in here.” I set his drink down on the bar.
“Yeah,” he said without looking up from his notebook, “I know Candy.”