Monday, August 15, 2016

A Shooting



My name is Lloyd and I want to tell you what happened to me last Saturday night. It was almost nine o’clock and I was taking my bulldog, Chester, for a walk before bedtime. It was a beautiful crisp clear autumn evening and even with the street lights on you could see the stars and a big yellow moon.

Chester and I were walking along Delancey Street where there were still many people out taking advantage of the dry weather and excellent night. We reached the corner of Madison where there is a small park with benches and a fountain and waited there for a Street Sweeper to pass by. Chester loves to go for walks and is usually very well behaved but as I watched a couple leave a cafĂ© across the street, I felt Chester tugging at his leash toward the little park on the corner. He was interested in something over there but there was no light in the park and I couldn’t tell what he saw. I started to pull him back to cross the street but Chester gave a short bark and I turned to see if I could tell what had captured his interest.

A couple steps carried me beyond the range of the streetlight on the corner and improved my vision. I had to shield my eyes but I saw two men a short distance away sitting opposite each other at a small picnic table. Apparently they had a little bit of light there because I could see that they were playing dice. I hadn’t seen anyone play dice like that since I was a teenager and as I watched them, the game came slowly back to me.

I remembered playing dice during my free time in high school. Any time I had the chance it seemed. My friends and I would play for pennies back in those days. It had nothing to do with the money, it seemed to be a way for adolescent boys to connect and test their personalities. After school we would meet in the park or in a local alley and shoot dice until the last moment before dinner time and then we’d run home with some fabricated excuse for being late.

I suddenly remembered friends and schoolmates that I hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years. I only kept in touch with a few of my old chums. I made a mental note to ask Jerry if he had any information of the others the next time I saw him.

My thoughts were interrupted by loud words coming from the picnic table.

“Put that down. That was an eight.” One man said in a slightly grieved tone.

“Bullshit, Bill. That was a seven. Are you blind now?” The other man said lightly, testing the first.

“I’m not blind. It was an eight, man. Now your point’s eight. Put it down and roll ‘em” The first man said loudly and with more energy.

“I’ll roll again, Bill. Because I won the last roll. Give me my money.” I couldn’t tell but it looked like the second man picked up the money that was bet. Then he rolled the dice again.

“God damn. Seven again. I’m hot.” The second man said snapping his fingers several times in a row.

“You sevened out on your point of eight. You lose.” The first man pronounced and I saw the glint of steel in his hand. The first man, the one the other had called Bill, had pulled out a knife to make his ruling stick.

The first man raised his hands. “Now just hold on Billy. You know that ain’t right. I rolled seven twice and won twice. It ain’t right, you robbin’ me like this.”

“I ain’t robbin’ nobody Lee. You know that as well as I do. I’m taking what’s mine.” Bill said and he picked up the money lying on the table and then he reached over and took the hat off the other man’s head. “That’s a nice hat you got Lee. It’s mine now.”

“Bill. That’s my new Stetson. You ain’t takin’ that.” Lee said to his friend in an unfriendly way.

“When you lose your money, learn to lose, Lee,“ Bill said, putting on the hat and backing away from the table.

“Billy.” The man said.

“See you later, Lee,” Bill said and he backed away from the table and turned and walked into the dark of the park.

I stood looking at the lone man, Lee, standing there in the dark by the picnic table and I heard him say, “When you lose your money, learn to lose. I’ll see you later, Billy.” And then the man walked out of the park right past me and Chester and off down the sidewalk.

I stood there another few moments and then shook myself as if waking from a bad dream. I looked down to see Chester sitting comfortably, waiting for me to continue my walk.

Chester and I crossed the street and continued on down Delancey for another couple blocks. I was consumed with thought about the meaning of what I’d seen and heard in that park while Chester was cataloging the scent traces of the thousand dogs that had walked Delancey before tonight.

When we came to the corner of Delancey and Freetown I decided to step into the tavern on the corner for a beer so Chester and I did so. I went up to the bar and ordered a pint of ale and then Chester and I found a small table to sit at next to the front door.

It was a loud evening in the bar and there were several spirited conversations going on. Chester was content to sit by my feet and sniff any patron that passed close by.

As I was nearing the bottom of my glass and preparing to depart there was sudden sound near the front doors and I looked up to see what it was. There was a tall man standing there in a rough tweed jacket with a large revolver in his hand. He was pointing it at someone standing at the bar.

I looked to the bar through a passage made by patrons who had backed out of the way and saw the other man standing at the bar. I didn’t recognize either man but I did recognize the Stetson hat on the head of the man at the bar.

The man at the door said, “Nobody move!”

“Lee, don’t do it,” the man with the hat said, “I got three kids and my wife, Ellen, is sick. You know that. Come on, man”

“Billy. Your turn to lose.” And Lee fired the big revolver.

The glass shattered in the bartender’s hand as he stood behind Billy tending the bar.

Smoke filled the area around the doorway from the big pistol and I thought, how remarkable, how did he miss Billy at this close range?

But of course, he hadn’t missed, the bullet from the big gun had passed right through the man’s abdomen and out his back and just happened to hit the glass in the bartender’s hand.

The man with the gun walked slowly across the room, through the white smoke and took the hat off Billy’s head and placed it on his own and then walked slowly, head up back across the room and out of the door.

I noticed that Chester had moved around my chair and was hiding behind it. I didn’t blame him a bit. I would have been there too if I'd had my youth. But there was no further danger from gunplay that evening in that bar.

Lee the man at the door departed quickly in the knowledge that he’d accomplished his end. I understand the St. Louis Police arrested him the next day. I saw an article yesterday in the newspaper, The St. Louis Republic, saying that Lee Shelton had been arrested for the shooting death of William Lyons at the Tavern owned by Bill Curtis and was awaiting trial in the St. Louis Municipal Jail.

The article was on the second page and will no doubt soon be forgotten by everyone except Chester and myself.



The End



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