“Woo lookie me, I got cracka Joe’s tie on!”
The mouthwash was gone and the old man was smelling super minty, dancing around my small livingroom, clearly intoxicated. I quit keeping alcohol around the house for exactly this reason. Old Stevedore was 122 years old. He could easily pass for a spry 70.
“Stevedore, we gotta talk buddy.”
Sometimes it’s hard to tell if I’m a modern day slave owner or running an unlicensed nursing home. I think about these things late at night when sleep won’t come.
“Whatchoo wanna talk about SASQUATCH?” There’s that attitude again.
“Look here. I’ve been hearing about some burglaries in the neighborhood. All within A BLOCK of here. The THEIF is stealing some very odd items, Steve.”
The old man gave his best impression of being shocked and offended, wide eyed innocence, totally over the top.
“The old lady across the street said her back door was left open and all that was taken was some cajun seasoning. Three doors down, that nice family said their little girl’s guinnea pig was stolen, and the intruder left foot prints all over the floor. Bare foot prints.”
The barefoot old man was keeping mum for now. He was cagey alright.
“The lesbians on the corner said they came home and found a turd on their bed. A TURD! That’s a goddamn hate crime man! Those bitches were on the channel 2 news last night! They’re actually gonna INVESTIGATE that one! And by the way, where’d the necktie come from huh? I’m not going down for your shit! All these burglaries somehow happened when I was at work. I’m gonna have to put you on the Chinese mega bus and send you to Mr. Jimmy until things cool down. So please, no more ‘hittin’ a lick’, ok?”
“Look hea big man. You ain’t been home none too much lately. It’s jus habin a lil fun. You been getting up in some pussy ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, I been getting my share. I know I ought to be around here for you more. You’re the only I can trust these days.” It was true. I had recently started having some good luck with the ladies. The best I’ve ever had in fact. Averaging two a week.
“You think it’s just coinkydink dat all ob a sunnen you jus fell out da pussy tree and hit every bitch on da way down?”
It’s true. This lucky streak of mine was unprecedented.
“It ain’t no fuckin’ coincidence, my man. I’m handsome and charming. I look good, I smell good, and all the women wanna fuck me because I’m so goddamn masculine. Besides that, I also believe the gods are rewarding me for being a righteous man. I’m like Oddyseus, dude!”
“Fuck you Oderiferous, fat fuckin’ fish eyed weasel! You ain’t shit! Stevedore is why you been gettin’ lucky wit dem hoes!”
“What are you saying, you old piss smelling black methuselah?” Something told me he wasnt bluffing. But how? He didn’t have the money to pay them, did he?
“You remember when you caught me diggin’ in da backyard? You said I looked like a spook under da full moonlight? That shit hurt my feelings, fat man.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know me. I ain’t like that.”
“Hmph. Anyways, I was burying your nasty old underwear. And a lock of yo hair.”
Guess that explains the mojo hand and the black cat bone next to Stevedore’s pallet.
“You gotta undo it man! These bitches are making goddamn wedding plans before I even pull my dick out! I got em calling my job, one of em slashed my damn tires. I’m just lucky there’s a used tire shop close by or else my ass would be on the bus right now.”
“Oh! On da BUS you say! Yo fat ass can’t ride the bus, but you expect poor old me, one hundred and twenty two years old to ride from casino to casino, listening to all dat jibba jabba, my old bones creakin’, I ain’t gonna do it! I can’t!” The crocodile tears were first class.
“Can’t you just turn off the goddam voodoo spell? One of these lonely bitches is gonna KILL me! You dont have to take the mega bus. I’ll get you a greyhound.”
“Ok big man. Dat’s mo like it. But I still want you to do one mo thing fo me. We gots to go to Big Tammy’s Salon and get some hair outta da dumpsta.”
Just then, a guinnea pig ran across the floor in front of us.