"Heroes"

 

"Well, thank you, Jim," said Addison.

"Yes, thank you," said Milford.

"Oh, it was nothing," said Diamond Jim. "Just another pack of hyenas in the night, but stand up to them and they turn tail every time. Or nearly every time. And if they do try to gang up on you, that's when a good stout stick like this one comes in handy."

He raised his cane and gave it a twirl.

"Well, we appreciate it," said Addison.

"Take my advice," said Diamond Jim. "I know walking sticks are out of fashion, but get yourself a good sturdy leather sap, the kind with good tensile steel encased in it, or high-quality ball-bearings. And a set of brass knuckles fits nicely in a gentleman's pocket."

"Um," said Addison, knowing he would never spend money on a sap or brass knuckles that could have been spent on whiskey or beer.

"Uh," said Milford, wondering where one even went to buy a sap or a set of brass knuckles. 

Diamond Jim's cigarette in its shiny black holder had gone out, and he extricated the stub and flicked it away. Once again he produced his gem-studded cigarette case and clicked it open, and Addison and Milford tossed away their own dwindled butts and accepted fresh Husky Boys from the big man, as well as lights from his Ohio Blue Tip wooden match.

"You'll note that I tempt fate by lighting three on a match," said Diamond Jim, igniting his own cigarette. "Superstitions are for fools." He blew out the match with a thick cloud of Husky Boy smoke, and then flicked it away. "Or do you chaps disagree? Appleton?" he said, addressing Addison.

"Oh, no," said Addison. "I think life is quite confusing enough without bringing superstition into it."

"And you, Gilbey?" said Jim, to Milford.

"Yes, I agree," said Milford. "But I myself am a fool, and so my opinion matters little."

Diamond Jim smiled. 

"I like you, Gilroy," he said to Milford. "And you too, Thatcherton," he said to Addison. "Some people might look at you fellas and think, oh, a couple of boring nonentities, but I look at you both and see, yes, I'll tell you what I see. Heroes. Heroes, God damn it."

"Gee," said Addison.

"Heroes," said Diamond Jim. He cast his gaze on Milford. "You remain silent, my lad. Do you think me wrong in my assessment?"

"I wouldn't presume to say," said Milford.

"I beg you, presume. We are all friends here. Do you or do you not agree with me that you and Bartleson here are heroes?"

"I agree that we are both the heroes of our own sad little lives," said Milford. "As are all human beings."

"So," said Diamond Jim after a brief pause, "you are not only a hero, but, yea, a philosopher."

Milford said nothing to this. Who was he to argue with a man who had just saved them from a gang of douchebags, and a man who, furthermore, was supplying them with cigarettes?

"Shall we now continue our journey?" said Diamond Jim.

"Yes," said Addison.

"Muggins?" said Diamond Jim to Milford.

"Yes?" said Milford.

"I say, shall we continue?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Milford.

"To the Hideaway then!" boomed Diamond Jim. "Come, lads, and do try to keep up with me."

And off he went again, down the dim corridor, and Addison and Milford did their best to try to keep up.

Amazingly, not five minutes later, perhaps ten, they came to the familiar door, on which hung the hand-painted sign reading:

"THE HIDEAWAY"

Leave your cares behind

and your bullshit too.

Ring the bell and wait.

"See, boys?" said Diamond Jim. "I told you I knew the way."

"Indeed you did, Jim," said Addison.

They could hear music from behind the door, and singing, and the sound of laughing and shouting voices

"Are you excited, Heatherington?" asked Jim.

"Yes, I must say I am," said Addison.

"Bugford?" said Diamond Jim to Milford. "You up for a good time?"

"Yes," said Milford. 

"You don't seem entirely sure."

"I'm not entirely sure of anything," said Milford.

"Ha ha, you slay me, Bumfort," said Diamond Jim, and he pressed his great forefinger, the only kind of forefinger he had, against the door button.

While they waited for someone to answer the door, Diamond Jim turned to Milford and Addison.

"By the way, have you boys tried the food here?"

"I haven't actually," said Addison. "Is it good?"

"To die for," said Diamond Jim. "What about you, Dilbert?"

"Yes?" said Milford.

"Have you sampled the chow in this joint?"

"Uh, no."

"You have to try the possum stew."

"Um," said Milford.

"Get it with some hush puppies on the side, for dipping."

"Uh," said Milford.

"The squirrel stew is good too, don't get me wrong, but the possum stew, you gotta try it."

"Um," said Milford, who preferred Bond white bread toasted and lightly spread with oleomargarine over all other foods, but he didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful.

The door opened, our friends turned, and there stood the enormous Negro, John Henry, in his railroad man's overalls and cap, and with an enormous cigar in one hand. Behind him the music and shouting and laughter surged and pulsed like the promise of happiness on earth.

"Well, look who the fuck it is," he said, smiling broadly. "Diamond Jim his own bad self. And these two sad-ass motherfuckers."

"How's it hanging, John Henry?" said Diamond Jim.

"Not bad, big man, not bad. How you doing?"

"Never better, John Henry," said Diamond Jim, and he extended his enormous hand, which was taken by John Henry's own enormous hand.

Both Milford and Addison felt very small witnessing this meeting of two giants, each so full of life, and they glanced at each other, seeing the same thing in each other's eyes, the knowledge that the best they could do was to bear witness, and to try not to be trampled underfoot.

Milford looked past the two titans trading friendly witticisms, into the crowded noisy and smoky barroom, and there with a flutter in his heart he saw sitting at their table laughing among themselves Mistress Bradstreet, Miss Harriet, Miss Emily, and, yes, Miss Louisa. Beyond them he glimpsed Miss Blackbourne and Mr. Whitman dancing vigorously on the small crowded dance floor as Jellyroll pounded the piano and sang these words:

Dance the Black Bottom, mama,

dance it like there ain't no tomorrow.

Dance that Black Bottom, little mama,

and make me forget my grief and sorrow…

Diamond Jim turned from John Henry and looked at Addison and Milford.

"Well, lads," he said, "are you ready to live a little?"

"Yes," said Addison. "I think it's time."

Milford too was ready, as ready as he was ever likely to be.

{Please go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq…}

"That's How You Do That"

 

Neither Addison or Milford were used to not walking slowly, Addison because he was constitutionally languid and lazy, and Milford because as much as he never liked being where he was, he was never in a hurry to go someplace else. And yet, taking quick puffs from their cigarettes and coughing as they went, they did their best to keep up with Diamond Jim, who stomped forth holding his cane upright as if it were a sword and he was storming into battle, all the while still smoking his cigarette in its holder and trailing a stream of smoke behind him. 

After a couple of minutes the big man stopped and turned, about thirty paces ahead of them.

"Am I going too fast for you, lads?"

"Well, just a little perhaps," panted Addison.

Milford said nothing, merely gasping and coughing in response.

"Well, come on then and catch up," said Diamond Jim, and he waited, smoking, until the two friends staggered abreast of him.

He looked at them, smiling, and shaking his head.

"My goodness, as old as I am, and as stout as I am, I daresay I could still beat the pair of you in a walking race!"

"I have no doubt," said Addison, squeezing the words out between labored breaths.

"When I was young like you fellows I thought nothing of tramping from the Battery to Harlem and back again of an evening, not forgetting to stop into various and sundry taverns and saloons along the way for a refreshing pitcher of steam beer and a sampling of the spécialités des maisons, be it a hot roast beef sandwich or two with lashings of gravy and a side basket of crispy fried potatoes, or perhaps a few frankfurters liberally blanketed with sauerkraut, or, say, a brace of croque-monsieurs, oozing with fragrant melted Gruyère and béchamel – but fear not, if my calculations are correct, we should reach the Hideaway any minute now."

"Oh, thank God," said Addison.

"And what about you, young Gilbert," said Diamond Jim to Milford. "Do you not thank God that your wanderings are almost at an end."

"If I believed in God," said Milford, breathing laboriously, "I would thank him, possibly."

"Only possibly?" said Diamond Jim, with a straight face.

"Yes," said Milford, "because after all it was he who put me in this state of existence in the first place, when I never asked for it."

Diamond Jim smiled again.

"I like you, Philbert," he said. "And you too, Pattison," he said, addressing Addison. You chaps may not be – how shall I put it – you may not be the most vibrant fellows, and yet, in your own particular ways, you are your own men. A rare quality, and I think we shall be good friends. And, now that we've rested a bit, do you think you are ready to resume our perambulations?"

"Yes, I think so," said Addison.

"Milforth?" said Jim to Milford.

"Yes, I'm ready," said Milford.

"Onward then," said Diamond Jim. "And I shall attempt to keep to a moderate stride."

"Thank you, Jim," said Addison.

"Yes, thank you, Jim," also said Milford, who, despite his distaste for life, still harbored a deep-seated fear of suffering a massive or even minor heart attack.

"Hey, it's them!" echoed a voice ahead of them down the dim corridor.

And there perhaps a fifty yards away, turning a corner, surged a group of a dozen or so men.

"Now we've got them!" yelled another voice.

"They got Diamond Jim with them!" yelled yet another voice.

"Fuck them and fuck Diamond Jim too!" yelled a fourth voice.

"Now what the hell do we have here?" said Diamond Jim.

"Jim," said Milford, "we have to run."

"Yes," said Addison. "I think we should beat a hasty retreat."

"Nonsense," said Diamond Jim. "I have never retreated in my life, and I'm not about to start now."

"But there's too many of them," whined Milford.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Diamond Jim, as the gang of men approached, carrying baseball bats, nightsticks and blackjacks, and even bicycle chains. "What's their beef, anyway?"

"They're from this place called the D.B. Club," said Addison.

"The douchebag bar?" said Jim.

"Yes," said Addison. "We went in there just to ask directions, but they wanted us to join their club, and then when we said we didn't want to join they wouldn't let us leave."

"So how'd you get out of there?"

"Addison threw his cigarette in the head douchebag's eye," said Milford, "and in the ensuing confusion I grabbed the door key and unlocked the door and we escaped."

"And they've been after you ever since, hey?"

"Yes," said Milford. "So we'd really better run."

"The hell with that," said Diamond Jim, and he raised his cane and brandished it at the approaching men.

"You there!" he shouted. "You douchebags! Stop right there!"

Amazingly, the gang stopped, maybe twenty yards away. At their center was the big corpulent man with the cigar, the one called Big Daddy, carrying what looked like a shillelagh, and to his right was the corpselike man named Cerberus, the one with a face the color of an old potato sack, and who wielded a large monkey wrench.

"This ain't your concern, Diamond Jim," bellowed Big Daddy, whose right eye was swollen shut. "Now step aside!"

"Yeah, step aside, Diamond Jim," said Cerberus. "We got no grudge with you."

"Fuck you don't," said Diamond Jim.

"What do you mean?" yelled Big Daddy.

"You heard me, Big Daddy," said Diamond Jim. "Fuck you don't, and I'll say it again, fuck you don't and fuck you and your douchebag pursuivants."

"Now, Jim," said Big Daddy, "you ain't got to be like that."

"Yeah," said Cerberus. "You ain't got to be like that, Diamond Jim."

"Look what they done to my eye," said Big Daddy, pointing to his swollen eye with a fat finger, the only kind of finger he had.

"If I know you, Big Daddy," said Diamond Jim, "you were asking for that swole-up eye, and more."

"Hey, wait a minute," said Cerberus, "Big Daddy didn't ask for the swole-up eye, no sir!"

"That's right," said Big Daddy, "I most certainly did not!"

Diamond Jim pointed the engraved steel ferrule of his cane at Big Daddy.

"Did you or did you not refuse to let my friends leave your establishment?"

"Well, technically, yes," said Big Daddy, "but you see, Diamond Jim, they are obviously douchebags, just like us, but they was acting like they was too good to be members of the Douchebag Club!"

"And they ain't too good!" said Cerberus. "They's douchebags just like us, maybe even worst than us!"

"Douchebags, my dear Cerberus," said Diamond Jim, "they well may be, and God love them. However, douchebags or not, they are my friends. So fuck off, you walking cadaver, and you too, Big Daddy, you blustering tub of lard, or I shall set to thrashing you and your toadies with this very sturdy blackthorn stick," he raised his cane in a menacing manner, "both one and all and severally, but first you, Big Daddy, then you, Cerberus, and finally all your other cowering epigones."

"Once again, Diamond Jim, sir," said Big Daddy, "our fight is not with you. And anyways we promise just to rough those two d-bags up a little."

"Yeah, just rough 'em up a little," said Cerberus.

"You will do no such thing," said Diamond Jim. "And you'll have to get past me to even try to do it. Now who wants to try it first? Take a step forward if you dare."

None of the gang took a step forward.

"Come on, you pack of jackals," said Diamond Jim, raising his cane higher, and stepping forward himself. "Step forward I say!"

"Look, Diamond Jim –" said Big Daddy.

"You look, you fat fuck," said Diamond Jim, "you and your little mob got approximately one second to turn around and go back to that stinking hole you crawled out of, or you'll see what's coming to you, and it's gonna be a hell of a lot worse than a swole-up eye."

"Ah, the hell with this," said Big Daddy, after less than one second's pause. "It ain't worth it. We was just having a little fun. Or trying to. Come on, boys, let's go back to the club. I'm thirsty."

"Yeah, let's go back to the club," said Cerberus. "I'm thirsty, too."

"Yeah, we're all thirsty," said another guy,

"I'm thirsty as hell," said a fourth guy.

And as one the gang turned around the way they had come, quickly, and silently, tumbled past the far corner, and then they were gone.

"And that," said Diamond Jim, lowering his cane, "is how you deal with douchebags like that."

(Kindly go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq…}