Exile on Kalamazoo Street by Michael Loyd Gray Page B

but his bad teeth defeated the effort.
    â€œWe did that already, Bennie.”
    â€œYou won’t invite an old buddy in? It’s cold out here, Bryce.”
    â€œThere’s no booze here, Bennie. That rule hasn’t changed, either.”
    â€œSo you said, Chief. But it’s still cold out here.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, hoping that giving in meant I was the better man and simply demonstrating good hospitality. He followed me up the stairs to the kitchen.
    â€œHow about some tea, Bennie?”
    â€œIced tea?” he said,
    â€œI was thinking hot tea, Bennie. It’s a cold day, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    â€œI noticed. But I’d prefer iced tea.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “Iced tea it is.”
    â€œI’ll go sit with your cat, Chief,” Bennie said as he headed to the living room.
    â€œThe cat doesn’t want to go to Louie’s, either,” I called.
    â€œFunny guy,” he called back. “You should be a writer.”
    â€œI’ll give it some thought,” I said, too quietly for him to hear.
    When I took Bennie his tea I was pleased to see that Black Kitty was keeping his distance. I figured cats knew horseshit when they smelled it.
    I sipped my tea and watched Bennie sip his and then make a face.
    â€œNot enough sugar, Chief?” I said.
    â€œThe sugar’s fine,” he said. “But something’s missing.”
    â€œYou want some honey in it?” I said. “I’ve got honey.”
    â€œHoney’s for pussies,” he said. He dug into his coat pocket and produced a pint bottle of whiskey. “This is what she needs, Chief.” He poured a good amount into his tea and gulped it. “Now that’s tea, Chief,” Bennie said.
    â€œYou’re an asshole, Bennie,” I said quietly.
    â€œBut a thoughtful asshole,” he said, holding up the pint bottle. “See? It’s Canadian Club, Chief. Your old favorite.”
    â€œA thoughtful asshole is still an asshole, Bennie. It doesn’t change the odor.”
    â€œMore clever-writer shit, Chief.” He leaned forward. “Now let me spice up your tea, Chief, for old times’ sake.”
    I sipped my tea.
    â€œOld times are called ‘old’ for a reason, Bennie. That’s because people move on from them.”
    He extended the bottle toward me.
    â€œJust a nip, Chief?” he said. “I know you want it.”
    Perhaps there was a particle of my being that would have taken a drink, but that particle was now too small to matter, like the last dying ember of a fire that isn’t going to flame into sudden life.
    He grinned and leaned closer across the coffee table, swinging the bottle back and forth.
    â€œJust let me sweeten your tea, Chief, and we’ll be back to the old days. You remember the good old days, Bryce? You enjoyed the good old days.”
    I looked at his ugly face for a moment and then at the bottle. I leaned forward and his grin widened.
    â€œThere you go, Chief,” he said. “Come to papa.”
    I grinned and scooted even closer, but then I swung a fist hard and knocked the bottle from his hand and against the brick fireplace, where it shattered. I could smell the whiskey dripping down the bricks.
    Bennie eased back on the sofa.
    â€œA waste of good whiskey, Chief.”
    I dug into a pants pocket and found a twenty and tossed it onto the coffee table.
    â€œGo buy yourself a replacement, Bennie. Buy two for all I care.” I stood up. “Now get out, Chief , and don’t come back.”
    He gulped his drink and picked up the twenty.
    â€œTell you what,” he said. “I’ll get myself a pint and one for you. I’ll leave yours at your door, for the next time. How’s that, Chief?”
    I stepped across the coffee table and grabbed Bennie by his throat with both hands and put a knee in his chest. He looked awfully surprised. I couldn’t