|
Updated Sunday 18 July, 2010 12:11 PM |
|
|
Join Writer Development Section Writer Development Member Section
|
SNAKE OIL
By Doctor What
Chapter Fourteen
"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." – Hunter S. Thompson
**
February 27, 2017
The Fat Cat Blues Bar was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the greatest blues bar in the known universe. It wasn’t the greatest blues bar in the D.C. area. One would be hard-pressed to describe it as even among the top ten greatest blues bar in the Adams Morgan neighbourhood of D.C. It just might qualify as such for Belmont Road – all 500 feet of it - but even that decision would probably have to go to the judges.
What it lacked in style, décor, comfort, food and basic attractiveness, it more than made up in the really important factors necessary for a blues bar: good music and potent drinks.
Michael Baldwin was sitting in one darkened booth of the bar absent-mindedly listening to one factor and attempting (with some rather surprising success that impressed even the bartender) to make a dent in the bar supplies of the second factor.
A man making a serious attempt at drinking themselves into a stupor on a Monday at 5 pm is clearly a man with a lot on his mind and this thought was not lost on the half dozen or so individuals in the bar. However, a man in this situation is also clearly in no mood to be making friends either and this too was not lost on the minds of the patrons. As such, Baldwin had a rather large circle around his booth devoid of life.
Michael finished off the remnants of his scotch with one gulp and waved the bartender over for another. He glanced up briefly in the direction of the postage stamp-sized stage where a tall thin black man – dressed like he had just walked through some kind of time portal from the Depression Era and looking like he may in fact actually had been old enough to have been alive during it – started playing another song, his gravelly voice echoing through the bar.
I got ramblin', I got ramblin' on my mind
I can so relate to that thought Michael as the bartender brought over another scotch.
Taking a rather large sip of the drink, Michael turned to look at the TV that was hanging from the ceiling near his corner.
CNN’s The Situation Room was on the TV. Wolf Blitzer was facing the camera, a look of either intense concentration or mild constipation plastered on his face.
“Up in the next thirty minutes - Ali Velshi brings us coverage of the collapse of pharmaceutical giant, Allergan. Allergan – which specialized in ophthalmic and dermatological products – announced this morning that their company’s finances will need to be quote restructured unquote and will be shutting down its manufacturing plants in Costa Rica, Ireland and Texas.
Abbi Tatton has an in-depth report on the explosion in the number of Visitor websites – both pro and anti – as well as the skyrocketing number of ordinary citizens joining the so called UFO religions prominent on the web.
Jack Casey reports in from our D.C. bureau with news on the international front, in particular today’s startling claims from North Korean President Kim Jong-nam that the Visitors had been in telepathic contact with his father Kim Jong-il shortly before his death last year and that they have uploaded Kim Jong-il’s personality into a computer, thereby allowing him to achieve immortality. We will also bring you South Korea’s reaction to those statements.
Daniel Weiss is standing by with continuing coverage of the rifts developing between China, Russia, and the rest of the EU over use of the Visitor’s technology, including footage of former UK Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs Christopher Nuttal profanity filled outburst at both the Russian and Chinese ambassadors during a State dinner over the weekend. He will also bring you additional information on the cabinet reshuffle announced this morning by British Prime Minister Anderson and Nuttal’s transfer to the post of Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Transport for quote personal reasons unquote.
Finally, we have futurist Brent Clemens standing by with coverage on the explosion in new technologies that Japanese companies are dealing with and how they will affect that country and the rest of Southeast Asia. He is also standing by with an interview with Mikio Kojima, President and CEO of the newly merged Sakakibara -Yoyodyne –Yutani conglomerate regarding their announcement of new advances in virtual reality simulation games, supercomputer level laptops and even the unveiling of their new mecha prototype Landwalker 3, which Mr. Kojima claims will be in mass-production by next year and used for commercial, industrial, and eventually military use.
All that and more coming right up after these commercial messages.”
Baldwin let out another sigh.
I got mean things, I got mean things all on my mind
God—it’s like he’s reading my mind thought Michael, as he took another gulp of his scotch.
In a matter of moments, Michael finished his drink and ordered yet another round. As he leaned back and slowly felt himself become one with the chair, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Mind if I sit down here?” said a voice.
As Michael’s vision slowly focused, the figure resolved into a clear image.
It was the blues singer who had been playing on the stage.
Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs from his brain, Michael shook his head and waved vaguely in the direction of the seat opposite him.
“No—by all means—go ahead. Can I get you a drink?”
The tall thin old black man – and Michael noticed with a shock that he was wearing sunglasses even though the bar was quite dark – sat down in the chair with a grunt.
“Damn stool up there hurts my ass!” said the man. “Nice to sit in a nice soft chair. And in answer to your question – yeah—a nice rum and coke would be nice.”
A few moments later and both men were slowly quenching their thirst with their respective drinks.
Michael thrust his right hand forwards across the stained and alcohol smeared table.
“The name is Baldwin. Michael Baldwin.”
The blues singer seemed confused for a moment – and Michael blushed with embarrassment as he realized that his hand was still thrust forwards waiting for a handshake in reply.
Reaching with his other hand, Michael slowly grasped the man’s right hand and gently clasped it with his own.
“Sorry. Let’s try that again. The name’s Baldwin. Michael Baldwin.”
Pumping his hand rather enthusiastically, the man broke into a grin.
“The name is Blind Willie. Blind Willie Ginsburg.”
“Uh…”
“Mom remarried when I was a kid,” replied Blind Willie, grinning.
“Ah….”
The two leaned back, each sipping their drink in silence for a moment or two.
Baldwin was the first to break the silence.
“By the way—excellent rendition of Johnson’s Rambling on My Mind. I have his complete recordings and you pretty much nailed him completely.”
Blind Willie shrugged his shoulders.
“No surprise there – I played with him a couple of times.”
Baldwin gazed at Willie in awe.
“Really?”
“Yup,” replied Blind Willie, nodding his head. “Used to be able to drink me under the table every time too.” he continued, grinning.
Grinning in sympathy, Baldwin took another sip of his drink.
“So,” said Willie, “You appear to be a man with an awful lot on his mind.”
Baldwin’s glass stopped, an inch or two away from his lips. Slowly setting his drink down, Baldwin looked questioningly at Blind Willie. Hesitantly, Baldwin raised his right hand and waved it a few times a foot or so in front of Blind Willie’s sunglasses.
That got a small snort of laughter from Blind Willie.
“I may be blind, boy—but I ain’t stupid! There’s practically this wall of depression around you. Heck—I could have heard you sighing from the stage!”
Baldwin leaned back, a confused look on his face, as if there were a dozen different thoughts and emotions fighting for control.
“It’s…it’s…complicated…” began Baldwin, hesitantly.
Blind Willie snorted with laughter again.
“When is it not complicated? If it were easy, you wouldn’t be in a bar trying to burn out what few brains God had the sense to give you. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s alright – didn’t mean to pry. But I got the impression that you really need to unload on someone and you didn’t have anyone to listen to you.”
Michael thought about that last line.
It was true to some extent. He had tons of ‘work-buddies’, both at the White House and from his previous consulting jobs. He was still in touch with two or three buddies of his from the service, in fact. If he ever was in the mood to have a few beers in a strip joint or go hunting or just to ‘do lunch’, ten minutes on the phone was more than sufficient to rustle up a gang.
But someone to actually unload on? To bitch about life, women, work and anything else on his mind? To actually talk to someone and clear away the detritus in his mind? Not by a long shot and that had not been the case for…well…as long as he could remember.
“You sure you’re blind, dude?”
Blind Willie’s only response was to grin again and take another sip of his drink.
“Give it a shot, boy. I’m all ears.”
Baldwin leaned back again and pondered on this for a full minute. Finally making a decision, he leaned forward and took a generous gulp of his drink. Taking a deep breath, he started to speak.
“It’s like this – I don’t know what to do with my life.”
Blind Willie nodded his head.
“So you’re the same as 99% of the people in the world. Go on—what else is bothering you? There’s something more.”
“I’m torn. My job is exciting, the money is good, I get to meet all kinds of cool or important people and if I play my cards right, it will allow me to fulfill several boyhood dreams.”
“Sounds really good. What’s the problem?”
“My loyalties are being tested. I have to be friends and play nicey-nice with some people who I personally think are…well…scum is too harsh a word. They’re not scum. Most definitely not scum, in fact. But they’re not totally friendly either. They’re … untrustworthy. They have agendas of their own and those agendas are in conflict with those of my bosses. And I have to turn around and smile in public and say what cool people they are.”
Blind Willie slowly nodded his head and took another sip of his drink.
“Sounds like you’re in politics. Very well—so you find yourself having to be a bit deceitful and two-faced and all that stuff. Nature of the Beast, my friend. You’re not the only guy in these here parts who feel that way.”
“I know that—but this is not what I signed up for! I write reports! That’s all! It was stupid work and I’m fairly certain that nobody ever read any of them but it was nice and easy and comfortable work! And above all—fairly anonymous work too! Now I’m in a position to be giving advice to important people – advice on stuff I have no fucking clue about! – and I know stuff about the people I’m working with – both on my side and the other side – that, if it ever got out, can cause all kinds of problems! I have all kinds of responsibilities but none of the power!”
Baldwin paused for a moment to take a sip of scotch.
Blind Willie nodded his head and took a sip of his drink in sympathy.
“Responsibility without power - the prerogative of eunuchs throughout history. Go on.”
“And then there’s the flip side to all this! Like I told you before – if I play my cards right, every crazy-ass dream I had as a kid will come through! Hell—some of them have already come through! Things will only get better from here on in!”
Blind Willie nodded his head.
“But only if you stay quiet and be a good little soldier and suck it up, right?”
Michael just nodded his head and finished off the rest of his drink.
Slamming the empty glass down with a bang, Michael leaned back and – after about three tries – managed to focus his attention on Blind Willie.
“So what do you think I should do, Mister Willie?”
“That depends. Do you want to be a good little soldier and suck it up?”
“Did my time already. Did my duty. Followed all the orders they told me to do. Don’t get me wrong – they were the best years of my life even if I personally disagreed with the idiots running the show back here in D.C.”
“But enough is enough, huh? You want to run your life under your own rules—not those of someone else, huh?”
“Nailed it with one, Willie.”
Willie took a long slow sip on his drink and leaned back, his face scrunched up in deep concentration. After a full minute or so, he took another sip and leaned forward.
Placing his glass carefully down onto the table, he raised his head and looked directly at Michael.
“I hate to get all psychobabble on you, boy, but you’ve got yourself what we call a mental confubble.”
Michael couldn’t help but smirk.
“And how does one solve a mental confubble?”
“In my one hundred and one years of life, I have found that there is only two ways to solve a mental confubble. The first involves drinking yourself stupid in sleazy bars and having sex with sleazy and easy women and trying to forget you have the confubble. The good news is that it is a lot of fun to try that.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“Don’t work, boy! All you do is shove it forward to the next day and then you have twice as many problems than before! And if you keep shoving it forward, you just might forget the original reasons for your confubble – but then you have a whole mess of other problems to deal with!”
Blind Willie vigorously shook his head.
“Nope! Don’t wanna do that, boy – trust me on this. Voice of experience here!”
“Ok—so what’s the second way to solve it?”
Blind Willie raised his hand and pointed his finger a mere inch or so away from Baldwin’s forehead. In the darkness, with Blind Willie’s dark suit and with the alcohol sloshing around his system having their effects on him, the bony finger pointed accursedly at him looked – for just a moment – like the Finger of Death being pointed at him by the Grim Reaper himself.
“Only one way, son. You have to ask yourself one question and answer it truthfully – are you willing to give up your principles for your dreams? Yes or no?”
Baldwin stared at Willie for a very long moment before replying.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” replied Michael, his voice barely audible.
“Then you best sober yourself up and ask yourself that, son! Only person who can tell you want to do is yourself – all anyone else can do is just sit there and listen to you work it out for yourself.”
Michael stared at Willie for a very long moment, the silence broken only by a few sounds of traffic drifting in from outside or a few barely audible words from Wolf Blitzer from the TV.
Michael picked up his glass and noticed with dismay that it was empty. Blind Willie grinned and pushed his drink forward a few inches and leaned back.
Grinning again. Michael picked up Blind Willie’s glass and drained it one gulp.
It took a few seconds and several tries but Michael was able to eventually stand up. He threw down a fifty onto the table and then, after a moment’s thought, threw down another fifty.
“The first fifty is to cover all the drinks I’ve had. The second is for you to buy whatever you want, sir.”
Blind Willie raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve made your decision?”
“Not yet—but I’m going to tonight. You’ve given me much to think about.”
Blind Willie nodded his head.
“Good luck, son – you sound like you’re going to need it. And I’m glad to be of service.”
Baldwin nodded his head and hesitantly shook Willie’s hand.
“Thank you.”
And with that, Baldwin staggered out of the bar.
Blind Willie watched him go.
When the bartender came by with the tab, Willie paid for it and ordered another drink.
Shaking his head in amusement, Blind Willie took another sip of his scotch.
“Gotta write me a note to remind me to keep an eye on that boy…”
~~ On to Chapter 15
|
