The Retirement Plan

Chapter 14

"The hell?" Reggie said, taking his eyes off the road to give Ricky a hard look. "You not hearing me? There's a bottle of Champagne waiting for us."

"I don't drink," Ricky said eyes on the tobacco-filled rolling paper balanced on his thigh.

"Well, I do, and I'm the one driving."

"Isn't that a Mel Gibson quote?"

"No, but here's one for ya; I'm for love, not war. How about we have a beer?"

"If it'll get you off my case."

"That's what I'm talking about. Besides, you could do with some lovin'. You so pent up, if you blow, they gonna think them North Koreans carrying out nuclear tests again."

"I've got a lot on my mind," Ricky said, tucking the rolled-up joint behind his ear.

"You need to chill," Reggie said, glancing across at his friend. "You read the paper. Said those shootings be gang-related. That's police-code for, we ain't about to do shit about it."

"I dunno."

"I do. You think Joe-public gonna hold a candle-lit vigil for two dead Nazis? Folks might put the blinkers on when it come to some casual racial prejudice, pass it off as a generational thing. But full-on Third Reich. Ain't nobody wanna be party to that shit. Cops found a copy of Mein Kampf and a SS flag in the house. That case has already been filed under who gives a shit."

Reggie told Ricky to dig out the Barry White CD from the glove compartment. "Gotta have me some Barry, put me in the mood for some sweet lovin'."

Not a word passed between them, until 'I've got so much to give' came on, prompting Reggie to remark, "Brother wasn't lying either. Man had nine kids."

Ricky shook his head. "Forget the snip. I'd be taking the garden shears to it."

Reggie chuckled. "You and Anna never had the talk? You know, you both sitting on the couch all cuddly and she just put it out there. How she wouldn't mind having kids one day. Say it kinda jokey at first, see where your head is at? Then, conversation turn serious, real quick."

"Oh, sure."

"And?"

"She talked. I got drunk."

"Sounds like a country and western song."

"I still don't know how to knot a tie," Ricky said. "How'm I gonna tie the knot and raise a child?"

"Me and Dee were trying," Reggie said, eyes on the road.

"What happened?"

"I got incarcerated is what happened."

"Spanish jails allow conjugal visits. Even provide lube and a clean towel."

"Shit, the way Dee hating on me. They need to provide roofies and a bottle of vodka, cause that's the only way I would have gotten her between the sheets. She visited me once, an' that was to tell she leaving my ass."

They turned onto a narrow side-road. Ricky wasted no time pointing to the switched off neon sign advertising the club. Reggie reminded him that they were in the middle of a pandemic. And brothels, even the semi-legit ones, were definitely on the non-essential businesses list.

"So, how're they open?" Ricky said.

"Because they paying the right people not to notice," Reggie said, driving past the open gate into the empty gravel car park.

"Why are we not going in, so?"

"Because the cops getting paid to ignore aren't the ones fielding calls from the public on the free-phone numbers. Juan, driving home from a hard day at office, see buncha cars parked outside a puti-club. He get mad imagining all those folks inside having a whale of a time, knowing he gotta go home, face his whale of a wife. Ol' Juan's liable to put in a complaint, force the law come raid the place. But Juan sees a couple of guys walking down the road, all discreet, he don't think nuthin' of it."