Angry, Again

 

Kevin had impressed himself. 

He had gone to New York City with absolutely nothing, and he had been okay.

 Kevin had found a job, made friends, and he had developed a reputation.

He had liked working at Western Beef, and the endless supply of bed mate’s, that working there had afforded him.

 The fight that lost him his job at the Queens grocery store hadn't been his fault. The man that he had fought had threatened to break his jaw.

Kevin didn't take the threat lightly. So he had taken preemptive measures, which in this case meant being the jawbreaker instead of the breakee.

Kevin's uncle Billy sprung for a one-way ticket back to New Orleans, and the big young man returned to find his house in need of attention.

Now that he was back in the city Kevin had access to the money that had been sitting stagnant for a little over a year.

He used part of his nest egg to get the utilities back on in his house. He was welcomed back to the poultry plant with open arms. Kevin, could empty a truck full of chicken cages in record time.

Tony and Jay, Kevin's friends helped him get his car going and Kevin seemed to be settling back into the swing of things.

Titus had work for Kevin but usually only once or twice a week. Kevin didn't mind he was making enough.  His house was paid for and one paycheck took care of his other bills.

With so much time on his hands, Kevin found new ways to entertain himself.

Popping up on college campuses might be a good way to meet girls but it wasn't as much fun as it used to be.

Once not the type to frequent clubs due to his past experiences, Kevin had changed his mind.

Two brothers from Washington D.C that he met at an LSU football game took him to the small club on Frenchman St. and Gentilly Blvd. for the first time, it soon became his main haunt.

 In fact, Kevin, spent hundreds of dollars every week buying bottles of Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort.

He would go to the club every night of the week, buy a fifth of Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort, and leave once his bottle was totally empty.

That usually happened around 2 or 3 a.m.  The resilient 22-year-old was back up and slinging chickens by 6 a.m.

The same cabbie, a Jamaican, a rarity in New Orleans, dropped the staggering man off each morning.  Clive, the cab driver had taken a liking to Kevin because the “Yankee-boy” knew good dancehall music.  

The night started differently, Hibernia Bank had called.

Kevin was spending an average of $100 per night. The banker wanted to talk to him about savings accounts.  A bottle was $50 in the club! He could have purchased 4 bottles for that much at the liquor store.

 Kevin didn’t care.

 He was adrift in the Ocean of life. Somehow his Mainsail was busted and he was only able to drift along with the current. The call from his banker should have been a wake-up call. It wasn’t.

There was a concert the next day in City Park and it was Friday.

The thick, fine, redbones with light eyes would be in abundance and that was just what Kevin was waiting for.

 He had finally listened to Titus and gone shopping on Canal Street.

 Rubenstein Bros. Clothing Store had Polo shirts not sold anywhere else. You could look through a book and build your own Polo! Kevin still liked his work pants in every shade, but he had developed a style. A Polo, work pants, usually tan, and a pristine pair of white Tennis Shoes. Kevin had no shortage of those.

 “Gangster”, Nikes, Adidas with every stripe color, Ballys, British Knights, and K. Swiss. Suddenly the man who saved money had become the man who spent it. Sadly he had made that decision knowing, that he was making much less.

Kevin scrubbed the yolk of busted eggs, and chicken shit out of his hair. It would be washed at the hair salon but the shampoo girl was fine and Kevin didn’t want her to see the state it was in.

 He chose his outfit carefully. He loaded his pockets with mints and gum. Checked the mirror one last time and then called for Clive.

The club was jumping. It was early but the place was packed and there was a line. Kevin ignored the line his premature salt and pepper braids swinging as he strutted past the common folk and even jumped the VIP line.  He turned at the door, and whispered to, “Meathead” the bouncer on the door.

“Say Round, you see the redbone in the furry boots?” As the man, equal to Kevin’s 6’ 5”, and twice his girth nodded, the extra fatty rows of skin, which earned his nickname quivered.  “Say bruh, let slim in with me, yeah.” Meathead looked at him.  The amusement that lined his face, didn’t seem to fit the thunder strike that was his voice. “I got ya lil daddy.” Rumbled out of his broad chest, and missing neck.

Kevin smiled at the owner. The owner tilted his glass. A waitress, who also was spectacular, lead Kevin and the girl, make that two girls that he had rescued in line, towards the VIP. The girl Jalisa had come with a friend, they seemed attached at the hip, and Kevin stopped the waitress short.
“Say, lil Mama, look here, I’m not entertaining them all night, ya heard me?  Give them the drinks they want and I got you, but they not coming to the VIP, no.”

Kevin parted ways with Jalisa.  He stood at the rail of his section and watched the crowd.

“The Hood Boys” a group of rappers from somewhere nearby, circled around the edge of the VIP section. They were to be the opening act for Dj. Cool B, and M.C. Ladylike. The headliners hadn’t arrived yet, and they weren’t quite big enough stars to get in.

Kevin danced with a bevy of women. He drank a lot of whiskey. By the time the headliners arrived at the club, Kevin was pretty drunk.

Kevin sat at his table. He poured whiskey into a plastic cup. Kevin was minding his business when suddenly this monster was beside him. The giant tapped Kevin on the shoulder and said.

“You need to get your little ass out the VIP.”

Kevin was suddenly angry. He didn’t think it through. He just responded. “Say bruh, put ya hand on me again. See don’t I put both mine on you!”

The much taller man reached towards Kevin and his right hand shot out lightning fast, and with devastating effect. The 6’ 11” man crumpled like toilet paper. The giant was out so cold that he began to snore in the middle of the floor. Seeing violence in play stirred the bouncers. Kevin was drunk. Kevin also had adrenaline coursing through his veins.  Eight men, all in Kevin’s height and weight class approached. He jumped into a fighting stance dislodging the table and spilling the last inch of liquor.

“Aye, bruh put his hands on me.” They didn’t seem to care. “Fuck it who first!”

The owner shuffled over to Kevin’s section. Straightened his table and ordered a waitress to bring him a fresh bottle.

 By this time the monster's owner entered the club. The Dj announced him. The rapper who would be performing the next day approached the scene, where his bodyguard was still snoring.

He told his second bodyguard, this one wasn’t much taller than Kevin, to put the unconscious man on the tour bus. He then asked. “Yo Is it alright if we share your section B?”

The owner had been trying to explain that Kevin spent money with him every night and that he wasn’t going to kick him out.

 Cool B didn’t care.

 He sat with Kevin, who’d been working on the fresh bottle from the owner. Cool B. looked at Kevin, watched him toss back liquor than asked.

“Yo big Country, can you do that every time Yo?”

 Kevin looked at the famous rapper through a drunken haze but he answered honestly.

 “Every motherfucking time.”

Kevin worked the next day’s concert and completed the national tour.

When he returned to New Orleans the owner of his favorite bar began paying him $250 a night and he still could drink once the club closed.

Kevin found he didn’t want to.