Soon enough as the endless television hockey game wore on I went outside, in the backyard, to join Marc. I wanted a cigarette badly. And also, I wanted company.
For some reason I couldn’t make out Marc’s face at first. It was out of focus. I don’t know why, but in the beginning I remember not being able to see him too good up close.
I bummed a smoke off him, and we both smoked, at first without speaking. Then:
“I wonder what’s going on at the track tonight,” he said, referring to racetracks that lay somewhere beyond the tract.
“I’m not sure,” I replied wanly.
“Have you ever been there?”
“No. Never been to any racetrack.”
“You play poker at all?”
“Not too much. Sometimes.”
“We had a game here once. I cleaned Ed and the boys out pretty good.”
I thought to myself, maybe that explains Ed’s abhor for him. But it had to be more than that…
Marc kept taking these big drinks of the 40 oz. bottle. It looked cool the way he drank. I wanted to drink just like him. I wanted a buzz, or something…
“How much did you win off those clowns?” I asked.
“Forty bucks,” he smiled. Then, narrowing his eyes he said in a whisper: “Even though these guys think they’re good players, they’re not. But I let them believe they are.”
“So you’re a hustler.”
“No, not really,” he said without the whisper, “I’m no hustler, not around here. They knew” (pointing to the house) “I was good from the beginning, unfortunately... Cudd went on and on about it before we even played. Fuckin’ idiot. Actually, I butter them up just so I can toast them at the end. So they feel good about themselves.” He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Whether you’re talking about a hot chick in a nightclub, or a guy at a card table – giving the victim a false sense of confidence is always the best move.”
I nodded. Then, changing the subject:
“Have you known Ed long?”
“No. He’s Cudd’s roommate, that’s all. Where do you know him from?”
“Cudd?”
“No, Ed.”
“Work. We used to work together.”
Marc smiled.
“I don’t think he’s got that many other friends besides his roommates. Ed seems like sort of a homebody.”
The way he said this wasn’t mean-spirited, and yet it wasn’t sarcastic, either. It teetered on both. That was something else I noticed about Marc. He was blunt. Gutsy. To the point. Nothing like Ed. And he didn’t have a motive. An agenda. At least it didn’t seem that way at first.
“I don’t really know how many friends he has,” I said. “I just know that I’m one of them.”
“Are you his friend really, or did you just work with him?”
“A little of both, I guess. He’s pretty mellow, but he’s an all right guy.”
“Yeah. I know. I like Ed.” I made him feel guilty I could tell.
"I know of one other buddy of his,” he said. “A certain guy who dresses like a bum, who used to hang out and get loaded all the time around the neighborhood, and who used to walk instead of drive in high school, and who always puts people down, and who’s our age, and who could probably buy a Rolls Royce if he wanted to.”
“He’s rich?”
“His father’s rich. Which makes him rich. Sean’s his name. Sean Dusk.”
A deep silence followed. By now his beer was finished. So was his second cigarette. My beer was gone, too; so was my first cigarette.
“So what are you guys up to tonight?” Mark asked, referring to Ed and myself.
“I’m not sure,” I said, and glanced over at the living room. Ed’s silhouette was gone, which did not necessarily mean Ed was gone. He was probably lying down on the couch. He does that after a while. He’ll lie down and watch the last of a game that way - his skinny legs stretched out comfortably over the end. His couch, the smaller of the two, horizontally faced the television.
“Well,” Marc grinned. “You want to get more beer?”
That thought hadn’t occurred to me.
“I was actually thinking the exact same thing,” I lied. Then I told the absolute truth: “I could really use a head change…”
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