The Extinct

CHAPTER
21

Eric sat with Ray awhile longer, talking about women they’ve had since coming to Thailand and the places to score the best drugs. Eric eventually grew bored and stood up to leave. Ray didn’t say anything; there were no hellos or good-byes in this place.

The coke had given him a second wind and Eric was starting to feel good. He became acutely aware that he hadn’t eaten today and his stomach was starting to growl. Across the street from the park was a little food mart, set up outdoors on the corner with stools in front of a large bar. Eric walked to it and sat down on a stool at the end of the bar.

The owner was a small Thai man probably in his mid-sixties wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. He walked over and said something in Thai. “English?” Eric said. “Yes,” the man said. “Rice and chicken with a beer, a Tsing Tao if you have it.”

The man nodded and began preparing the meal. The rice came out of a large container on the ground and the chicken was fried on the spot with green peppers, peanut sauce and onions. The man popped open a Tsing Tao and placed everything in front of Eric.

He put some cash on the counter and started eating. The food was all right. The problem with Thai food was that it was so spicy it covered up any foul tastes. It was difficult to tell if the meat you ate was fresh or a week old.

When he finished, he leaned his elbows on the bar and took out a package of cigarettes, lighting one and blowing the smoke through his nose. The man next to him noticed and turned to him.

“Can I have one of those?” the man said. He was an American, older. Wearing a green army jacket and glasses. His face appeared worn out and wrinkled, like it’d been through a washer.

“Sure,” Eric said, pulling one out of the package and handing it to him.

The man had his own lighter and he lit it and leaned forward against the bar, the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. “Thanks.” “No problem.” “What’s your name?” “Eric.” “I’m Bill, nice to meet you.” “Yeah.” “Where you from Eric?” “Los Angeles,” Eric said.

“LA huh? I hate that damn city,” he chuckled, “though this ain’t much better.” He inhaled deeply and let the gray smoke trickle out of his mouth. “You been back to the States lately?” “Not for a while.” “Me neither. Too much shit there. Christians and atheists got the whole country fucked up if ya ask me.” Eric looked over to him. “You were in the army?” “I was. 101st Airborne.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. You remember everything happened in Little Rock, don’t ya?” “Not really.”

“First integrated school. We was there. Most disgusting thing I ever saw. Them negroes were just little girls man, just kids. The crowds was throwin’ bottles at ‘em, they had this black doll strung up on tree… it was disgustin’. I ain’t never seen people treated that way.” He took a long pull off the cigarette and had a sip of the beer in front of him. “Until I came here anyway.” “Why’d you come here?” “Good place to run away I guess. Why’d you come here?” “Same.” “You gotta be careful though. Places like this, they’ll eat up your soul if you let ‘em.” “How long have you been here?” “Oh, ten years or so. I was in Vietnam before this, and Peru before that.” “You just travel around?”

“I wouldn’t call it travel. Travel means I got a home. I ain’t got no home. I just go wherever I can be alone for a time.” He finished the cigarette and put it out in a glass ashtray in front of him. “I’m headin’ out to The Bayou, you been?” “No.” “It’s a bar. Nothin’ special, but it’s where old vets like me hang out sometimes. You wanna go?” Eric polished off his beer. “Sure, I got nowhere else to go.”

Bill led Eric through the busy sidewalk crowds and down an alleyway. They came out onto another street, this one with less traffic and dimly lit. They walked three blocks before turning into another alley and coming out onto another street. Before long, they made their way past what Eric guessed was a ghetto.

The building didn’t look like the ones downtown. There were no glimmering lights or golden spirals. There was only chipping concrete and wood patched with rubber or plastic. Children were running around everywhere and most of them didn’t have shoes. One boy, slim and without a shirt, approached them as they walked by.

“You come,” the boy said as he grabbed Bill’s arm and tried to lead him away. “Good yum yum. You come.”

“No,” Bill said sternly, and pulled away. The boy let go and turned to wait for the next tourists that walked by. “They’re scouts,” Bill said to Eric. “They work for pimps and got young girls in them apartments right there. Their job’s to get you in. Sometimes though, they’ll just rob you.”

They made their way past the decrepit buildings and to a wooden structure with a painted sign out front that said “Bayou.” The bar was just a mass of dirty tables with drunken men yelling. The smoke was so thick you could barely see in front of you and the floors were sticky. A few worn prostitutes were placed throughout the bar and every few minutes one would walk to a back room with one of the customers.

Bill walked over to a table filled with American men. There were five of them and he grabbed two chairs and sat in one. Eric sat in the other and looked over the men.

They were all vets. The ones that didn’t wear the faded jackets still wore their dog tags. All of ‘em except one who was in a wheelchair. He was the youngest too, Eric surmised. The man saw Eric staring and looked over to him. “What’chya starin’ at faggot?” the man said. “Nothing,” Eric said. “Yeah, well keep your faggot eyes to yourself.” “Cool it Jim,” Bill said. “He’s all right. This is Eric, from LA.”

Eric watched as Jim stared at him, and then looked away. He grabbed a shot glass full of a thin black liquid and finished it without flinching. “Jim was hurt in Iraq,” Bill whispered to Eric as he leaned over. “Got home, and his wife had herself another man.” “Same thing happened to a friend of mine.” “Shit like that happens when you’s away for two years and you got a nice young wife at home.”

Eric looked over to Jim and watched him order another couple shots. He downed them as well and began laughing and joking with the man sitting next to him. Eric saw a colostomy bag on the back of his wheelchair. He looked to the other men; one was missing an arm and had his sleeve folded up to his shoulder. Another had deep scarring over his face. One, a white guy with a crewcut, appeared uninjured, but when he turned to the left, Eric saw a deformation in his skull. It made his head appear caved in, as if part of it was just missing.

“I gotta go,” Eric said, standing up.

“We just got here,” Bill said.

“I gotta go,” was all Eric managed to say as he walked outside. He left the bar and began making his way back. The young boy grabbed his arm as he walked past.

“You come,” the boy said.

Eric ripped away from his grip. “Get the fuck away from me!” he yelled. As he stormed off, the boy looked at him, puzzled at his reaction, and then began looking around for the next tourist.