Whores for Gloria

25. Code Six

After Code Six had failed in his mission of persuading Jimmy to return to the paths of full-cocked righteousness, he ambled slowly home to Sixth Street. He did not like the Tenderloin because it was not his area. Bad things could happen to him here. Back home he could take care of himself. He crossed Market Street whisding sadly. For a week or so he'd been wearing a black eye. He didn't even remember who'd punched him. He now wandered in search of a pleasant corner, shrugging shamefaced as he looked people in the face who avoided looking back because he was Code Six whose greasy hair fell across the bridge of his nose, borne down by the weight of the filth it carried, Code Six with his stubbled wobbly chin that could still look pugnacious when he threw his head way, way back, Code Six with his great hairy jelly-belly that hung over his belt absorbing sunlight on this mild morning as Code Six took off his shirt and began to beat it like a carpet against the steel shutters of a hardware store—whooh, you stink! he shouted crossly at the shirt, at himself, and then he started laughing because no one would look him in the eye. None of you stink as much as me! he shouted proudly. You can shit your pants all day and you still wouldn't bear a candle to me! Haw! Keep the flag flying high, streaming and flapping like thunder!

Viet Cong

Later, when he'd panhandled two dollars and was bombing along on the Night Train with such power and speed that the sidewalk was a blur beneath his tightrope feet so agilely lurching, he saw three Indochinese children sitting on the steps of a hotel, holding bundles of some grasslike herb in their hands. Each was chewing on one of the stalks, looking at him alertly. The little girl's blue-black hair was drawn back from her forehead by a headband. She sucked and sucked on her stalk, wrinkling her forehead. Her brothers stared at him unwinkingly.

Code Six cleared his throat. You know, I once killed slopes, he said haltingly. I was ordered to. But it made me feel real sorry.

The children looked at him. He ducked his head and hurried away.

As soon as he was around the corner he began punching himself. — Am I out of my fucking mind to be talking to SLANTS? he shouted into a Vietnamese market. Nobody looked at him. — Was I talking bullshit or batshit or dogshit or was it just ratshit? he said. Jeez oh jeez Jesus. I better stop hanging around James. He's wearing off on me. Goddamn.

Shit, he sighed. Every last one of us betrayed by the VC. Jimmy brainwashed, the Wrecking Crew all dropped dead, Riley God knows where, and me left to fend for myself here in the middle of motherfucking Hanoi, USA. Nothing to do, nothing to do. Wanna kill those Chinese Charlies! Come out and fight! he shouted.

Nobody came.

Guess I won that one, said Code Six, and he lay down on the sidewalk and went to sleep. .