“Perdition Lounge” by Marissa Forbes
Two men take post at the far end of the bar, in a little hole in the wall lounge. Years of grime coat the peeling walls, neon signs spelling out Colorado breweries glow dimly, and none of the brass looks like it has been polished since it was installed. The patrons look just as run-down; bags under every eye, graying skin, and yellowing fingernails.
An aged, salt-and-pepper-haired gambler named Norman and a young, muscular assassin named Lester watch the nine o’clock news. There’s a guy wrapped in a sheet on the screen with his toes to the ledge of a bridge.
"I'll bet you $10 he’ll jump," says Norman, before taking a large gulp of beer.
"I’ll take it, there’s no way" snorts Lester with a smile.
The guy on the television opens his arms and they watch his sheet become a parachute until he lets it go and throws himself off the bridge. Lester glares at Norman as he grabs his wallet and tosses the $10 on the counter.
The bartender with Donna stitched on her dingy apron hands Lester another beer, but it slips from her hand and spills on his lap. Lester springs up, pulls the gun off his hip so fast it seems to appear like magic.
He puts it between Donna’s eyes. She doesn’t flinch.
“That doesn’t do you any good here,” she says, calmly moving the barrel from her face.
Donna’s eyes dart from Lester to Norman. "You can't take his money," she says. "He cheated you, Les. The same story was on the five o'clock news.”
Lester lived his life in distant shadows, pulling his trigger all over town. If he looked around he would recognize a few of the faces in the booths. Sherry, the red-haired prostitute who was a favorite at the mayor’s office--offed because she knew too much. William, the thin-skinned high school teacher who made up gossip just to hear it spread through the halls--his own students crowd-funded his demise. Isaiah, the wheelchair-bound bookie who got a lot of high-rollers rich and a few risk-takers bloody and bruised.
A lot of people had wanted him dead. If Lester looked close enough he would even recognize Norman and Donna.
Lester sits and swivels his stool toward Norman and casually puts the gun in his face. Norman backs his cheek off the barrel. Donna touches Norman’s hand gingerly. She plants her other elbow on the bar and props up her chin in her palm.
“Let’s play a new game. What do you say? Winner takes all and everyone’s happy.” Donna says. She flips her greasy hair and returns to her bartender role. She fills another pint of beer until it overflows onto her feet. “Whoever tells the best story gets the $10,” she continues, “I’ll be the judge. Simple yeah?”
Lester returns his gun to his waistband.
Norman takes another gulp and asks, “So, what’re the stipulations for a good story?”
Donna points to Lester, “You go.”
✣✣✣
Lester rubs his hands together and starts: Once, there was this crippled-wannabe-prophet, I think his name was Isaiah--pretty funny, right? Some said he was the real deal, others called him the “bogus bettor.” He lived in a run-down, one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a co-op in Five Points. Every day he flipped his wheelchair brakes up and sat in front of his apartment building with a sign that read, Let me tell U about U (4 free).
Occasionally, Isaiah gave good news, like, “You’re going to win $50 on your next scratch-off ticket.” Often it was bad. Reversed final scores or what really happened to their pet hamster or their mother.
One day he was at his usual spot, chanting scores to sports games when a boy, about seventeen walked by. In a resounding voice, Isaiah said, “You’re going to get an STD from the next girl you sleep with.”
The petite lady holding his hand stumbled over the crack in the sidewalk.
“And you little girl, are going to break up with him before he gets the results.” Isaiah just laughed and laughed.
Isaiah hadn’t noticed the handsome fella watching from the bus stop. That guy sauntered over and bent down, with his hand on the gun in his pocket. In a deep, demanding voice he asked, “How could you fall down the stairs and become crippled if you’re such a great prophecy?”
Isaiah claimed to not know his own future. He said that if he had known it never would have happened. He released the brakes on his wheelchair and rolled back.
That guy stepped closer and said, “Can you see it now?”
“I d-don’t know wha-at you’re ta-talking about,” Isaiah stuttered and closed his eyes.
That guy held Isaiah’s head so he couldn’t look away from his eyes. Isaiah began to cry as he was lifted from his chair.
“Will you still need your wheelchair…” that guy whispered, “...if you make it heaven?”
Lester throws his head back, bellows out a belly laugh. Donna had been filling and spilling pints throughout the entire story. Norman had listened carefully with his chin to his chest.
“Pretty good story. Right?” Lester asks confidently.
Donna continues pouring. “Okay, your turn, Norman,” she says as she hands them each another beer. “Give us your best.”
✣✣✣
Norman lifts his chin as if the story is written on the ceiling. He starts slowly: There was a woman named Kristen and a man named Norm. He was a treasure hunter. He held her hand as she expired.
She said to him, “You can’t let go until I’ve gone.”
91 pounds. 100 pounds. 118 pounds. 130 pounds. Norm watched Kristen turn into nothing.
The doctor told them that it was inoperable.
They sat on the musty couch, surrounded by the gold and silver trinkets he had collected for her. There was a full moon over the night. Kristen told Norm there was still a chance that it could all be taken care of before it was too late.
The doctor showed the x-rays to Kristen; one by one, he pointed out the masses, the growth of the mass, and then another mass.
They fell in love before the sun rose. He was a treasure hunter and she was what he was looking for.
Norm found Kristen at a bar.
✣✣✣
A woman sits down next to Norman. She is frail and tired, yet a smile lingers on her face. “Usually that story makes me blue Norman, but it’s better backward.”
“What do you think?” Donna says to Kristen, returning the smile. “Norman’s story is a no-brainer, eh? But then again, Lester is the new guy.”
Norman talks to the bottom of his glass, “He took his dive this afternoon and lost ten bucks, fair and square.” Kristen slides the money toward Norman.
Lester pounds his fist on the bar, knocking over the beer Donna just put down in front of him.
“That one was going to be on the house, Lester,” she says.
“I’ve got more stories, lots more,” Lester beseeches.
Donna hands him a stack of cocktail napkins with Perdition Lounge printed on both sides. The five o’clock news starts again.
"I'll bet you $10 he’ll jump," says Norman, before taking a large gulp of beer.
"I’ll take it, there’s no way" snorts Lester with a smile.
About Marissa Forbes
She/Her/Hers
Marissa Forbes is a mother, teacher, and writer. She graduated from Pratt Institute in 2008 and between 2008-2011, she wrote and directed three one-act philosophical comedies for Off-Broadway theaters, published dozens of poems & short stories in online and print literary journals, and co-founded Brooklyn REBUPLIC--an art and charity collective that still thrives. Marissa was a playwright finalist in the Downtown Urban Theater Festival in 2012 and then became a mother. She took nearly a decade off to teach and work in the nonprofit sector. She continues to do so; however, in 2020, she began writing again and has since published a short story in The Dillydoun Review and was awarded the Author Fellowship from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. Marissa lives in Denver Colorado and is working on her second fiction manuscript.