Long time...35th and Vine.

Wow...that last post was a long time ago. And it wasn't much good. I've not been writing much and it shows. I should write more. Now that my other job has slowed down for the summer I am trying to find the time to do so. With that, let's check in on Liddy and Deuce.


35th and Vine is probably a typical destination for a taxi cab. The reason? It's a shabby, rundown hotel/motel that has the ability to charge by the hour. It's not clean and it's not really a nice place at all. I guess you are wondering why I would head to such a place? Simple really. Help. I know somebody who lives in the room 17 at the Shady Tree Hotel/Motel. A friend if you will. But allow me to digress for a moment.


How are you supposed to know if it's a hotel or a motel? I've heard differing theories and I can't seem to figure this one out. At one time, I believed that a motel was one of those small, squat hotels that usually sat on the outside of my towns and you could park your car in front of your door. I thought that motel was some sore of contraction for hotel and motor, hence motel. But, I've been to plenty of motel's that actually described themselves as hotels which I always thought were fancy types of hotels where you had to park your car in a parking lot and walk inside a foyer and ride an elevator and essentially have the hell annoyed out of you by this whole situation. Why? Because invariably you will forget something outside in your car and have to make two or three trips to go out and get it. They pretend that these so called "hotels" are safer because you are inside with doors that don't open to the outside but by the time you walk out to your car two or three times a day to get something you need, it's just as dangerous as the motel where you can get to your care in a tenth of the time and be back in your room smoking hash and watching Oprah if you are so inclined to do such a thing of which I am inclined toward neither. I have a thing against drugs. And Oprah just sucks.

Either way, I have come to think of the Shady Tree as a motel even though it proudly touts on it's green neon signage that it is a "hotel." Whatever. I park in front of my door and that makes it a motel. I tell the driver of the cab to drop us at room 17 and he does.

Room 17 is on the back side, away from the street and away from prying eyes. Good thing. We look a mess. I'm still bleeding profusely from the head and Liddy has Waffle House everywhere. Good thing it won't matter much as the person we are about to disturb from his slumber is a friend of mine and a business associate.

We are barely out of the cab before the driver speeds away, kicking up dirt and gravel in our face as he squeals out of the lot.

I grab Liddy's hand and walk to door 17. Bang it hard with my hand.

Inside I hear a hefty grunt and I breathe a sigh of relief. I was afraid my friend wasn't home. The door opens and light spills out onto the doorway. Framed in the light is a big man. He's 6 foot 6, 380 lbs. or so. He's not wearing a shirt but fortunately is wearing cut off jean shorts. For Liddy's sake I am thankful as he has come to the door nude before. The striking thing about this man though is the huge beer belly. It's tremendous. I've often told him that he should call Guinness and get it measured. It really is something to behold. For about 5 seconds.

Meet my right hand man, Brewster Cognac, Thug for Hire. Seriously, that is his name. And seriously, that is his title. He's even got business cards. Seriously. Brewster and I have been through some scrapes in our time and we have a friendship that goes beyond the business arrangement. He's not too smart but what he lacks in brains he makes up for in sheer power and...well I can't think of too much else he does good right now. Well...he drinks beer good. Lots of it.

He sees me and grunts something that sounds like hey. He sees Liddy and grunts something that sounds like hmmm. He motions us in with the beer bottle in his right hand. We walk in.....