Pulp by Charles Bukowski Read Free Book Online Page A

twice. But I was Nick Belane. You only rode the merry-go-round once. Life was for the daring.
    I slipped out of my car with my mini-camcorder. And I also carried my briefcase as a ploy. I tipped my derby low over my left eye and moved toward the house. My inner sensor was on fully. Something was going on in that house. I felt it strongly. I even bit my tongue in the excitement. I spit out some blood and moved toward the door.
    Again, it was no problem. 47 seconds and I was inside.
    I moved down the hall with my ears pricked. I began to think I was hearing voices. I was. A man’s and a woman’s. I paused at the bottom of the stairway. Yes, the voices came from upstairs. I moved slowly up the stairway. I heard the voices much better. One I recognized as Cindy’s. I kept moving forward, then stopped outside the door. It was evidently a bedroom door. I pressed closer.
    I heard Cindy laughing. “What do you think you’re going to do with that thing?”
    “One guess, baby! I’ve been waiting a long time!”
    “Well, you came to the right place, big boy!”
    “I’m going to ride you all the way to hell and back, baby!”
    “Oh yeah?”
    “You bitch!”
    I heard Cindy laughing again. Then it got quiet. It stayed quiet for a little while. Then it began to get noisy. I heard hard breathing and a slight thumping sound, plus the working of bed springs.
    “Oh!” I heard Cindy. “Oh, my god!”
    I put the briefcase down, turned on the camcorder, kicked the door open.
    “I’VE NAILED YOUR ASS!”
    “WHAT?” the guy looked around from his position. Cindy’s legs came down and she SCREAMED.
    The guy leaped to the floor and faced me. Horrible looking fat son-of-a-bitch.
    “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” he yelled.
    It was Jack Bass. For Christ’s sake, it was Jack Bass!
    I spun around and ran down the stairway.
    “HOLY SHIT!” I yelled.
    I was moving toward the door. As I yanked it open, out of the side of my eye, I saw Jack Bass standing there, balls naked. He had an object in his hand. A gun. He fired. The bullet spun the derby around on my head. He fired again. I felt death rush by my right ear. Then I was sprinting down the sidewalk. I dashed into the street toward my car. Too late, I saw something in the way: an old man on a bicycle pedalling along and eating an apple. I smashed right through him leaving him twisted within the spinning wheels of his bike, upon the asphalt.
    I was into the Bug in a flash. I went screeching from the curb. The old man was slowly getting up. I swerved to miss him, jumped the curbing and was onto the sidewalk. Then I was blazing past Jack Bass’s place. He was standing in the doorway, still balls naked and he got off 3 more shots. One went right through the monkey hanging from my rear view mirror. The second passed between me and nowhere. The third came through the back of the front seat, passen-ger’s side, hit the glove compartment, and made a hole.
    Then I was out of there. I zigzagged up and down a half a dozen side streets. Then I found a boulevard and drove along with the traffic. It was a typical Los Angeles day: smog, a half-sun and no rain for months.
    I pulled into a McDonald’s, ordered a large fries, coffee and an order of chicken-on-a-bun.

17
    I went back to the office. Brewster and Celine had broken out of the crapper. The crapper door was smashed open. I pushed my desk back. It took me 15 minutes.
    I sat down and tried to piece everything together.
    Now everybody was after my ass: Celine, Brewster, Cindy, Jack Bass and Lady Death. Maybe even Barton.
    I was no longer sure who my clients were or if I even had any.
    I could be arrested for any number of recent offenses. Or somebody could come to get me. The office was a dangerous place to be. I checked my holster for the.45. Still there. Nice baby. Well, they weren’t going to run me out of my office. A dick without an office wasn’t a dick.
    And I didn’t know if Celine was Celine and I hadn’t found the Red Sparrow.