Terminus: Ponce De Leon

[jack_babalon]

Clermont Lounge Lovin'
February 4th, 2007
~Rob M.

Check this out.

The Troll used to live up in here back in the late 90's. He was this Subgenius Rabbi who sold dimes of dirt he used to score off the brothers down in Underground. I had met him a few years ago through his older brother Martin La-Goon, the drummer for local punk legends 'The Harvey Kietels' and was so named because of his obsession with collecting all things 'Creature of the Black Lagoon' related. The Troll was an alright kid, who looked like the love child of a one night stand between Yoda and Psychic TV front man Genesis P-Orridge. The Troll was always pilled up and smoked out so talking to him was always like talking to a sleepwalker at times. Still he never slept and that came in handy.

For example, it'd be a late night riding shotgun with Jimmy. We'd be between jobs and need some a little something-something to hold us over until our regular guy came through. We'd roll up into the Clermont at stupid o'clock in the morning. Some stoic brother would be working the reception desk. He'd give me and Jimmy the once over and knew exactly why we were there.

"You boys here for the Troll." He didn't ask, he just wanted us to know that he knew.

"Sure thing, pops" i'd say scribbling a fake name across the registry. "He around?"

Old Man Stoic would just nod to the elevator and that seemed to translate as: "Yeah... you know the way"

From the moment you stepped out of the elevator you could smell that shit drifting down the hall. From two doors down you could hear the muffled surf guitar and Biafra Squeal of The Troll's much beloved Frankenchrist going. Jimmy did his 'cop-knock' with his knuckles across the wood. We both snickered malicously as we heard the frantic scramblings and 'Oh shit's' wafting through the door. Jimmy pressed his palm flat over the peep hole and shot me that 2 grand wink of his.

Finally the door inched open cautiously and you could see The Troll's blood shot gray eyes stare out at us. Jimmy planted a size 11 combat boot into the crack and pried the door open. We both came barging in like 5-0. Jimmy was the over the 'turn-in-your-badge-n-gun' cop. I was the donut eating 'too-old-for-this-shit' cop. Everyone was relieved and super pissed at the same time.

Who's 'everyone'?

Well crouched in front of the set are two comic book geeks the Troll rolled with. They have that whole Kevin Smith/Silent Bob routine going: Black trench, beard & baseball hats. Over on the couch is a few gutter punks who snap out of their narco-haze at the sight of Jimmy. I spot them as Germ, Spew and Cracker Ass Craig. There's Dread Lock Scott hanging in the corner and there's Big Cindy hunched over a tray of Scarface giving us the feral eyes lest she has to share her stash. There's someone(s?) in the bathroom and they're not leaving until we do. The Troll slaps his hands together and rubs them all Lex Luthor maniacal.

"So wha' can I do you gentleman for?"

Jimmy points to the bedroom with his chin. The translation is simple: "I don't do business in front of your scumbag friends" and the two of them walk in. The door slams shut leaving me to kill time with the Maniac Squad over here.

I light up a smoke to mask the room funk a bit and take a seat on a beige cushion stained with blood. No one pays me no mind, everyones eyeball fucking Big Cindy's tray. The TV has on an interview with William Burroughs only the volumes all the way down. The Old Man is showing off a blow gun in his room. Only Dread Lock Scott gives me the time of day.

"Wa's up man?" he asks with that sing-song accent of his. Fake, sure. But unique!

"You see it." I shrug offering him a smoke from the pack. He accepts with a nod and leans in closer.

"Are you guys in the market for a little weird?" before I can say 'no' he crouches down next to me,
"I got this crazy bitch a few rooms down from here. She got three nipples and she just loves to fuck!"

I say nothing. I have this problem sometimes, where if I don't understand what i'm hearing I retranslate it with what I think they said.

"Three nipples, N****Ga!" he hisses the words excitedly. Nope definetly heard that right.

The door opens back up. Jimmy nods at me. That's my cue thank Grodd.

"Maybe some other time."

"Your loss dawg" Dread Lock Scott shrugs.

We hit the parking lot to test out the merchandise. We check the time.

"You in the mood for some titties?" Jimmy asks me casually.

"Why you wanna see what's up with Dread Lock's old lady..."

"Fuck that fool!" Jimmy snorts dismissively and nods over at the doorway leading to the Clermont Lounge.

"Is Tammy working?" I ask unable to conceal my puppy eyed crush.

"Nahhhh... she don't work the late shift. But i'm sure we can get Goldie to give you a lap dance..."

We kill that shit with a cough and head in to indulge ourselves in that quintessentially American Dream: Cheap beer and titties galore!

Comments

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Guess you can go through the front door of the hotel. First time I went to the Clermont Lounge, I was looking for the ladys, went through the wrong set of doors and ended up trapped in bowels of the hotel.

[karis-straif.livejournal.com]

Never say bowels and Clermont in the same breath.
Especially if your in one of the restrooms!!!

[esmio06.livejournal.com]

another of the things that amazes me about your writing is how in one story you can complete envelop me in one dialect, then in another story be in a completely diffrent world and both feel so natural

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

The advantages of an open (and chemically soaked) mind!

Thanks as always man, all I can do is try but feedback always helps!