'The Emperor' or: Sleep No More

I. In Restless Ecstasy See this man.

A fuck-up, ran aground by his vices, sweet-toothed for women, liquor, and drugs.

The self-proclaimed cowboy. 

A champion in name, never in spirit. 

His life, a tragedy disguised as comedy.

What a fuckin’ joke, huh?

Right now, his wife's sleepin’ in Room 203 of The Meridian Hotel in Lisbon, but he’s not beside her. No, Daytona decided to tell her he was goin’ out with The Whoresmen for a night on the town ‘fore they waged war at Tropical Turmoil. That ain't where he went, though.

Daytona Diamonds, in all his infinite wisdom, never even left The Meridian.. He walked down the hall and got in the elevator. On the ninth floor, he made his way towards Room 905, knocked his knuckles on the door, and I’ll be damned if Vera Venturi weren’t on the other side, just waitin’ to let him in.

I’m sure I don’t gotta tell you what came next.

It’s moments like these that I like to think back to those few months when this dumbfuck got sober, sittin’ alone in a hotel room with grindin’ teeth and me whisperin’ in his ear, beggin’ him to find a line to snort, a glass to drain, a woman to fuck. Remember that night when he flushed his stash down the toilet?

I said it then and I’ll say it now: I’ll always be with him. 

No matter what. 

And now, just look at him. He’s layin’ there on that big ol’ bed in restless ecstasy, balls drained and nose stuffed with powder, glassy eyes watchin’ Vera as she crosses the room.

She says, “Another perfect night, mon ami.”

He don’t even know she’s lyin’.

It don’t matter that she’s lyin’.

“Like a goddang dream,” He says and he don’t know how ridiculous he sounds. “After my match, you best believe I'm comin' back here to celebrate. Keep them lines and fine ass comin', honey.”

“Mm, how lovely,” She says, on cue. “And what if you lose? Will you come here to lick your wounds instead?”

“Ain’t losin' to no fuckin’ hippie, honey,” He says, full of idiot pride. “Sage Pontiff is the king of ‘em. He’s gonna come out there stinkin’ like a goddang incense burner and I ain’t gonna get that smell outta my nose for weeks!”

He’s laughin’. He thinks he’s hilarious. He ain't.

“Hell, y’seen him, ain’tcha? He’s even got dreadlocks!” He says. “If you’re a white boy and you got dreadlocks, you’re either a limpdicked asshole who ain’t taken a bath in ten years or you’re singin' for the Countin’ Crows. Ain’t no inbetween!”

He trades in insults and barbs, wit replaced by reckless abandon. The louder he is, the more attention he gets. I taught him that from the get-go.

Vera’s smilin’ in spite of herself. For a moment, once you forget about the drugs and the cheatin’ and the lyin’ , this looks like an intimate portrait of the ideal relationship… and then there’s a knock at the door.

Daytona’s eyes start bulgin’. In a fit of panic, Daytona goes skitterin’ off the bed with the sheets still wrapped ‘round his waist, racin’ barefoot ‘cross the carpet to hide in the bathroom.

“Aw shit!”

He’s cursin’ and bellyachin’. He’s worried it might be Bambi, come to catch him in the act. Cocaine don't do nothin’ to help knife-sharp paranoia, whittlin’ away at your brain and makin’ it feel like all your worst fears are 'bout to come true.

Vera goes to open the door.

He thinks he can hear a man’s voice and Vera sayin' somethin', but he can’t be sure.

When he finally hears the door close, he breathes a sigh of what feels like relief, but he can’t be sure of that neither.

He peeks outta the bathroom. “Coast clear...? It weren’t Bambi, was it?”

“Non, it wasn’t your wife,” Vera says. “It was a man. He was looking for you, but he didn't say his name.”

“Lookin’ for me…?” He asks. “What, like paparazzi…? Some fan wanderin’ in off the streets…?”

“Non, I don't think so," Vera says. "An old friend, perhaps?”

“Shit, I ain’t got no old friends,” He says and he don’t realize how sad that sounds. “Naw, naw… it’s gotta be… fuck. Aw fuck!”

There it is again, that wanton paranoia.

“Is everything alright…?” Vera asks.

“It’s Sage fuckin’ Pontiff!” Daytona exclaims, rushin’ out of the bathroom and grabbin’ for his clothes. “Fuckin’ hippies! You can’t trust ‘em! He’s sendin’ his goons after me! Just like Charlie Manson and all them other crazy fucks!”

“Daytona, I think that you may be overrea—“

Go ahead and shut that shit down, cowboy.

“Nope, I fuckin’ ain’t,” He says, just like I told him to. “Sonuvabitch is tryna fuck me up 'fore our match! Motherfucker!”

“Daytona, perhaps we should–”

It’s too late. Daytona’s already stormin’ out of the room.

He don’t even know what kind of danger he’s really in.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇   II. Infinite Jest Fucksake.

So, there I was in a fancy-ass hotel, sneakin’ out of my mistress’ hotel room with bloodshot eyes and nerves shot to hell. I looked both ways ‘fore steppin’ out into the hallway, shoutin' back at Vera, “Love you, baby! Don’t worry. I’m gonna be fine!”

I didn’t believe that. There was an sense of impendin' doom comin’ on strong, barellin’ its way through my brain like a freight train on fire. The hallway was empty; nothin’ but me and the shadows. I decided I needed to make my way back down to my room, lock the door, and crawl into bed next to Bambi like nothin’ ever happened. If someone knocked on my door, hippie or otherwise, I’d greet ‘em with a kick in the nads.

That’s what we call a homefield advantage, baby.

I was jumpin’ at little noises and sniffin’ the air for the scent of patchouli or pot smoke, teeth grindin’, jaw clenchin’, just waitin’ for someone to sneak up behind me to put a knife in my back.

When I got to the elevators, I started to press the button to go down, but stopped myself. Hippies, despite their cultural and mental handicaps, are sneakier’n a snake in a room full of pool noodles. If I was a deranged hippie who was hired by a wrasslin’ hippie to kidnap, maim, and/or murder a cowboy in a hotel in Portugal, what would I do?

I’d wait for him in the goddang elevator. The fly, the spider, and the web.

I was caught in a trap. The walls were closin’ in and the fear was comin’ on strong. I started thinkin’ ‘bout that movie Die Hard and wonderin’ if I should rappel with a fire hose or go crawlin’ through the vents, but I figured takin’ the stairs was a better idea.

I pushed through the door to the stairwell, all concrete walls and echoin' noises. I started down the steps on quiverin’ legs, peekin’ over the railin’ to make sure there weren’t no hippies hidin’ in the corners waitin’ to jump out at me.

Halfway there, I heard a door openin’ up somewhere below me followed by footsteps comin’ up the stairs. I took off runnin’ like a bat outta hell through a nearby door and found myself on a whole ‘nother floor that looked just the same as the one I just came down from. I ran down that hall and dodged into an open door with a maid cart sittin’ out in front of it. Thank God, weren’t no maids inside, though.

When I heard the door out in the hallway open, I looked ‘round for a weapon, but all I could find was a electric iron tucked in the closet. I’d swing it ‘round by its cord and nail that fucker in the head with it, if it came down to it. I dove ‘neath one of the beds, crawlin’ up ‘neath it where there weren’t nothin’ but dustbunnies.

After that, the waitin’ was the hardest part.

I could hear footsteps walkin’ down the hall, growin’ louder the closer they got. I saw a shadow pass by the room and stop. Whoever it was walked into the room and started lookin’ ‘round, openin’ up the bathroom door and peekin’ in the closet. I could see a pair of dusty old dress shoes walkin’ by the bed. I was holdin’ my breath, ready to leap into action, but then…

He left. Just as quickly as he came.

I laid there ‘neath that bed for thirty minutes straight, holdin’ that iron close, tryna play it slow. Soon as I figured it was safe, I crawled out and made my way for the hall in a full fuckin’ sprint.

I didn’t even stop to check if anyone were ‘round. I rushed into the stairwell and sped down them stairs faster’n a rat up a drainpipe. When I made it to my floor, draggin’ the iron behind me by its cord, for a split second it felt like everything was gonna be fine, like I was safe and sound, like there weren’t nothin’ left to be worried about…

I ran up to Room 203 and started knockin’ hard, shoutin’ out loud, “Bambi, open the goddang door!”

The latch unlocked.

The doorknob turned.

It opened wide.

And then I heard the click of a gun’s hammer.

First thing I saw when I looked up was a gun pointin’ in my face and, lemme tell you, that takes a couple seconds to fully comprehend. The second thing I saw was a ghost from the past holdin’ that gun, ready to blow my goddang head off.

Hugo Alvarez, formerly Larry Lawson’s favorite thug and debt collector, was grinnin’ from ear to ear.

“Well, howdy, Daytona,” He said. “Been a while, huh? How about you come inside and let’s catch up? For old time’s sake.”

Fucksake…

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇   III. The Labouring Spider Every once in a while, the only thing you can do is think 'bout how absurd life is.

Like, on a grand scale. You were born into this world through no fault of your own, now you’re just an unconsentin’ witness to its whims, hurtlin’ headfirst into a future you can’t predict while the past is still nippin’ at your heels. You ain’t never got as much control as you might like to think and, even when things are goin’ right, one false move and they’re all gonna go wrong.

That’s it. That’s the joke. God’s favorite punchline.

I was sittin’ in a chair with my wrists tied up, a gag wrapped ‘round my mouth. Bambi was on the bed, hogtied and helpless, wrigglin’ through muffled screams while Hugo marched ‘round the room. He was all wide-eyed and frothin’ from the mouth, tremblin’ fingers never leavin’ the grip of his gun.

In a few brief minutes, me and Bambi would both be dead.

Suddenly, any thought of Sage Pontiff and his supposed band of maraudin’ hippies was the least of my worries.

“You ruined my fucking life, you son of a bitch,” Hugo said, teeth clenched and ragged mustache twitchin’ on his upper lip. “Everything! All of it!”

Hugo was a ball of rage, sickly thin with his bronze skin gone pale. His hair, always slicked back and combed so not a hair was out of place, was a mess of tangles and twisted curls. I’d known him for years and I’d never seen him look like such a fuckin’ mess.

“Bet you thought you were gonna get away with it, huh?” He muttered, comin’ up close to me with that gun outstretched. “You didn’t just kill Larry! You might as well have killed me! No job, no money, no purpose! And then you ran away from Vegas thinking I wouldn’t find you…? You fucking idiot!”

He pulled away and went back to pacin’. I looked over at Bambi and I saw her cryin’, eyes all red rimmed while tears drew little tributaries down her cheeks, curled up on her side with her arms behind her back and that pregnant belly stickin’ out. She didn’t deserve none of this. She didn’t deserve none of me. I wondered if, ‘neath all that undyin’ love, if she felt the same way Hugo was feelin’. Like I ruined her life. Like I fucked up her whole existence.

I wouldn’t’ve blamed her if she did.

“I’ve been watching you. Every single step,” Hugo said, flourishin’ out his arms as he approached the bed. “You’ve done well for yourself, Daytona. Got yourself a little lady. A baby on the way, right? Hell, you’re a champion! You even got sober! That’s not even mentioning your dirty little secrets, is it…?”

Hugo was grinnin’, but it was all wrong. Full of malice and hate. He stood next to Bambi, reachin' a hand down to stroke at her hair as her breath caught in her throat.

“She knows, right? That she married the devil?” He asked. “C’mon. She has to know. Did you tell her about the lottery ticket, Daytona? The one you stole? How about your sobriety? She knows you’ve fallen off the wagon, right? Don’t tell me she don’t know what you’ve been up to with that little minx you’ve got upstairs. Your talent agent? Did you know about her, Bambi?”

There’s moments in life that overturn the order of the soul. Those moments where everything changes and there ain’t a damn thing you can do to put it back the way it was. As soon as Hugo’s words made landfall with Bambi’s ears, those tears just started streamin’ harder. You could almost hear the heartbreak.

Hugo put the gun ‘gainst Bambi’s head.

“Don’t worry, Daytona,” He said. “How about we keep your secrets safe?”

I started strugglin’ in my chair.

He pulled back the hammer.

She closed her eyes real tight.

He put his finger on the trigger.

Time stood still. The world stopped spinnin'. Everything stopped and then...

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I just ‘bout jumped outta my skin, but it weren’t no gun goin’ off. It was someone knockin’ on the door. Hugo looked up, pullin’ the gun away from Bambi’s head, lip snarlin’. Three more knocks, harder this time, before Hugo finally sneered.

“Don't people know what a Do Not Disturb sign means?” He said. “Fine. Why don’t we see who it is?”

Hugo pressed himself up against the door, crackin’ it open just enough to peek out without givin’ the person on the other side the chance to peek in.

“...can I help you?” Hugo asked, voice drippin’ with contempt.

First thing I heard was her accent and then I knew things were ‘bout to go from bad to worse.

“Non, you can’t,” Vera said from the otherside of the door. “Who are you and where is Daytona Diamonds?”

“You must have the wrong room, lady,” Hugo said. “Nobody’s in here but little old me.”

“I do not have the wrong room,” Vera said. “You were looking for him last night. This is his room. Now, I ask again, where is he?”

“Goddammit,” Hugo muttered. “You just had to go and overcomplicate things...”

Suddenly, Hugo’s hand shot through the gap in the door. Hugo swung it open and pulled Vera through, slammin’ it shut behind him ‘fore he pressed the gun to the side of her head. Her eyes scanned the room. She saw me and Bambi, all tied up and mouths gagged. She must’ve seen the panic in my eyes too ‘cause, when she looked at me, all she did was smile. She didn’t move a muscle, though. Hugo stood behind her, one hand restin’ on her shoulder while the other held the gun, a quiverin’ finger sittin’ on the trigger, just waitin’ for an excuse to push it down.

“Put away your gun,” Vera said calmly. “I do not know who you are, but we can go about this in a civilized manner.”

“No can do, princess,” Hugo said. “I know who you are. Daytona’s new whore, right?”

“I assure you, I’m no whore,” She said. “Let’s have a proper introduction, non? My name is Vera Venturi. I work for Tomcat Talent Agency. Daytona is my client. And you are?”

“Fuck you,” He told her. “Your client ruined my life, you know that?”

“How dreadful,” Vera said. “You are a ghost from his past then? Did you work for Mr. Lawson? Daytona's told me about those days... Please, what is your name?"

“I'm Hugo fucking Alvarez and don't you forget it,” He said, voice gettin’ louder. “Don’t try that smooth talk bullshit with me. This is about sweet revenge, honey.”

“Ah yes, revenge,” Vera said. “And what if I told you there are some things that are sweeter?”

“...what the hell are you talking about?” Hugo asked. “Jesus, Daytona. You sure do know how to pick ‘em, don’t you? Whores and psychos.”

Vera smiled. I winced.

“I’m talking about gainful employment, Mr. Alvarez,” She said. “Mr. Diamonds is at the precipice of becoming a superstar, non? And with that superstardom, he’ll surely need protection. You could be that protector.”

Reckon that caught Hugo off guard, brows furrowin’ and eyes glancin’ back and forth ‘tween Vera and me. Reckon it confused me too. I couldn’t figure what sorta game Vera was playin’, but she seemed to know what she was doin’. I looked over at Bambi, but she had her eyes closed tight. That’d be how I’d remember her; a mess of tears and devastation, her whole life fallin’ apart all ‘cause of me.

“What, you want me to be his bodyguard…?” Hugo asked, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! I ain’t working for that sonuvabitch!”

“You won’t be working for him. You’ll be working for me,” Vera said. “What will murdering any of us achieve, Mr. Alvarez? A jail cell? A death sentence? That is not revenge. That is a fool’s reward.”

I could practically hear the gears turnin’ in Hugo’s head, all gummed up by hatred and spite. Slowly, even if he was unsure of himself, he lowered the gun from Vera’s head. “...and what's in it for me?"

“Consider it a chance to start anew,” Vera said, already dippin’ her hand into her purse to pull out her business card. “You will be well paid, of course. Even more, you’ll be treated with the respect you so clearly deserve. As brash and brazen as you may be, it is always better to keep your enemies close, non? Do we have a deal…?”

She handed Hugo her card. Hugo looked down at it and, I swear to God, that sonuvabitch had tears in his eyes.

“I… I need to think about this,” He said. “I’ve been struggling ever since... ever since that sonuvabitch...”

“Shh, shh,” Vera whispered. “No need to explain, Mr. Alvarez. Now, shall we untie my client and his wife?”

A few minutes later, Hugo was untyin’ Bambi while Vera was workin’ on me. She ungagged my mouth and I looked at her with daggers in my eyes, keepin’ my voice low, “What the hell are you doin’...?! He's a goddang psychopath!”

“When life gives you lemon, you must make lemonade,” Vera said. “For now, you are safe. Is that not enough?”

I sneered. I didn’t like it, but I didn't have much of a choice. When it was all said and done, Vera led Hugo out of the room, talkin’ ‘bout her plans for him and how his particular puzzle piece fit into the grand scheme of things. Bambi and I sat alone in that hotel room, her on the edge of the bed and me in the chair. Neither of us said a word for a real long time. We didn’t even look at eachother. We just sat there in the silence, bidin’ our time, waitin’ for the other to shatter it all to pieces.

“...is it true?” She finally asked. “What he said? Are you doing drugs again, Daytona? Are you… are you sleeping with Vera…?”

I didn't say nothin' at first. Honestly, what was there to say? Maybe it was a reckonin'. Maybe my chickens were finally comin' home to roost. Denial weren't gonna get me nowhere. We was past all that.

"Well..." I started, tryna think of the right words to say, but there weren't no right words. "Yeah... Yeah, Bambi, it's true..."

Any composure Bambi might've had broke into pieces. At first, she was weepin', and then, she was angry. She stood up and she spat right in my face, cussin' and screamin' and callin' me every name in the goddang book. I sat there and took it. I deserved it and I knew that. I even sat there as she got dressed in a frenzy, packed up all her things, and went stormin' out the room bound for God knows where.

I didn't chase after her.

I didn't tell her to stop.

I didn't even apologize.

I just sat and watched her disappear while I waded 'round in all my wreckage.