BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 301 back door Frenchy asked if we were taking him with us. I said no, I thought he was passed out. We were all standing outside a few minutes later, getting in that one last lie or joke before weaving down the road to go home. I only had a mile or so to drive, so I wasn‟t worried. Don‟t know why I wasn‟t, since I was drunk, but I was all copasetic, anyway. Frenchy must‟ve shaken the asshole awake. Either he never noticed the gash in his brown hair, or he didn‟t care, because shithead soon came stumbling out the same door we just used. Believe it or not, this asshole was still mad! <strong>At</strong> me! He came swaggering over toward us. The guys I was with all faded back to give us room in the event we‟d start fighting. Then the asshole made his problem known. “You took my fuckin‟ knife!” I couldn‟t help laughing. “Yeah, asshole, I did. This is the third one I‟ve gotten that way.” What I said was true, but nobody ever had the balls to accuse me of stealing when I disarmed them after they attacked me. “I want it back, motherfucker! Gimme my fuckin’ knife!” “Asshole, are you out of your mind? You tried to kill me with your lousy fuckin‟ knife, and now you want it back?” “You heard me, you prick!” He bunched up his shoulders, maybe to scare me and make me give in. I had to laugh. This was too funny to believe. Finally, with all the other guys laughing as well, I told him, “C‟mon, motherfucker, take it away from me if you‟re so fuckin‟ bad. Come an‟ get it.” I pulled it from my pocket to taunt him. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 302 “Give it back!” he demanded. “Fuck you,” I explained. Things kept getting better by the second. Now he started crying, sobbing about how it was the only one he‟d ever get and he wouldn‟t be taking another vacation to Mexico soon, so he had to have his knife back. “Okay,” I told him, “here‟s what I‟m willing to do for ya.” I shifted the closed switchblade to my left hand and started walking toward him. His eyes were glued to the knife, and his hands began rising, as if he‟d just take it back, no harm, no foul. When he reached for it, I jerked my left hand back and sent a jarring right cross into his jaw. He did that “sack of cement thing” again and flopped to the ground. I faced the guys, a huge grin on my face. “Can you even believe just how stupid some people can be?” Then I got in my car and left. I never saw that Mama‟s boy again, and can‟t even recall what I might‟ve done with the knife. I carried a straight razor by that time, so I probably tossed it in a drawer and forgot about it. There was one more noteworthy event that occurred at the Willow Bar. It was when I was nineteen, so I must‟ve been back home between road trips down south. I went in one night when the party I was at died down, shortly after one. As soon as I came in I recognized some guys I barely knew, but enjoyed drinking with. They looked like typical bikers. Early 20s through late 30s, enough grease on any head of hair to lubricate a half dozen cars. Black leather jackets and leather pants, or blue jeans so oil encrusted they almost looked like leather. Tattoos beyond imagination, dark glasses in a dark bar, and a general look of griminess. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Post Office Box 567 San L
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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