EYEHEARTZOMBIES

I spent that day in my rooms. I didn’t feel like seeing anyone, and I was a little paranoid. I felt that every woman was carrying a gun. Every guy seemed to be planning something against me. It was all I could do to sit and eat dinner in the restaurant that night. I had spent most of the day sleeping, the rest going over what had happened the night before. It still didn’t make sense to me.

I sat and ate dinner in the restaurant, then decided I needed to force myself to enjoy the company of others. I found a table in the back of the lounge and moved it so I was sitting with my back against the back wall. Frank Sinatra was performing that night; a favor to Sonny. There was no way I was going to miss this.

Ol’ Blue Eyes came out on stage and he owned the room. It was packed with people. All of the tables were filled, with extra seats in the aisles and lining the sides of the room. He sang and crooned for an hour or so, then Dean Martin joined him on stage. The two of them bounced jokes off of each other and sang a few more songs together. Frank left the stage to take a break and Dean did a few solo numbers and told a few more jokes. Finally Frank came back on stage and Dean left again. Frank did another song or two and then the show was over. The curtain fell and the house lights came up. Everyone applauded. I slipped out and headed back up to my room.

In my room, I poured myself a couple more drinks, then, most of the way to sauced-ville, I lay down in my clothes and fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, I called Sonny and told him I wanted another day or two off to figure out what was going on and to get back to normal. “No problem, kid. No problem. Take all the time you need.” He hung up the phone and I took another shower.

There’s nothing worse than the sticky feeling of being in the clothes you drunk yourself under the table in. And that’s even worse the next day when you wake up in them. I peeled the shirt and pants off, rolled my socks and underwear down and stood in the shower letting the cool water hit me for five minutes.

Then I switched to hotter water and washed thoroughly. I still felt like I couldn’t get all the of the sand off of me. I felt coated in the stuff, all grainy and somehow shiny. It was a horrible feeling, but the shower helped.

After I toweled off and dressed again, I decided to call Manny. He’d know what was going on and who it was that wanted me dead. He wasn’t home, so I tried the casino. Max answered.

“Hey, Max. It’s me.”

“Wh - What’re you doing? Uh. I mean, I thought you were going to the ocean.” Max sounded surprised.

“Yeah, that kind of fell through. Listen, is Manny around? I need him to find someone for me. Or, rather, find out about someone for me. Anyway, is he there?” I was tired and the effort of communicating my thoughts to someone was almost too much.

“No. No, he’s not here,” Max said, still a bit surprised or nervous. “Have you tried his house?”

“Yeah. First try. No one’s home there, either.” I sighed. “Listen, whenever he gets in, tell him to give me a call.” I gave Max the number for my room at the hotel. He recited it back to me and we hung up.