Peace World

By Michael Todd Maley

Six longtime patrons of Buck's Bar compete for free drinks and a little money in a story writing contest. Their humorous and insightful narratives abound with memorable personalities, surprising twists, and captivating dialogue. Though the old regulars' stories differ in tone and genre, they all find their combined and ultimate resolution in a delightfully alluring place known as Peace World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667833392

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the shady dive known as Buck’s Bar the aged regulars’ conversation meandered, with much flagging, in and around their favorite themes: sex, alcohol, money, and impending death.

Hold on, I wasn’t listening. You got that cut on your head how? Dancing? an old guy named Doug Durn asked.

No, dumbass, Stan Rambis, another old guy said. I was at a karaoke bar in Bemoings.

So you’re going to other bars now, Rambis? the bartender, many years-and-wrinkles younger and prettier than any Buck’s customer in months, said. Were their pours as generous and tasty as mine? She blinked her eyes and moved her hands vaguely near what she thought of as her tasty parts.

No, Belonda, no one’s pours are as generous and tasty as yours, Rambis said. Not even close.

I wish I had her pores, an old gal named Paula Edgel said. Small and tight.

I don’t mind your pores, Belonda, but you got other assets even better than your pores, Durn said.

Hold on, I’m all confused now, an old guy playing by himself at the pool table said. His name was Todd Condo. How’re you spelling that in your heads?

Spelling what? an old gal named Bea Natori said.

Pores.

How do you think it’s spelled? the Bea said.

I don’t know. Why I’m asking.

There was a pause in the conversation as befuddlement wafted about like sad perfume. They watched Belonda slicing lemons and limes and took sips of their drinks. Steely Dan came quietly through bad speakers. Pool balls cracked behind them, and the oldsters at the counter tensed.

Hey, break a little quieter, Condo, Rambis said without turning to face the man at the pool table. I’m still waking up.

Talk to Belonda about it, Condo said. I’ve been telling her she needs to get softer balls. These are too loud.

He’s always trying to get me to talk about how hard the balls are, Belonda said. Or how sticky the sticks are. Or how tight the holes are. But I don’t take the bait. I just say, ‘Huh,’ and then he forgets what he was talking about.

Hey what’s-your-name, I can still hear you, Condo said.

So why’d you go to a karaoke bar? Durn said. Not enough crap on tv?

I went to drink, and there was a guy singing a disco song. ‘I Will Survive’, I think. Or ‘Gloria’.

Why’d you go there? Avoiding someone here?

Rambis raised an eyebrow. Maybe avoiding everyone here. Except for Belonda and her generous pours.

Oh, I know why! an old gal named Kay Barnes said with a smile. He was on a date! Was it Lenora from Home Do-It?

No, it wasn’t Lenora, Rambis said. Someone else.

Who? Durn asked.

Yeah, Rambis, who’s your new sugar momma? Belonda asked.

Just someone I met and won’t be seeing again, he said.

Couldn’t get it up? Condo said from the pool table.

Didn’t even try. She found another ride home.

There were knowing looks between the gals and knowing nods from the guys, and they all took meditative draughts of alcohol surmising the end of Rambis’s evening at the karaoke bar.

So are you going to tell us what happened at the karaoke bar? Paula asked.

Yeah, why’d she go home with someone else? Bea said. Did you try to get her to pay?

Was it your breath? Condo said.

Toilet paper on your shoe? Durn said.

Your weird little finger? Kay said.

Whatever, Rambis said then took a drink. If you don’t want to hear what happened, then keep asking stupid questions.

Okay, we’ll stop, Bea said. I want to know where you met this lady who went home with someone else.

Well, I’ll need someone to buy me another drink so I don’t run out mid-story, Rambis said.

The oldsters looked at one another, then Durn said, Belonda, get Rambis another GT. Then quietly he said, And put it on Condo’s tab.

I heard that, Condo said, and I don’t care where Rambis was or who he was with or how that cut on his head makes him even uglier. Don’t put it on my tab, Belonda.

Belonda was already in the middle of pouring Rambis’s drink, and she stopped mid-pour and gave Durn the stink eye. Then she poured the drink the rest of the way and said, Durn, you’re paying for this.

Durn shook his head and turned to Condo at the pool table. How’d you even hear me, Condo? You have the ears of a five-year-old.

And the maturity level, an old gal said. She accepted high fives from the gals next to her.

Rambis took a sip of his GT and began his story. I was behind her in line at a Stoppy-Mart. She was buying smokes and breath mints, and she turned around and caught me staring at her ass. So I smiled charmingly and—

Show us what that looks like—the charming smile, Bea said. I haven’t seen that one.

Yeah, or the sexy one, Paula said.

We only ever see the one that looks like your underwear’s too tight, Kay said.

Rambis stared coldly at them. You want to hear the story or not?

Oh, just tell it, Belonda said. We’re waiting.

Rambis took another sip of his GT and began again. So I said, ‘Nice pants,’ and she said, ‘You look like one of my high school teachers,’ and I said, ‘Maybe I was. Where’d you go to school?’ and she said—

Okay, move it along Charles Dickens. We’re old, Bea said.

Rambis paused to give her a cold look. Turns out she was a former student of mine from when I was in my twenties. She asked if I wanted to go to the karaoke place.

Did you sing anything? Durn asked.

Ha. So when I got there, Sherie and her friends were at a table by the stage, Rambis said.

Friends? Durn said hopefully.

Two other women she works with at some hair place in Bemoings.

What place? What’s the name? Bea asked.

How should I know? And I thought you didn’t want the Charles Dickens version, Rambis said.

She acknowledged his point with a nod and a please continue hand gesture.

So I sit down and get a drink—which wasn’t as generous and tasty as yours, Belonda, like I said. It was drag night and all the singers had to be wearing drag to get a chance to sing. If I knew it was drag night, I would’ve—

You would’ve worn a dress? Condo said.

I would’ve stayed home, Rambis said. "They all sang disco songs. And after the girls bought me my second drink, there’s a guy who gets up to sing, and he’s wearing a tight dress and high-heel clogs and a Tina Turner wig, and he starts singing really loud and dancing like he’s trying to make his dress fall off. I had my back to the stage because the girls left me that seat, and suddenly I hear a crash and a light goes out and then two tables away a bunch of drinks get spilled and there’s broken glass everywhere. Everyone’s looking around like, ‘What’s happening?’ and one of the girls said the guy in the Tina Turner wig kicked one of his clogs off and it flew up and broke a light and came down on that table where all the glasses broke.

But the Tina Turner guy kept singing and dancing lopsided because his other clog was still on. Everyone was waiting for him to stop singing so they could clean up the mess, but he wouldn’t stop, just kept singing and high kicking. Then something hit my head and I woke up on the floor.

Condo guffawed. Was it the guy’s clog? You got knocked out by a guy-in-drag’s clog?

Rambis nodded grimly and took a drink.

There were titters and more guffaws as Belonda and the oldsters pictured the scene.

But I got free drinks for the rest of the night after I promised not to sue, Rambis said.

What happened to the Tina Turner guy? Paula said. Did he kiss it and make it better?

They said he ran out the side door, Rambis said. They let me keep his wig. I guess it came off when he ran away. Like I said, we got free drinks the rest of the night. They asked if I wanted to keep the clog that knocked me out, but I said no.

Where’s the wig? Durn asked.

In my truck.

It’s like Cinderella, Bea said. Now you can take the wig to all the villages in the kingdom and have every eligible bachelor try the wig on to see who it fits.

You guys hear about that Bankies player who died sliding into home? Condo asked.

This information was met with reposed drinking.

Necklace tragedy, Condo continued. Three huge gold chains, but the one that killed him was a plastic tiny-barbie-on-a-string necklace his daughter made him. Barbie’s pointy feet punctured his neck artery and he bled out on the field.

Bullshit, Rambis said. I didn’t hear anything about that.

This is just one of your stupid made up stories, isn’t it? Kay said. Like when you said scientists found out that heavy parasites prevent birds from flying into outer space.

And how they keep all the former Presidents’ brains in jars in the white house basement.

And how a former terrorist changed his name to Balsama Ben-Loggins and runs a pig farm near Porlando.

And how the government is at the mercy of the dark web and witches.

Condo went back to his pool game. You people don’t recognize a narrative genius when you hear it.

Narrative genius? Bea said. More like a lying idiot.

Which proves my geniusness, because geniuses are always treated like idiots and witches until science catches up with us. Alfred Einstein, Richard Newton, Lando Calrissian, C-3PO, and all the rest. We’re all treated badly until science finds out we’re right about everything we said.

Stupid.

Stupid like a fox.

That’s not a saying.

Maybe it is now.

No it’s not.

Maybe.

They all drank to the muffled sounds of The Doors, including Condo, who then began to line up a shot but desisted and said, You critics think you’re such literary authorities, maybe we should have a story contest.

Yeah, right, Kay said. Who besides you would be in the contest?

What’s the winner get? Durn asked.

Free drinks and pool for the rest of your life, Condo said. And five minutes in the make-out closet with Belonda.

Wait a second, Belonda said. Henry and Ruth won’t do the first part, and I won’t do the last part.

Henry and Ruth’re always trying to get new customers, Rambis said. Maybe you could advertise the contest, open it up to any customers.

Oh yeah, Belonda said. People would come from all over the world to take part in the big story contest at Buck’s Bar.

Well, it’s better than that stupid corn hole contest they had where Ruth made the beanbags that fell apart in the second round, Rambis said.

Or the napkin art contest, Bea said.

Some of the worst porn I’ve ever seen, Durn said. I still can’t get Paula’s disgusting drawing out of my head.

Paula laughed harshly. Yeah, that was fun. Belonda, where is my winning drawing?

Belonda shook her head. Henry and Ruth made me take it down. Henry said it made him want to puke every time he accidentally looked at it. I think it’s still in a drawer in the back.

Leave it there, Rambis said.

Burn it, Durn said.

The after-work crowd began moseying into the bar, and the oldsters took their leave. They would be back in two days, on Thursday, and then again on Saturday, always in the afternoon, never staying more than a couple hours. They had been regulars three days a week for years now, making all their various appointments and commitments on other days.

Belonda talked to Henry and Ruth about the oldsters’ idea about a story contest, and Henry responded positively. I’d like to see what those old guys come up with, he had said. And Paula. She could probably tell some entertaining stories. Ruth said she was always up for a new idea.

So when they came back on Thursday, Belonda told them the story contest was on. This information was greeted with enthusiasm from Condo.

What’d Henry say about the free drinks for a lifetime thing? Condo asked.

He said no, Belonda said. But he said if you all put ten bucks into a pot, he would add fifty dollars worth of drinks to it. You could end up with free drinks for a month.

Durn said, A month? Maybe a week.

What about the free pool? Condo asked. And the five minutes in the make-out closet with you?

Nope, just the alcohol, Belonda said. What do you think? You want to have a contest?

Yes we do, Condo said then hit a ball in a pocket. And we can just stick a pin in the free pool and make-out closet.

Sure, you do that, Belonda said. But you can’t have a contest with just you. Anyone else want to do this? Kay? Bea? Doug? You guys want to do this story contest thing? Rambis? Paula?

Tell you what, Condo said walking over with his pool cue and putting $10 on the counter, I’ll buy a drink for anyone right now who puts their money in.

Oh, you’re so sure you’re gonna win, Condo? Durn said. I’ll put my money in, and I’ll take that drink now, if you don’t mind, Belonda.

Wait a second, Rambis said. "What’re the rules? Do we have to write it, or can we just tell it?

How long’s it have to be? Kay asked.

Are there other prizes for second or third?

Who judges?

Belonda shrugged and took Durn’s and Condo’s money then poured Durn’s drink. That’s up to you guys.

Condo said, We have to write them out. All the judges would have to be here for all the stories if we just say them out loud. Too many problems that way.

Okay, Bea said, but what about the judges? It needs to be people who at least like to read.

The others nodded their agreement.

Belonda said, Henry and Ruth and I all want to read whatever you write, so we could judge. And Jake and Rosa could too.

What kind of genre’s do you all like, Belonda? Condo asked. I don’t want to write an award winning thriller if you all like romances or family dramas.

I like fantasies and sci-fi, Belonda said, and I know Jake does too because we share books sometimes. Henry doesn’t read a lot but he likes westerns. I’m not sure about Ruth or Rosa.

Ruth likes romances, Kay said. The steamy kind.

The only good kind of romance, Paula said. The steamy kind.

They all sipped their drinks and imagined steamy things, like steam from a teapot or steam from a hot shower, but most had trouble envisioning romantic scenarios within the steam.

What if Bea and I want to write one together? Kay asked.

The others shrugged.

Kay looked at Bea. What do you say? Co-authors?

Bea nodded. Sure. Bea looked at Paula. You want in, or do you even want to do this?

Oh, I’m doing this, Paula said with a half smile. But I’ll do my own. You wouldn’t want to be associated with the kind of perverted steaminess that I’ll write.

Rambis choked on his GT.

When do we need to be done? Durn asked.

Two weeks, Condo said.

This was met with some grunts of resistance and disparagement.

Maybe two months, Bea said.

They agreed that two months would be ample time to conjure up some stories. Those who hadn’t added their entry fees to Belonda’s stack anted up, and Belonda poured drinks and popped tops for them on Condo’s tab.

Condo said, Hold on, Belonda. Since Bea and Kay only put ten in for both of them, they have to share a drink. Or make each of them a half drink.

Belonda shook her head and gave him a look. Always the gentleman, Condo.

You are a cheap bastard, Bea said. I’m pulling out of the contest unless Condo buys me and Kay our own drinks.

Kay nodded in agreement, and Belonda looked a question at Condo, who rubbed his chin and squinted like an asshole for a few seconds. When he began to feel the heat of their impatience, he said, Okay, Belonda, get the grifters their own drinks.

The next week Rosa was bartending. She informed the group that she wasn’t much of a reader but looked forward to reading their stories, also disclosing that she enjoyed futuristic movies.

Condo walked over from the pool table to get a drink.

Who’s winning, Condo? Rosa asked.

Me, as usual.

Because you don’t play other people, Durn said.

Doesn’t matter. Condo put money down for his drink and took a sip. I’m the best player I know, and I always beat me.

Life isn’t a competition, Rambis said. It’s a realization.

Oh, who is this wise man in our midst? Bea said.

Is that what your mom told you whenever you lost? Condo asked.

That’s what she told me the one time I lost, Rambis said. Never lost again.

Except for your hair, Bea said.

And your memory of all the other times you lost, Durn said.

Condo returned to hitting balls around the pool table.

How is everyone doing on their stories? Paula asked. I got about ten pages now.

What? Kay looked incredulous. How many pages are you planning to write? I was thinking we’d all write about ten pages total.

How can you tell a story in ten pages? Paula said. Each of my sex scenes is ten pages long.

Sex scenes? What? a younger man in a blue work jacket with Bob embroidered on it said as he walked up to the counter.

Hey, Booby, Rosa said.

Hey, Rosie cheeks, Bob said sitting on a stool. A moment later two more men in similar work jackets came in and sat on stools. One was embroidered with Dwayne and the other with Bill.

Hey, Dwayne, Bill, Rosa said pouring both men beers.

Hey, Rosa, they said.

Bob took a drink and said, Paula’s making a porno.

Dwayne and Bill looked at Paula. Need any help? Dwayne asked.

It’s not a porno, Paula said. But you can help. Pull your pants down so I can see what we’re working with.

Dwayne pretended to fumble with his fly for a moment then stopped. Wait a second. How much you payin?

I’m not paying anything, Paula said. But if you want in, it’ll cost you ten.

Dwayne frowned. Wait, what? Are you for real? You’re charging people ten bucks to be in your porno? That sounds like a smart business plan. Good way to bypass all the illegality of getting paid for sex. Just tell the cops it’s not prostitution, it’s a movie.

Yeah, Bob said and looked slyly at Rosa. Is Rosie cheeks in it? I’ll pay ten to be in a porno with Rosie cheeks.

You give me the ten, Booby, and we’ll call it even for you being such a lousy tipper, Rosa said.

Lousy tipper? Bea said. You have to tip to be a lousy tipper.

Rosa gave her a high five.

Okay, seriously, Dwayne said, what’re you talkin about? Ten dollars to be in a porno? What were you all talkin about before we got here?

The oldsters got quiet and sipped their drinks, none wanting to admit to being in a story contest.

Buck’s is having a story contest, Rosa said, and they were talking about that.

A story contest? Bob snorted. Never heard of somethin like that.

Well, it involves reading and writing, so maybe that’s why, Durn said.

Bob looked at Durn. What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t read?

Not necessarily, Durn said. Just some people don’t like reading and writing.

Appeased, Bob took a drink of beer. Has Henry cleaned the keg lines lately? This tastes kind of weird.

Rosa looked at Dwayne and Bill. You guys taste anything weird?

Bill shook his head, and Dwayne took a drink and smacked his lips. Tastes like beer.

Rosa looked at Bob and raised an eyebrow.

Well, I don’t know, Bob said. Maybe you stuck your finger in it after cutting onions or something.

That sounds good, Rambis said.

Yeah, Rosa, Condo said while aiming a shot, I’d like some onion finger in my drink too.

Me too, Durn said.

Me three, Rambis said.

How much do you charge for an onion finger drink? Kay asked.

I didnt charge Booby anything, Rosa said.

You gave him a free onion finger? Condo said. That doesn’t seem fair. I want some free onion finger.

Me too.

Me three.

Rosa stuck her finger in Durn’s and Rambis’s drinks. There, you happy?

Both men tasted their drinks.

You sure that was onion on your finger? Rambis asked.

Mine tastes kind of cinnamony, Durn said.

Condo walked up and held his drink out to Rosa. I want some of that sweet oniony cinnamon finger of yours too.

Rosa stuck her finger in his drink and Condo tasted it. Mmm. That’s some good oniony cinnamon finger, with a hint of woody undertones. Very poignant.

Chapter 2

More hair was lost and veins became more varicose as the weeks passed, and then the deadline arrived. The Buck’s Bar story contestants gave copies of their stories to Belonda on a Thursday so that she could print enough copies for everyone. The following Tuesday Belonda handed out copies of the stories to the contestants, telling them that Henry and Ruth would choose a winner in a couple months.

I can’t wait to go in the make-out closet with you, Belonda, Condo said. I guess you’re pretty excited too, huh?

Oh my yes, Belonda said sotto voce. I can’t wait. You should go in there now and start waiting for me.

Really? Condo asked.

Don’t do that to the poor creep, Belonda, Bea said. He could go in there and never find his way out.

Would that be such a bad thing? Kay asked.

The smell? Bea said.

Hold on, Condo said. My corpse will not decay or smell thanks to my age-defying moisturizers and rigorous pill taking regimen.

And the alcohol, Durn said helpfully.

Yes, and the alcohol! Condo said with a triumphant fist in the air.

He could be a tourist attraction, Rambis said. Come see the mummy in the closet.

Henry might call that a win-win, Belonda said.

Hold on, since I’m coming up with all these great ideas to drum up business for Henry, I think I should be compensated, Condo said from the pool table. I mean, first the story contest, and now the idea about being a tourist attraction mummy in the closet when I die. I should get free drinks and Belonda make-out closet time every day if you ask me. Like a reverse mortgage situation, since I won’t be able to collect when I’m a mummy.

Satisfied with his proposal, Condo went back to hitting balls around the pool table.

He needs a mute button, Kay said.

Or a shock collar, Durn said.

Or directions to another bar, Rambis said.

I can hear you, Condo said.

They know, Belonda said.

At least you still like me, Belonda. Thanks for being my friend and my future make-out partner, and possibly much more if you play your cards right.

Yeah, I’m unsure about any of that, but you’re welcome.

I think we should all start reading Condo’s story first so we can start giving him shit about it right away, Durn said.

That’s a good idea, Doug, Paula said.

Rambis said, Durn comes up with a good one every so often.

Like a chimp with a keyboard, Paula said.

It was agreed that Condo’s would be the first story they would read.

Stan, King of the Future

By Todd Condo

The newscaster looked off her game this morning. Her hair was a little lopsided, her makeup sloppy. But it was her panicky face that revealed actual news was being cast, not politics or some other bullshit. This looked like actual news.

Kay, turn up the volume please.

I will, Stan, if you lift your foot for me so I can put your other sock on, she said.

Stan looked up from the chest media screen just above Kay’s shapely breasts into her camera array, which looked like human eyes. Kay, I don’t want to negotiate with you right now. I just want you to turn up the volume. This looks important. The newscaster’s panicky face was joined on the screen by a video showing a huge purple mass obstructing an intersection downtown.

I/’m sorry that you don’t want to negotiate, but your body—hip flexors included—needs daily strengthening activities, and this is an easy one. Kay tapped his calf twice gently. Come on, handsome. Up with the foot.

Another video on Kay’s chest screen was showing purple masses the size of restaurants falling from the sky and landing in random places all over the world. Stan wanted to reach up and manually control the volume on her chest screen. But there were no manual controls, and he wasn’t paying a hacker to make that adjustment and break his warranty agreement. And he definitely wasn’t going to give in to her. That would just make her strengthen her game of control with him. No, he needed to keep his foot down.