It’s 10 AM in Key West, Florida, February 1986. Lucia, Henry’s Cuban wife, brings him a letter and a pitcher of Mojitos saying,
darling, you might need a drink.
She'd taken Henry's special delivery letter from the postman's hands, opening, then reading it.
As he pours the mix into a tall cocktail glass a clump of fresh mint leaves falls into it, making a splash.
After sipping his drink he pulls the letter out of the already opened envelope, it reads,
Dear Mr. Lucowski,
I'm writing to inform you that your employment with HEADBANGER Magazine as a columnist is terminated because of a 65% drop in your readership. I have enclosed a check for $550.00, the balance owed you as of August 3, 1986.
Sincerely,
Jing Fug Yu
Cashier
HEADBANGER Magazine
The termination letter was business-like and to the point. He wasn’t expecting a gold watch, but, his editor Dave Spleen could have called and personally delivered the dire news considering Henry had been a columnist at the Big Apple rag for 10 years.
In the interest of moving on, he will propose a road trip to this year's Mardi Gras to Lucia and Summer Wynd.
He and the girls crowd onto the Vespa and ride a short way to the Moondog Cafe in downtown Key West, it's across the road from Dog Beach.
After parking on the sidewalk, they walk inside the Moondog Cafe and sit in a booth. The restaurant is in a plantation-style house, with everything imaginable hung on the walls— fishing rods, surfboards, mounted sailfish, flags, even a few stuffed animals. A waitress with pink hair, wearing jeans and a black tank top comes to the table and hands out menus, they order a pitcher of Bud Light and she says,
OK, take your time I’ll be back for your order later. As she walks away Henry stirs things up saying,
our waitress has armpit hair long enough to braid, it’s inappropriate, unappetizing. Lucia jumps on him saying,
you’re a hypocrite, if she was wearing short shorts, without panties, showing her pussy when she bent over, would you complain pendejo?
oh, that’s different, pussy is appetizing,
the girls don’t laugh and Summer Wynd says,
we are going to stop shaving our pussies and armpits, it’s an awful ritual, it hurts. We don’t care what you think Henry.
go ahead and do what you want with your armpits and pussies.
the waitress with hairy armpits returns to take their order, Henry stares at her hairy armpits as Lucia orders,
we’ll have a seared tuna blue cheese salad, a greek pizza, broiled catfish, a bowl of coleslaw, and keep the pitchers of Bud coming, as the punk waitress disappears Henry comments,
she should color her armpits pink like her hair, Lucia's annoyed saying,
shut up Henry let’s change the subject, what about the trip to New Orleans,
Here's how it will go down. Lucia rolls her eyes and says,
si senor general,
we'll drop the Chis and Pedro the woodpecker off at The Wag Inn after lunch so we can get an early start. The next morning we'll ice down the Coleman cooler and fill it with beer and sodas. Let’s pack light, blue jean shorts, Ts, straw cowboy hats, swimsuits, rubber slippers, stuff you can clean in the hotel sink and hang on a shower rod to dry. We'll fill my Boy Scout duffle bag with everything we need.
The punk waitress serves the food, then brings another pitcher of beer. The tribe's on their 4th pitcher, it goes down easy, they're not wasted, just bloated.
Ravenous, they finish every bite of food. The hairy armpits didn't hinder their appetites. Henry pays, outside they squeeze onto the Vespa, he’s sandwiched between the girls. Lucia drives home slowly, driving carefully so they don't fall. They're off-balance as Henry goes on and on about Mardi Gras, waving his hands about, looking foolish.
After parking the Vespa, the girls go inside the bungalow and collect the pets. Henry pulls his 75 Chevy Malibu Wagon out of the garage. They drive to TheWag Inn, parking and going inside. Pedro is perched on Lucia’s shoulder and the Chis follow walking like they're marching.
Inside The Wag Inn, Henry pays for 1 week, 250 dollars, pricy, but it was the most luxurious pet hotel in the Keys. Lucia tells the attendant to allow the Chis swim when they like and to let Pedro fly free every day, assuring the receptionist he'd return because of his bond with Che y Mia.
When they get home Henry stops in the driveway, lets the girls out, and parks in the wooden garage.
In the garage, he gets out of the car and wheels underneath it on a car slide. With great effort, he removes the drain plug that has worn threads, draining the oil into a metal pan, ratcheting a new bolt in, then filling the engine with synthetic oil that will lubricate the pistons, rings, springs, and valve stems
Inside the bungalow, the girls pack, finishing in 20 minutes. They'll ice up and load the Coleman cooler in the morning.
That night the tribe stays home, ordering Chinese food from Kum Den, eating out of the containers with chopsticks as they watch Mr. Ed and Bonanza reruns on TV. Lucia loves Mr. Ed, believing the affable horse was trained to talk. No one could tell her otherwise, Henry and Summer Wynd loved her, careful not to dash her fanciful notions about Mr. Ed.
Summer Wynd wakes everyone at 5 AM, they load the cooler with beer, cokes, dry soda and roll a dozen joints of Acapulco Gold, sticky bud, smelling and smoking sweet like candy.
The tribe loads the boot of the station wagon with their collectively packed duffle bag and the cooler. Summer Wynd locks the bungalow door and gets in the car, then Henry backs out of the driveway taking White Street to Highway 1, driving north.
It’s a 17-hour drive from Key West to New Orleans. Mardi Gras was 6 days away on February 15. Henry had reserved a room at The Saint James Hotel on Canal Street for a week. The property is composed of 4 Creole townhouses with an ornate gated walkway running outside the rooms where guests gather and rain beads onto street level at Fat Tuesday party goers.
As Henry drives north on Highway 1, Lucia opens the car's windows so the sea breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico can buffet through it. Then putting a cassette tape into the dashboard player, Santana’s Moon Flower, she would always love the Latin sounds because her heart is in Havana.
Summer Wynd who’s sitting between Henry and Lucia lights a joint. As the tribe of 3 passes the shit around and the excitement of the trip begins to sink in. None of them had been to Mardi Gras— Henry would write a story on Fat Tuesday and submit it to the Big Apple rags, Free Press, The Underground Other, and The Village Voice.
The tribe's flying high on ganja as he wheels the wagon off of Highway 1, taking North Dixie Highway to a cafe called The Breakfast Boat, parking the rig in the lot. The threesome gets out of the car and walks inside, sitting in a booth.
A high school-aged waitress, a Cuban girl, shows at their table. Lucia greets her lovingly saying,
hola chica eres Cubano? Did you come over on the boat like the rest of us darling?
No, I was born in South Miami my father owns The Breakfast Boat, he escaped the dictatorship in the early 70s with my mother.
Oh, that’s wonderful chica, tell him to come to the table, anyway bebe we'll have a basket of tostadas Cubano and a pitcher of hot milk and coffee.
Cuba is not a culture built on breakfast, Cubano tostadas are a slice of handmade Cuban bread, cut lengthwise, buttered on both sides, and pressed.
The owner and his daughter come to the table, he's thrilled, recognizing Lucia,
Jesus Madre, you’re Lucia Varga, I saw you in Havana Vampire and The Other Francisco, you look good on screen and even better in real life. Is it true you dated Castro el cerdo? Oh, this is my daughter Isabella and I’m Mario.
Gracias Mario, yes I was one of Castro's many women. This is my husband Henry and our friend Summer Wynd, we're on our way to Mardi Gras, join us for coffee amigo.
No time to sit in the restaurant business. Isabella's 16, she’s studying ballet, she loves dancing.
She’s gorgeous Mario, Summer Wynd danced for 10 years with The New York City Ballet, she was a second soloist.
The busboy brings plates and a basket of tostadas, Mario says,
breakfast is on me, please excuse us, the morning rush is starting.
After breakfast, as the tribe leaves, Lucia gives Mario a hug and one of Henry's cards saying,
bring Isabella and visit us in Key West, we’ll be home in a week, Summer Wynd will work with her on La Grande Jeté, darling.
It's another 45 minutes to Hollywood, Florida where Henry will drive west to Bonita Springs.
Lucia lights a joint and puts a cassette tape in the dash, Ry Cooder's song Money Honey blares through the wagon speakers causing the woofer under the front seat to vibrate, this, making the girls wet between the legs. Henry the schemata says,
no money, no honey.
He opts to take Old Tamiami Trail, known as the real Alligator Alley that runs parallel to 75 thinking they'd have a better chance of seeing gators.
After driving 20 miles on Tamiami Trail he stops at a Marathon Station that’s on the edge of the Big Cypress Wildlife Preserve — the last chance to get gas until you reach Naples.
The girls get out of the Chevy wagon as it's being tanked up, making a b-line to the little girl’s room to do their faces, Lucia says to Summer Wynd,
chica, if I’m going to be eaten by a caimán I want to look appetizing, they laugh and Summer Wynd says,
baby don’t worry, we won’t get out of the car.
Henry picks up a fifth of Jack Daniels for the road and pays for the gas. The girls get into to the back seat, as he pulls out of the station he cracks the top off the Jack and takes a hefty swig, Keith Richard’s style, then passing it back to the girls saying,
let's toast Mardi Gras!
The girls pass the bottle back and forth nursing sips, then putting it in the Coleman Cooler, not wanting Henry to get loaded and drive off the road into a congregation of gators.
The ride through Tamiami Trail is uneventful, no gators on the road but plenty in the swamp. Henry says to the girls, who have been working on the bottle of Jack Daniels on the sly and messing around in the back seat,
4 hours to Gainsville, did you bring sweaters? It's cool in Northern Florida in February, Lucia says,
no baby we didn’t think about the weather when we packed.
On Interstate 75, an hour out of Bonita Springs, they reach Clearwater as the sun begins to set. Henry exits on Highway 60, drives past the airport, and parks on Fort Harrison Avenue at Pier 60. The tribe gets out of the car bringing a blanket, sitting on it, and enjoying the sunset. Lucia says to Henry,
I’m loaded baby, we’ve been driving for hours, let’s stay here tonight.
You girls have been Bogarting the Jack back there and screwing, I was watching through the rearview mirror. Summer Wynd go to the phone booth across the road and make a reservation at a sleazy motel.
She walks across the street, inside the phone booth she thumbs through the yellow pages, finding a thrifty 60's style motel, back at the beach she says,
I booked us adjoining rooms at the Skylit Motel, no pool, no-frills, only 9 rooms.
The Skylit Motel is 6 miles from Pier 60, Henry drives to the corner of Union Street and Cooper Road, parking in front of reception.
The heavyset receptionist is an older woman resembling Kate Smith, famous in the 50s and 60s for belting out God Bless America at the drop of a hat. The clerk's a smoker with a lined face wearing her hair tied back, dressed in a flowered mo mo that hangs like a living room drape over her body.
He pays 40 dollars for adjoining rooms and is given a couple of old-style motel keys, each with prepaid postage stamped on the plastic rhombus-shaped key holder— if you forget to leave your key you could drop it in a mailbox anywhere, Greenland even, to be delivered to the hotel or motel of origin.
The tribe's been drinking all day and they figure a big dinner will help.
Leaving the Skylitt Motel, Henry drives the station wagon over Bay Bridge to Clearwater Beach Island, parking on Coronado Drive, known as The Strip, a street lined with bars, restaurants, and tourist shops.
They walk into The Palm Beachside Grille, it’s on the beach facing the Gulf of Mexico and has the look of a pavilion at Disney World. The breeze is nice and you can see boats and cruise ships on the horizon that light up the gulf.
A waitress who’s a Hooter’s knock-off comes to their table saying,
Hello, my name's Mindy and I’ll be serving you tonight,
she is bra-less wearing short shorts and a tank top that reads,
I’M IN MENSA, ASK ME
ANYTHING?
Henry eyeballs the sides of Mindy’s breast that are showing through the openings on each side of her tank top, Lucia says to the waitress,
when my husband is finished looking at your tetas we’ll order.
Oh, OK Lucia, sorry, Mandy we’ll have 3 blue blue-cheeseburgers with fries and Cole Slaw, a pitcher of beer, and 3 double shots of top-shelf tequila.
Mandy returns with the shots and beer, placing them in the middle of the table, the tribe toast life, fuckng, and Mardi Gras.
As the sexy waitress serves the cheeseburgers, Henry the putz says,
Mandy, your t-shirt says ask me anything? Does eating oysters spawn sperm?
Indeed it does, foods that are high in Zinc produce sperm.
By God Mandy, I’ll take 2 dozen raw oysters, so I can blow a load all over Lucia tonight at the motel.
Sorry baby you're out of luck, Summer Wynd, and I got off in the back seat as you were driving past Bonita Springs, we don't need your oystered up cojones.
Mandy and the girls laugh hardily, Henry sulks ordering another round of double shots.
After eating, Henry pays the bill, 200 dollars, high because oysters are out of season.
The threesome walks from the restaurant patio onto the beach, taking off their rubber slippers, then stripping down to their underwear and going for a swim, as the girls splash about, they notice Henry's throwing up, Summer Wynd walks to him through the lightly breaking waves, feeling his forehead— it's hot, then asking,
what’s wrong baby?
Little fish are bitting at the chunks I spewed, I'm sick, it musta been the oysters—you shouldn't eat wild oysters in months with an R, it’s February, 2 R's, fuck.
Driving to the motel, they stop at a 24-hour pharmacy called Post Haste. Summer Wynd goes inside and asks the pharmacist, a clean-cut kid who’s new on the job,
my friend has food poisoning, whataya think handsome?
pick up a bottle of Ativan and Tylenol in isle 3, then pick up a gallon of distilled water at isle 7. Tell your friend to drink a lot of water and eat bland foods for the next few days. She thanks him and says,
love the flat top sweetie.
As Lucia wheels the station wagon into the Skylit Motel, Henry is sucking on the bottle of Ativan and drinking distilled water out of the large plastic container. They're so loaded that they go to their rooms and pass out in their beds.
The tribe wakes at 10 AM, cleans up, dressing in anybody's clothes from the duffle bag, failing to stop at the front desk and drop off the room keys because Henry wants to throw them in a mailbox at New Orleans.
Summer Wynd drives the wagon, taking 686 east to 75 and driving north. If they push it they’ll make it to New Orleans in 8 hours.
After 20 minutes on the road, Summer Wynd’s still driving and Henry’s sick, laying on his stomach in the bed of the station wagon.
Lucia turns on the radio and lights a joint, they feel equalized after a few tokes, Henry moves to the back seat as Ray Charle's riff, Let’s Go Get Stoned plays.
Approaching Ocala, Florida they see a sign that reads,
MAY’S THAI KITCHEN
He tells Summer Wynd to pull off the turnpike and drive to the Thai restaurant because he figures the joint will have rice, which is bland.
On Main Street, Summer Wynd parks across the road from Mays, the tribe gets out of the wagon and walks inside.
They sit at the counter and May takes their order, she’s petite with white-skin, and she smiles broadly. Lucia says,
my poor baby's sick, he needs to eat bland, whataya got for him?
Joke, rice porridge with fresh ginger, a Thai dish for toothless old people and babies.
Ok sounds good, and we’ll have ginger chicken, spring rolls, yellow curry soup, shrimp phathai, and a pitcher of iced Thai tea with milk.
May smiles, writes down the order, delivering it to her son Dang who’s the cook. Henry complains saying,
you 2 get the good stuff and I’m stuck with porridge for toothless old men and babies.
May serves the dishes of Thai food, all spicy except for the porridge. Then gives everyone a bowl and a plate so they can eat Thai style, sharing the meal. They eat every bite of the tasty Thai fare, but the porridge. Henry hamming it up says,
I ain't Jokin today.
After eating he gets his strength back and decides to drive saying,
I sprinkled plenty of dried red pepper on my food, it cleanses the stomach.
In a few hours, they reach Osceola National Forest Preserve, turning west on Highway 10 that runs all the way to New Orleans. Lucia begins crying because the Osceola Preserve was where they found Pedro the woodpecker and she misses him saying,
I miss my Pedro so much, Henry lets go to the National park, we can find a baby woodpecker.
no more stops until New Orleans, whatever you gotta do, do it in an empty bottle or stick your asses out the window.
Henry has morphed into a version of his old man, Victor Lucowski, who, while driving on summer trips in the 60s flatly refused to stop except for gas, giving Henry and his nanny Nil empty bottles to pee in on the road.
The station wagon speeds pass Tallahassee— the tribe's 5 hours out of New Orleans.
As day turns to night a new moon rises invisibly, engendering deep darkness, wrapping itself around the southern coast of the 3 state area of— Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana.
Lucia fiddles with the radio dial, picking up Herb Jepko’s nationwide all-night show out of Salt Lake City, Utah. Jepko’s warm and soothing voice radiates through the speakers of the Chevy Wagon, hypnotizing the tribe, elevating their collective consciousness into a plush night time space in the Upper Room.
In no time they're crossing Lake Pontchartrain on the I-10 Twin Span Bridge into New Orleans.
At 915 PM Henry stops the Chevy Wagon on Canal Street in front of Saint James Hotel, the tribe steps out of the car into the city where darkness embraces light.
A valet gets behind the wheel as the bellman removes their duffle bag from the bed of the wagon.
At the front desk Henry pays for a week with his credit card, the bellman carries their bag to a caged elevator, the metal ribbed door opens and the bellman says,
3rd floor Jimmy,
then Jimmy who dosed and itching himself says,
you folks need any dope for Fat Tuesday? I got a 1/4 ounce of Bolivian cocaine goin for 2 bills, Henry says,
let me see it,
Jimmy reaches inside his worn double-breasted coat and pulls out a baggy, handing it to Henry who dips his little finger into the 1/4 ounce, rubbing the powder on his gum, it has a numbing effect— he hands Jimmy 2 Ben Franklins as the creeping elevator reaches the 3rd floor.
The string bean thin bellman with deep-set eyes takes them to room 33. The room has brick walls with abstract paintings of jazz musicians on them, a large red velvet sofa, and a king-sized bed covered with gold lame satin.
Then, Fredo, the bellman opens 2 large shuttered doors which lead to the communal balcony of the Creole style townhouse and says,
dis be the best seat in town to throw, throws, drink, toot, and watch da parade.
Henry tips him 5 bucks and the bellman walks out, then saying to the girls,
4 more days till Fat Tuesday, lets do a few lines and go have a drink.
Lucia pours a small mound of crystals on a glass coffee table, sorting the dope into lines with a credit card, then rolling a dollar bill like a straw and taking a hefty snort,
oh, the shit is muey bueno, I'm so high.
then the others snort a line and they feel like they can do anything in the world, Henry says,
I going to write the next Great American Novel, Lucis says,
I'm on fire, I'm going to be a Hollywood star, Summer Wynd adds,
I'm going to dance with Nureyev.
They run down the steps of the Saint James Hotel, through the lobby and out the front door into the night, gasping for air.
After walking a few blocks, they duck down a dark alley and snort a few lines each off of Lucia’s large Gucci purse.
Back on Canal Street they hear the see-saw sound of slide guitar coming out of a bar, pulled by the music they walk inside Chickie Wah Wah— a white bluesman with a long grey beard, looking like a farmer in overalls, know as Seasick James is playing. It was like that in New Orleans, you could see big names playing at bars in The French Quarter every night of the week.
The tribe’s flying high on cocaine, booze, and live blues at an unlit table in Chickie Wah Wah.
In an hour after making more than a few trips to the toilet to toot, the cocaine's finished— the electro fizz traveling through the ganglion nerves of their spines to their brain slows to nothing. They’re anxious as they experience brain box static. With cocaine, you're either way up or way down. The tribe’s feeling down so Henry says,
wait here, have another drink, I’ll score more coke at the hotel from Jimmy the elevator operator.
He walks determinedly out of Chickie Wah Wah— a man on a mission needing a snort. He walks to the Saint James hotel, goes into the lobby, and asks the bellman,
where’s Jimmy the elevator operator?
Jimmy just left, he's off till after Mardi Gras,
I’m lookin for nose candy.
Jimmy's the only 1 holding round here.
Henry hustles out the lobby entrance onto the sidewalk combing The French Quarter, looking in the shadows for a hustler with an itch to unload a bag of blow.
William F. Burroughs’s thoughts on scoring from his book Junky come to mind—
I don’t spot junk neighborhoods by the way they look, but by the feel, somewhat the same process by which a dowser locates hidden water. I am walking along and suddenly the junk in my cells moves and twitches like the dowser's wand— Junk's here!
Henry opens his heart and soul, focusing as he tunes in. Reaching Charles Street a volt of electricity passes through his body, he sees a red neon sign reading,
Lee’s Chinese Laundry.
Inside Lee’s, a Chinaman is standing behind the counter in front of rows of freshly pressed and stacked laundry wrapped in Manilla paper. Henry asks,
Are you Lee?
Yes, I'm Lee, you have dirty laundry?
No, I'm looking for snowflakes.
I have powder, 1 gram 25 dollar.
here’s 350 for a 1/2 an ounce.
Henry lays 3 hundred dollar bills and a 50 on the counter. Lee places 14 baggies wrapped off with rubber bands in a paper bag saying,
lucky day red beard you score cocaine that like snowflakes, make you fly high.
Henry smiles broadly at Lee, turning and walking out of the Chinese laundry that radiates moonbeams onto Charles Street pulling in junks and coke heads.
He ducks into an alley, reaching into the paper bag, grabbing a small baggy of dust, putting the end of it in his mouth, biting it open and tonguing it, the stuff numbs his mouth like a shot of Novocain.
Still, in the alley, he turns towards Charles Street— his vision’s blocked by a neckless figure wearing a 5XXL size tweed overcoat who says as he flashes a badge,
hold it right there buddy, I noticed you walked out of Lee’s with a shit eatin grin on your face, whataya you got in the paper bag?
soap powder officer,
let me have a look,
you got a warrant?
Fuck the warrant,
the dick rips the paper bag out of Henry’s hands, opening it and feeling inside saying,
14 grams, that’ll get you 7 years in Louisiana fella.
The dick stuffs the paper bag in the pocket of his tent sized overcoat saying,
you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. I ain’t gonna cuff you fella, whata ya say you and I take a ride to the Orleans Parish Sheriff's Office.
The dick's undercover vehicle, a generic Ford, is parked a block away. At the vehicle, he opens the back door and says,
get in bud watch your head.
The offensive lineman sized cop gets in the driver seat of the Ford, speeding to the sheriff's station with the siren on for no reason, running 3 red lights, a perk of dick hood.
The dick parks on the sidewalk in front of the cop shop, escorting Henry inside where he’s booked and fingerprinted. It was his first offense.
After posing for a mug shot, Henry’s placed in a holding cell with 4 other offenders, all of them Hispanic. An hour later a public defender comes to his cell dressed in blue jeans and cowboy boots, he speaks with a Cajun accent,
Lucowski, I'm Baudion Fontenot your public defender. You're in da deep swamp man. You gotta clean record so you can make bail. Listen here now, once you get outta jail make a run for it
How much will bail be Mr. Fontenot?
5 grand tops.
You're a lifesaver.
See ya tomorrow at the Louisiana Court Building at 10, 2 troopas will be here to transport you round 9.
A jailor comes to Henry's cell and says,
Lucowski, you got a call if you want it.
Henry calls the Saint James Hotel, asking the operator to ring his room, Lucia answers,
Jesus Christo bebe, where are you? We’re worried to death.
I’m in a holding cell at Orleans Parish Sheriffs Office. I’m scheduled to be arraigned tomorrow at the Louisiana Court Building on Breaker Street at 10 AM. I have a public defender who says he can get the judge to set bail at 5 grand.
Take your Visa card to the closest bank and tap it for 6. Bring the dough to court at 10 AM. My lawyer will meet you on the 2nd floor in front of courtroom 27. His name is Baudion Fontenot, a cajun guy with wavy black hair. I told him to look for a gorgeous Cuban woman.
OK, see you then baby, I love you so much.
Henry's escorted to his cell by the cell block jailor. His Hispanic roommates have been transferred to Jefferson Parish Correctional. He'll have the cell to himself— the stainless steel toilet, sink, and metal bench with a canvas-covered mat on it.
Sleeping next to a guy taking a dump is no fun. Spend a little time in the joint and you'll learn what privacy is.
After a gourmet meal of bologna on stale Wonder Bread washed down with kool-aide he lays on the narrow bench, staring up at the ceiling, feeling rough as he comes down on cocaine, remembering the lyrics to the Frank Sinatra tune, That’s Life—
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn, and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race.
Henry was flat on his face all right, but he’d be back in the race tomorrow after being released on bail. He doses off, having a restful night's sleep because the cell block was empty, that would change when Mardi Gras kicked off in 4 days.
The following morning at 8 AM, the night guard wakes Henry in a peculiar way by running his billy club back and forth on the welded metal bars of his cell.
Henry opens his eyes, looks at the surly jailer and says,
you get overtime for bein a jack ass bud?
Then at 930 AM 2 New Orleans uniformed cops come to his cell and one of them says.
Henry Lucowski?
yes sir, that’d be me,
we’re here to take you to the county courthouse.
1 guard unlocks the door and the other cuffs Henry. Then escorting him out of the cell block through the booking area to the rear of the sheriff’s office where the cops open a metal door leading outside, walking him to a parked police van, sliding open the side panel, and helping him get in.
On the 2nd floor of the Louisiana Court Building, Henry’s met by his public defender and Lucia. Baudoin Fontenot's wearing a pinstriped suit with a black T-shirt underneath. He tells Henry,
I'm gonna ask da judge to grant you bail. It’s your 1st offense, so, it gonna be no sweat now.
The cops remove Henry's handcuffs and walk him into courtroom 27, leading him to the bench area with Lucia and Baudoin Fontenot where 12 other defendants are waiting to be arraigned.
In 20 minutes the judge walks in, the bailiff says,
all rise for honorable Judge Thaddeus Stevens. Judge Stevens is an impeccably dressed middle-aged black man with a short trimmed grey Afro.
An hour later the bailiff says in an official tone,
Henry Lucowski, you may approach the judge with counsel.
Henry and Baudion Fontenot walk to the front of the judge’s bench and stand there. The judge puts on his bifocals, reads over the case, deliberating then saying,
Mr. Lucowski, possession of a controlled substance in a quantity of 30 mls or more is a felony in Louisiana. I’m going to take into consideration that this is your first offense, fine you, sentence you to 1-year probation, and ask you to attend Alcoholics Anonymous no less than twice a week.
Your fine will be set at 2000 dollars. Son, I caution you not to get caught with a controlled substance in my state again because you will do serious time.
Outside of courtroom 27, Baudion Fontenot says,
Oh jour de chance, Henri, sweeter dan a pot a Gumbo! It's your choice, stay in Louisana for a year, spend time takin piss tests, and goin to AA. Or, get outta da swamp.
Giving up using was out of the question for Henry, as was AA. Henry and the tribe relished being alcoholics because it intensified the stuff of life.
Lucia pays the 2000 dollar fine At the New Orleans City Cashiers Office on the 1st floor of the courthouse. Then the couple walks outside where their lover Summer Wynd is waiting in the driver's seat of the Chevy Malibu wagon that's packed and ready to go. The couple gets in the wagon, sitting in the back seat.
Summer Wynd drives northeast over the Lake Pontchartrain bridge to Interstate 10 then goes east towards Florida.
She turns on the radio and lights a joint, passing it to the back seat, Free Bird by Leonard Skinner is playing on BAYOU 95.7.
The tribe wouldn’t make it to Mardi Gras this year or any year. But, Henry was a free bird again, the way he liked it. Being in jail, for a night even, made everything on the outside feel sublime.