The owner of the 2 street bar I worked at considered himself a free market man. But his conservative view went well beyond a hatred of regulation and extended to any laws that impeded his ability to turn a profit. In the corner of the bar he had two "for entertainment only" video poker machines that everyone in the neighborhood knew paid out a quarter on every video point. It was the staff's job to quietly pay the winners out of the register. He didn't trust the bartenders to be honest about the winnings. Fearing they might skim, he actually made the jackpot winners sign a record sheet which the bartenders in return forged for their own pocket on a slow night. The money the neighborhood sank into that machine was astonishing. Families went hungry on payday after a few short hours in front of the video bandits. The machines were a huge source of revenue for the owner who laid out special rules for the 2 street gambling VIPs.
Cookie and Charlene were a mother-daughter petty crime team that had earned this status.
Cookie was the mother. An Ogre of a woman who terrified even the toughest longshoreman. I used to giggle to myself every time she walked in, picturing her wearing an animal pelt and dragging a big spiked club. Fee Fie Fo Fum. She was 6' tall, at least 300 lbs. She had a short spiky quaff of shocking red hair, a gnarled face that only a hard street life can give you and a jutting under-bite jaw sporting a couple of teeth. She was a proud ex-crack head and even prouder compulsive thief. Shoplifting was her full-time job. She would shower insults across the room as she strutted up to the bar, then radiantly slam a stolen 10 lb. ham in front of her freshly lifted from the Acme down the street. Like she was a barbarian returned from the hunt.
The daughter Charlene was a sharp contrast in looks only. A once gorgeous but still attractive stripper employed at the big club across the street who had crossed into her thirties and knew her career there was ending soon. Her boob job had taken on a natural appearance as the beer fat layers began covering her once tight body. The two would trowel the neighborhood bars. While Charlene flirted or made out with random marks, Cookie would pick their pocket or swipe money off the bar.
In an effort to get out the brass pole racket Charlene had gotten engaged to a shady construction contractor who was perpetually absentee in an effort to avoid the loud, violent, psychotic duo. Her bitterness towards him was biting. "Yo, when are we getting married? Not for nothin' but it'll be in May. May the day never come... the limp dicked mother fucker." He was a skinny, slick haired, gold chain adored guido who physically seemed no match for them. But his rare appearances were the only times the two became passive and nervously behaved. The bar manager's opinion was that he had finally snapped and started handing out beatings after Charlene had thrown a plate of hot wings in his face in front of his friends one night.
Sadly, he didn't come around often and Cookie and Charlene were video poker VIPs. They were in the bar every night, sitting side by side feeding the machine hundreds of dollars. It didn't matter how many fights they initiated, how many accusations of theft were leveled at them, the owners instructions were clear. Cookie and Charlene could not be cut off, could not be thrown out and they could stay at the bar as late as they wanted as long as they kept feeding the machines. It didn't matter how blacked out belligerent drunk they were, and my concerns about accountability fell on deft ears. Quite frankly, even if I had been allowed to cut them off, they were the scariest customers I had. I really didn't know HOW to do it with out getting into a full fist fight brawl with these two women.So I resigned myself to the madness and tried to enjoy the mayhem my eyes absorbed with some level of fondness. I did my best to bury my level of culpability if they killed someone into the way back of my conscious. Oh such great memories. There was the time Charlene drove the three blocks home, rear ending two cars and side swiping six more. She was discovered because the neighbors simply followed the oil trail to her car parked right in the middle of her yard. Yes that was a nice one. Or then there was the time an old city yuppie came in looking to confront Charlene. He had come in the night before slumming it. (probably looking for coke) Felt pretty lucky when he found himself in his car getting his cock sucked by a drunk big boobed striper. Didn't feel so lucky when he realized his wallet was empty. The poor douche was truly outmatched. They denied ever having seen the guy and were so outraged at such wild accusations that the confrontation ended with him fleeing the premises beaten and bloodied by these banshees. As he made his retreat they shattered the back window of his car with a pursuing beer bottle. Yes, yes those were good times. But my favorite, my favorite was the night of the toilet corpse...
My Company
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