Table of Contents
a very short portrait
Eddie Feather knows the odds, how to play the players and who will be an ugly drunk.
No one looks at him twice, a big soft-spoken man with living eyes in a death mask face.
You wouldn’t think him wealthy by the cut of his jib, his old Suburban or the small house next to the trailer.
No, that would be Ernesto, who flies back to Miami every Tuesday to be starched, creased and pressed.
The house hums smoothly while he’s gone.
The Mormon boys run the cashier cage, the 18-year old Ph.D. runs the actuarial tables and Rosa reconciles the recycling to the bar receipts.
But when the Cuban returns every Friday morning he shares a wretched cup of coffee with Eddie Feather.
Who would have guessed twenty buck bingo would draw so many midday locals?
And not the blue hairs, but hard eyed single moms up at their roots and down on their luck.
Anyway, Wen will know the net, and the role does not call for more than a knowing smile.
The big kid in the kitchen fell off his bike again and is wearing his bandage like a headdress.
Ernesto sends him to see Eddie Feather talking to a solemn young sergeant. Sit down, this is him, listen good, then he gets up and the kid sits down.
A shaky man is sitting at the bar staring at a full shot glass a full five minutes, then gets up to leave. Eddie Feather looks at him, blinks once and turns, the shakes subside and the deputy walks out. His partner asks, OK? Yeah, he’s ok. Good.
