Desrosiers told him the State of Louisiana would send him a notice and he should make a copy and frame the goddamn original.
They didn’t.
Rocheau said they’d issue a release at the parish level, but Rocheau was wrong about most shit.
Corley Jones hadn’t just mailed the last child support payment, he gifted Charlie a signed Drew Brees helmet for his 18th birthday and gifted himself quitting his job at Echelon Copper Wire.
Charlie never texted, called, sent a thank you note, nothing.
Neither did Echelon.
Drove to Baton Rouge to see if he could get some official paperwork from the State. He had been behind on support while laid off when Charlie and Saraya were younger, went to jail for thirty days.
Saw a sign on a bar near the old airplane factory that was soundstages now: Billiards Tournament Last Monday of Every Month.
Corley pulled a U at the next intersection, drove back.
He knew two things:
The monthlies brought out the shots, and last Monday. Not every goombah could figure out when the last Monday fell. You had to want to play.
Corley was right. There were some shots. Some real beasts, and a couple guys who looked like they had been fierce before eyesight and drink took their edge.
He could smell his own armpits when he walked outta there with fifteen hundred bucks, and ain’t they cute, a little trophy said Shamrock August Last Pocket Champ.
Little black dude, good shot, especially for missing two fingers on his bridge hand, said his cousin owned a dry recreation hall up in Monroe, five hundred first place, plus you could get some side games.
Corley walked outta there with $920 and kind of a nice to meet you don’t come back feeling prickling across his back.
He had done nearly 30 years at Echelon, mostly 50-hour weeks. As he drove north, he started to feel like a horse that had busted out of a corral.
Took a few second places in Missouri, cut east when he heard about a game in Paducah, head spinning from strange local rules and slates that rolled like cloth had been laid over industrial pattern etchings.
But he was up, considerably, for the unplanned trip, still didn’t have his child support release or a text from his now adult son.
Ran into a mouth in Paducah. Guy was loud, a showman, a character, a throwback and Corley walked out with seven hundred of that guy’s money, headed to a tourney in Fort Wayne.
Counted the money in his pocket.
Stopped at an ATM and checked his bank balance.
Realized he was nearly in the dead center of the geographic United States of America.
Could get a game anywhere, just driving out in any direction.
Stopped searching for bars and pool halls, started searching for apartments for rent.
Wondered if it would be best to get a tie, look presentable, then saw an ad that said Move in Today! That made it sound like they weren’t too concerned with fashion accessories.
A woman named Carley showed him around.Carley and Corley, he thought that sounded funny, making them a couple in his head within thirty seconds of meeting her.
She had to be a touch under five feet tall if you didn’t count her blonde hair, and she had these big brown eyes… if I was ten years younger Corley thought so hard it hurt his chest, and as Carley pulled back the shower curtain to show off the four nozzles, three more than Corley ever had, Corley saw a ring on her finger big enough to be the volume knob on a car radio.
Then she walked him out on the back balcony.
There was a pond, fighting really hard to be the lake that was advertised on their webpage. Carley looked up at Corley.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? It’s so beautiful when it freezes over in the winter. The only problem is that it never gets solid enough to ice skate on, but if you like skating, there’s a rink just ten minutes up-”
Corley Jones’s brain was stuck on “freezes.”
He flipped his car keys in his hand,ring around his index finger, thanked Carley for her time.
Back in his car, he shivered.
Stopped at a gas station, bought a soft drink he had never heard of just three days ago.
Realized he had been warm his whole life, but frozen in place, and didn’t really need a government agency to officially proclaim him “free.”
***
Always leave a comment.
Tomorrow will be the two year anniversary of Roulette Weal on Substack.
There’s enough existing evergreen fiction content on here to blow away what you might get from any other newsletter.
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Photo Courtesy of Getty Images
Nice job, Jimmy. It’s been an amazing two years--your stuff continues to get better, and it didn’t suck to begin with.
Congratulations on your anniversary. And I liked the story very much.