Mad Still

by Andrew Davie

About the Author: Andrew Davie received an MFA in creative writing from Adelphi University. He taught English in Macau on a Fulbright Grant. Currently, he teaches in Virginia. His work can be read in Bartleby Snopes, Necessary Fiction, The South Dakota Review, among others. His website: asdavie.wordpress.com

Excerpt

There’s a code you see? I’m sure you can understand that,” The Clown said before taking a bite of his beignet. He let out a cough, from eating it too quickly, and blew powdered sugar into the night air. I watched it dissipate like cigarette smoke. He regained his composure then lit the end of a Swisher Sweet.

Two ’30s era Strongmen, each with shaved heads and handlebar mustaches, stood behind him flexing their pectoral muscles, letting me know at the first sign of trouble they’d have no problems covering the distance between us. The Clown ashed his cigar and blinked his eyes a few times.

“You got that look—what were you anyway, Marine?” He rested his thumb knuckle against his temple, the cigar extended from the side of his head like a horn.

“Professional sparring partner.”

“See, then you know what I’m talking about.”

The smell of stale beer and sweat permeated the interior of the cafe. At four in the morning, the only people in the place, besides us, were drunks looking for a quick reprieve in the form of strong coffee and beignets. New Orleans seemed to fit me like my old pair of mitts.

I took another bite of the fried dough savoring the taste of the powdered sugar then chased it down with coffee. It was my third, but the jitters hadn’t hit me yet.

“Why not take care of him yourself?” I said, my mouth full of sweetness.

“It’s not that simple,” The Clown said, “he’s one of us.”

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