the queen is dead
a boiler room in
the dealer sits at a table, an empty chair beside him.
bourbon, cigarettes, a deck of cards, a lunchbox, a revolver.
the knave limps spectrally in the background, fixing things.
---
the dealer. fool moon tonight, eh?
the knave. (pause) blood moon.
the dealer. blood moon?
the knave. (pause) blood moon.
the dealer. fuck is that?
the knave. (pause) full moon that’s nearest the equinox.
the dealer. why the hell they call it ‘blood moon’?
the knave. (pause) damned if i know.
the dealer. well i gotta itch tonight like you wouldn’t believe. feel like a hog in this
place.
the knave. (pause) want me to fix you up?
the dealer. you wanna fix something, fix that boiler there.
a doorknock.
the dealer. who is it?
the queen. (from offstage) ace sent me.
the dealer. ace sent you?
the queen. yeah.
the dealer. ace who? asian ace from butchertown?
the queen. yeah.
the dealer. the same asian ace runs the mail order bride service?
the queen. yeah.
the dealer. (to the knave) open the door.
the knave opens; enter the queen- a young, effeminate male.
the dealer. (abruptly points the revolver at the queen) maybe nobody told you, but
asian ace from butchertown don’t send people here no more unless it’s a mail order bride and even if he did it sure as hell wouldn’t be no goddamn cocksuckin queer, so what the hell are you? don’t look like no mail order bride to me. (to the knave) he look like a mail order bride to you?
the knave. hell no.
the queen. i’m not people.
the dealer. if you’re not people then what the hell are you, i says? better not be a fink. are
ya fink? a pigeon? best not be a pigeon. a rat? my associate here used to stick hatpins in rats. he got off on it, didn’t ya? (the knave chortles) but his sexual perversions have, shall we say, evolved into more complex creatures.
the queen. i’m cats.
the dealer. you’re cats?
the queen. yeah, i’m cats.
the dealer. (to the knave) you like cats, man?
the knave. (pause) fuck cats.
the dealer. my associate here likes to fuck cats. what d’ya think of that?
the queen. i guess i don’t think anything about it.
the dealer. (lowering his gun) well, you’re in luck cause i happen to like cats. last
count, i’d say i’ve had seven, eight lives of my own so far. you holdin?
the queen. no.
the dealer. mind if my associate searches you?
the queen. okay.
the dealer nods to the knave, who commences a body search.
the dealer. you’ll have to excuse the formalities. just a protocol me and ace worked out a
while back. in our business you can never be too paranoid, know what i mean?
the queen. ofcourse.
the knave. (to the dealer) clean.
the dealer. (to the queen) have a seat. (the knave returns to the boilers) we figure it’s
best to assume all people are narcs. (lights a cigarette) then ya got your finks, those are former clients who sell you to the people. a pigeon’s a special kinda informant, one who wanders around the periphery, pickin up incriminations bit by bit. rats are only garden-variety snitches, the type we’d go after in the old days with a
the queen. so what are you?
the dealer. me? i’m a hog. an alpha addict.
the queen. (looks around) what is this place?
the dealer. the hell does it look like? it’s a boiler room.
the queen. (sitting) you live here?
the dealer. (pouring drinks) been here six years. six years without an ounce of daylight.
my associate here keeps a bed in the back room. sleeps from noon til dark. he’s
the mechanic now. a real jack-of-all-trades, aint that right? (looks at the knave
fondly) anytime i need something from the outside world- milk, cigarettes, damn comic books- well, i just send him out for it. it’s a not unfavorable arrangement. (a pause) so tell me. how much you lookin for?
the queen. i’m not sure yet.
the dealer. i got enough here to last a hog weeks, months. hell, i wouldn’t be surprised if
i maybe got enough stowed away in these nooks and crannies for years. and it’s all near pure, cut with a little somethin extra. you follow?
the queen. can i try it?
the dealer. i’ll give ya a hund’erd.
the queen. a hundred?
the dealer. em – gee. milligrams. my outfit or yours?
the queen. yours, if that’s okay.
the dealer. okie-dokie. (opens up the lunchbox; inside is the usual heroin paraphernalia-
eyedropper, hypodermic needle, strips of paper, a spoon, a tourniquet; the dealer
calls over to the knave) hey! how bout fixin him up?
the knave. (pause) yep. (he comes over to the table, begins to cook & dissolve the heroin,
using the strips of paper to fit the dropper tight into the needle)
the dealer. (opens the deck of cards, begins laying them out; to the queen) you a
gambling man, my friend?
the queen. i guess not.
the dealer. you’re a fag, though. very obviously a fag.
the queen. that’s right.
the dealer. you don’t think that’s kind of a gamble? bein a fag and all?
the queen. not more so than…
the dealer. oh, i aint judging you or nothin. don’t get me wrong. like i said, my associate
here has more than his fair share of deviances. (a pause) so what do you do?
the queen. i’m a performer.
the dealer. a performer?
the queen. yeah, i gotta show at the klondike on tuesday nights. every tuesday at eight.
you should stop in sometime.
the dealer. i don’t get out much. (looking at the cards; a pause) so this show. tell me
about it.
the queen. it’s a bette midler act.
the dealer. bette midler? you don’t say. i like her. (to the knave) ya like bette midler?
the knave. (pause) she’s the queen. the divine miss em.
the dealer. so this is like a drag queen type of thing then?
the queen. that’s right.
the dealer. you sing a little for me?
the queen. okay. (sings a short part of some iconic midler song, perhaps ‘the rose’ or
‘the wind beneath my wings’; the dealer smokes a cigarette)
the dealer. (applauding) bravo!
the knave. ready, boss.
the dealer. proceed. (the knave ties the tourniquet around the queen’s arm; delivers a
shot)
the queen. oh.. shit.
the knave. you play cards, my friend?
the queen. (slowly beginning to feel the hit) cards?
the dealer. i got addicted to this shit years ago. always keep a heel for later in the game,
ya never know. building up, up, up. building down. never build around the corner.
king and queen but i got no jack. jack in the heel. i gotta clear it. blackjack, queen,
but i need the king of clubs. king in the heel. i gotta clear it. king of spades is over here on this stack with the queen of diamonds, but that other blackjack- where is
that motherfucker? the queen is dead. it’s all ace-king-queen, nine-ten-jack-queen,
never build around the corner, the queen is dead, she won’t let me clear it. long
live the queen. i could go on for hours like this, no bluffin, blubbering like king
lear to the rats. crazy, aint it?
the queen. (in a kind of ecstasy) crazy… this is the best shit i ever had.
the dealer. yeah, but my real itch is horses. i mean it, i’m a goddamn hog for horses.
the queen. horses?
the dealer. thoroughbreds. derby fuckin kentuckiana. i’ll burn the midnight oil for some
horses. ‘s why i got my associate here. he used to be a race caller, a professional
race caller, aint that right? (looks fondly at the knave) graded stakes. churchill
downs. made boohoos of money. a real jack of all trades. but he had this thing on
the side, this compulsion. he was a real night owl. sometimes it was just whores, but there were others when he liked to get something extra, you follow? that’s where i came in.
the queen. you run an escort service?
the dealer. used to, among others. i’ve always been what you could call a professional
provider of rare and unlikely pleasures. it’s funny how a fetish can evolve into
an obsession, don’t you think? an urge into a compulsion? sooner or later you
gotta push harder and harder to get your kicks, before you know it you’re a slave,
you’re subhuman (looks at the knave). the american dream, eh?
the queen. what did you provide him?
the dealer. this and that. whores, midgets. or ‘little people’, beg your pardon. then he
started havin this itch for amputees, (to the knave) aint that right? so one night
we’re sitting around after a race, he and i, getting high, and i says, ‘hey man, how bout a real wager? something that we can really sink our teeth into?’ so he says okay. so i pulled out my piece (he handles the revolver) and we found ourselves a little game of the ol’ belorussian roulette. ever heard of it?
the queen. like russian roulette, you mean?
the dealer. no belorussian, it’s more of a chickenshit cousin of russian roulette. it’s
where instead of shootin yourself to kill, you just aim that bastard at one of your
extremities. a hand or a foot usually.
the queen. never heard of it.
the dealer. the wager was, if he won- meaning i was the one who got his foot shot to hell,
i’d agree to have my foot amputated at the hospital, you know, just hacked right
off. and then i’d be bound to him for life, see? have to be his goddamn gimp. sick,
aint it? (to the knave) you used to be one sick puppy, you know that? (the knave chortles)
the queen. and if you won?
the dealer. well, it’s obvious, aint it? but my terms were less perverse, see? if i won, he’d
keep his foot, no amputation or nothing, but he’d have to be more of a steward, if you will, an associate or valet to run errands for me and what-have-you. the only rub was he’d have to quit his job at the track, and spend all his days at the beck and call of the sickest horse fanatic this side of the
the queen. call a race?
the dealer. well, not a real race. an imaginary race. this is off season, after all. wanna
demonstration?
the queen. sure.
the dealer. (to the knave) hey there! call me a race! call me a race, i says!
the knave. and they’re off! around the first turn it’s cold turkey by a half length, gold rush
second by one, speedball is third by one and a half, followed by will o’ wisp, mother-of-pearl, moonshine and harry houdini!
the dealer. (to the queen) my money’s on harry houdini, but that speedball’s a helluva
finisher. cold turkey’s gonna have to open up a little more on him.
the knave. into the clubhouse turn it’s cold turkey by a length, speedball second and fast
on his tail, gold rush and will o’ wisp are neck and neck for third, followed by harry houdini, mother-of-pearl and moonshine! into the backstretch it’s cold turkey by half a length, speedball second still by three, gold rush third by one and harry houdini is really flying!
the dealer. come on, houdini!
the knave. coming down the stretch it’s cold turkey and speedball neck and neck, now
speedball first by half a length, cold turkey is second by two with harry houdini third by a length and closing fast! and cold turkey has just lost a rider! coming for home it’s cold turkey by half a length and harry houdini second by six, gold rush is third by two! it’s speedball and houdini, neck and neck!
the dealer. go! go!
the knave. and it’s harry houdini at the finish line! harry houdini, speedball, and gold rush!
harry houdini is first to finish, speedball places second, gold rush shows third,
followed by will o’ wisp, mother-of-pearl, moonshine, and cold turkey with a bowed tendon! time for a mile and 1/8, 2:10 and 4/10 of a second! a great garrison finish for harry houdini!
the dealer. yeah! yeah! (to the queen) helluva race, aint it? whoo! (a long pause)
how bout some of this
drink) so, my friend. you feel like a wager?
the queen. a wager?
the dealer. something to really sink our teeth into. i got this itch tonight, see, i don’t know
if it’s the moon, but i gotta itch something bad. so how bout it?
the queen. (euphorically) okay.
the dealer. that’s the sport. nothin like hearin a good race to get one in the betting mood!
how ya feelin, by the way?
the queen. best high i ever had, man. (laughing)
the dealer. get outta here! better’n your first time?
the queen. best high i ever…
the dealer. it’s funny ya say that, cause that’s the thing i didn’t tell ya. all my shit is damn
near completely pure, except i’ve always cut it with carisoprodol. ever heard of it?
the queen shakes his head blissfully.
the dealer. classic analgesic. persuasion drug. i mean, how else you think i was able to
convince my associate here to play that goddamn belorussian roulette? ha!
the queen laughs with him. they’re all laughing.
the dealer. ofcourse, like i was sayin, all perversions eventually graduate to more complex
perversions. (picks up the revolver, studies it) perversions of the greatest magnitude. one day, it’s 100 milligrams, the next day it’s an overdose. one day,
it’s amputees, the next it’s necrophilia. one day, it’s belorussian roulette, the next… well, you get my drift.
the queen. i follow ya.
the dealer. so how bout it? the wager. a real blood moon wager. if you win, meanin i blow
my bastard brains out, you inherit all of my kingdom here. a stockpile of heroin to
last you and my associate here for weeks, months, years! you and he, like lear and
his fool, high as kites til death do you part.
the queen. and if you win?
the dealer. if i win, you lose. simple as that.
the queen. but what do you get out of the bargain?
the dealer. oh, it’s not what i get. it’s what my associate gets. (looks again at the knave
fondly) see, he’s been good to me the past few years. real good. served me well,
he has. nary a reproachful word. so i figure, seein as i kind of shortchanged him with the carisoprodol and what-not, i figure i owe him one. for old times sake.
the queen. so what does he get out of the bargain?
the dealer. he gets you.
the queen. but i’ll be dead.
the dealer. that’s right.
the queen slowly comprehends, laughs. they all laugh.
the dealer. you game?
the queen. (almost hesitates) you say you have enough to last years in here?
the dealer. you bet.
the queen. (beat) let’s do it, man. let’s just fucking do it.
the dealer. (holding the gun) you know what this is? it’s a nagant M1895 revolver.
standard sidearm issued to russian officers from 1895 to 1930. double action revolver. it’s cylinder spins clockwise until the hammer’s cocked. it doesn’t swing out like modern hand-ejector style double action revolvers, but it can be spun around for the sake of chance. you think god doesn’t play dice with the universe, my friend. i can assure you, god is a gambling fiend. best part is this revolver holds seven cartridges instead of the standard six. those russians would fire six rounds and keep the seventh live. because the bullets unique to these cartridges are so deeply seated, and cause the primers are hidden, it increases the inability to determine from the outside where the live round is and which cartridges are spent, thus adding to the uncertainty. (puts a bullet in, spins it) one round, seven cartridges. seven horses. only one winner. (a pause) i’ll go first. (quickly pulls the
revolver to his forehead) now call me a race, motherfucker! whoo!
the knave. and they’re off! around the first turn it’s blue moon first by a length, klondike
second by one and a half, blackjack third by a half on the outside, followed by
voodoo queen, yellowjacket, oil burner and boss hog!
the dealer. (to the queen) my money’s on blue moon! you?
the queen. oil burner!
the dealer pulls the trigger. empty. hands it to the queen, who slowly pulls the revolver to his forehead.
the knave. into the clubhouse turn, it’s blue moon by two lengths, klondike’s moved up
to second by a half, blackjack is third by three followed by voodoo queen, oil
burner, yellowjacket and boss hog! here he comes, oil burner in the black blinkers
is gonna try to get right between them! oil burner has got to get by voodoo queen!
the queen fires. empty. passes it to the dealer.
the knave. here’s blackjack flying! oil burner by a neck! it’s blue moon going to the lead,
blackjack is after it, and oil burner gaining strong! into the backstretch it’s blue moon still by a length, blackjack closing on the inside is second by two, klondike is third by one and a half and oil burner is coming fast on the rail!
the queen. come on oil burner! burn, baby! burn!
the dealer fires. empty. passes it to the queen.
the knave. into the far turn, it’s blue moon now by half a length, blackjack is second by
two, oil burner is third by a half and moving fast on the outside! klondike is fourth by four lengths, followed by yellowjacket, boss hog, and voodoo queen!
the queen fires. empty. passes it to the dealer.
the knave. coming down the stretch, it’s blue moon by one length, blackjack and oil burner are neck and neck by two. now it’s blue moon, oil burner, and blackjack.
the dealer. come on, blue moon! blue moon! (sings) ‘blue moon of
the dealer fires. empty. passes it to the queen.
the knave. blue moon and oil burner head to head!
lights out. total darkness.
the knave. blue moon, oil burner! blue moon, oil burner!
a shot rings out.\
the knave. and blue moon wins it by a nose! oil burner is down at the finish, blackjack third by three! ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this has been your caller for the $100,000
--
casey wimpee
august 2007
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