Cheetah’s a Fun Guy

Gloria knew trouble was brewing when Elliot, that sleazy slug, crawled into Sinker’s Bar. Cheetah’s eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared so wide he could’ve snorted a quarter. He downed his whiskey and rummaged through Gloria’s purse.

“Be right back,” he said.

“C’mon, Cheetah. Not tonight,” she said.

“Mind your own business.”

“That’s my money, so it is my business.”

Cheetah sneered at Gloria before trotting towards Elliot. They vanished, leaving her defeated and playing the trivia machine at the bar.

A few minutes later, Eddie, the bartender, kindly set down a shot. 

“Here, Gloria. On the house.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” She tossed back the whiskey.

Eddie smiled at Gloria and said, “Lemme ask you something. Why do you put up with Cheetah’s bullshit?”

Gloria wearily looked at him. “I don’t know, Eddie. I really don’t. I guess I believe somewhere deep inside, there’s something good in Cheetah.”

Eddie grunted and said, “You may think so, but I sure don’t. I’ve seen way too much from that animal. You deserve better.” 

He winked and poured her another before rushing over to Thomas Shelby, who preferred to be called by his first and last name. Thomas Shelby had been mainlining Jameson’s since three o’clock. Thomas Shelby had finally fallen off his stool, meaning it was time to call Thomas Shelby a cab. 

Gloria sidestepped the cordon of men hoisting up a limp Thomas Shelby and headed to the bathroom. She was glad it was empty and settled into the last stall. In mid-stream, a couple tumbled in, right next to her.

She heaved a sigh. It was so predictable. So obvious. The rustling plastic, the snorts and sniffles, a red-hot whisper. A zipper baring its teeth, its mouth open wide.

Gloria looked under the stall, but she needn’t have. She knew whose boots she’d see. She yanked up her pants, rushed out and kicked in the door.

“What the hell, Cheetah?”

His eyes like bruised poppies, his pants at his knees, a redhead at his hips.

“Babe, it’s not what you think.”

Gloria laughed hysterically as the girl scrambled up, wiping her mouth.

“It’s not, huh?”

She marched out of the bathroom, out of the bar. Cheetah had her car keys, but she wasn’t going back — she was walking home. The icy air bit her face, stung her wet cheeks. But it felt good. Cut through the numbness. Made her come alive. 

She was done. No more. No more loans, no more lies, no more promises he couldn’t keep. She’d probably have to call the cops to get him out of her apartment. She’d done it before.

Gloria went straight to the bedroom and locked the door, knowing Cheetah would be back. And at sunrise, he staggered in, rattling the knob, finally giving up and collapsing on the couch. 

******

“GLORIA!” Cheetah growled, startling her from sleep.

Buried under the covers, she moaned. Brown liquor and regret hammered her skull like a nail gun. 

“Gloria. Get in here now.”

She stumbled into the hazy den. Cheetah was shirtless and smoking on the couch. His bloated belly poked out from his unbuttoned pants. He motioned toward his navel, where a pale stalk with a cap had sprouted.

“Look at this.”

Gloria stared bleary-eyed, unsure of what she was seeing.

“Is that a mushroom?” she said.

“Yeah, I believe it is.”

She plucked it from his belly button, the roots gave a slight pull. And then she realized Eddie the bartender was right. There was no good in Cheetah. He was rotten from the inside out.