by Doug Rainbow

Created on: April 02, 2009

Jack 'O Tens

So yesterday I was sittin' on the deck of my boat, the Jack O' Tens, anchored off the Port of New Orleans. It's a nice 80 foot yacht, I guess you'd call it, and it'll go like hell. I was sittin' there sippin' my good Jack Daniels whiskey when a government boat pulled alongside and a guy in a suit says he wants to board.

"Sure, come on up," I say. "It ain't gonna do you no good, though."

He climbed on up that little ladder and introduced himself.

"Sir, I'm Scott Powell from the IRS. First let me warn you. I can always tell when a man is telling a lie. Would you agree to answer a few questions about your income?"

"Happy to. So's you know, the last government man, up in Palm Beach, didn't do so good."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"Not really," I said. "He disappeared after he was done talkin' to me."

"Well, let's get started," the IRS guy, Powell, says. "Where does the money come from to support your extravagant lifestyle? This boat, for example, must have cost seven or eight milion dollars at least. And you show no income."

"Sit down, then, Powell. Have a Jack Daniels with me if you like. Here's what happened. . ."

I ain't much of a man. Got shot up some in 'Nam and can't walk good. Ain't had a reglar job for a damn long time, and I spose I drink too much. Jack Daniels whiskey when I can get it.

So last summer I was up in Minneapolis tryin' to keep cool. I saw this dive lookin' place on about Broadway and Lyndale called "Jack O' Tens Bar and Grill." I was pretty hungry and gettin' tired. Sometimes a place like this'll give a man a burger and a drink for washin' some dishes or moppin' up the place. So I went inside.

"Who's the boss?" I asked the crowd in general.

One guy about my age, with losts of veins in his cheeks and nose, looked me up and down. "That'd be Ace of Spades," he said, "right there behind the bar."

I'll be damned, I thought, if that slick bartender doesn't look like the Ace of Spades. He wore all black clothes, including one a them little black shoestring ties. He had black hair, slicked back on his head, greasy, from a point kinda low on his forehead. His eyes, his mouth, everything seemed to slant in some, like if you painted a face on the Ace of Spades. I got a little chill on that hot night and wondered if this Ace was evil.

But I was hungry, and o' course thirsty, and I went on up to him. "You Mr. Ace of Spades?"

Well, the man tilted back his head and studied me under them slanty black eyes. "Some say so."

"I'm new in

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