One Ring Four Kings

Written by Knightshade Leone

One windy night on the southside of Chicago, on the not so nice part of town I stumbled into a dive bar. I grew up in the area and then got out as fast as I could. I just came back to town for an old friends wedding, just for the weekend. Me and my old pal spent all day reminiscing and boozing it up just like when we were kids when we thought the streets and the night belonged to us. The more we drank the more we were convinced that Michael Jordan, Barack Obama and me and my buddy were the best things that Chi-town ever shit out. We thought surviving the days of wild made us something special and maybe it did. But, as parties were never meant to last, his wet blanket of a future wife decided that we had both drank past the point of decency and that I should be on my way seeing as though her wedding was the next Day. I don’t know, maybe it was the southside in me or maybe I just hadn’t seen enough of my old stomping grounds so I found some place to pop that nights cherry, if you know what I mean. It was Saturday night and things were just getting started.

I moved out to LA about a decade ago and the second I got there I knew I was never coming back. But here I am. I was waiting on Uber when I spot a bar from a block or so away. “Clancy’s”. Clancy‘s? Fucking seriously? Half the bars in this town are called Clancy‘s. From a block away it looked like a real shit hole. Half the neon on the sign was out, somebody was taking a piss on the side of the building and that scarcely lit parking lot looked like it had seen its fair share of knife fights but spending all day reminiscing through beer goggles, this place seemed like home. The second I stepped in the bar people are staring at me from head to toe. I was L.A. manscaped AF. What the hell did they know? L.A. is million miles away from here, I look good! But just in case these Southies get any funny ideas when I get to the bar I ordered my drink loud and rude to let them know thatl I’m from the old block. “Gimme two long necks!”Why two long necks you might ask? Anywhere else I would’ve had a jack and Coke but this isn’t anywhere else. In places like this you order two long necks and once you’ve emptied both bottles you can grab’em by the skinny ends and you got two “Thors hammers” just in case you gotta fight your way out of a dump. What can I say, sometimes it goes down like that. But no sooner than I turn up my first bottle some jerk off sidles up next to me and starts hocking some beat up old ring.

“Hey buddy, I got a ring that’ll look real good on you and this just ain’t no ordinary ring”. “This ring is like royalty see, like rock ‘n’ roll history”, he said. Now I was staring at myself in the mirror behind the bar trying to mind my own business but this dive is a real who’s who of the local county jail and lines have to be drawn right from the get go.. So I turned around, leaned back and rested both elbows on the bar. “You gotta be fucking kidding me?” I asked. “This ring belonged to three kings of rock ‘n’ roll and you could have it for 50 bucks!” “What in the actual fuck are you talking about” I said as I took a swig of beer. “My mom uh, you know, banged one out with Jimi Hendrix and he gave her this ring”, the man said. Just then several of what looked to be the “all too regulars” chimed in and began ripping on his mother. “I fucked your mom plenty of times and I didn’t have to give her nothin’”said a slurred voice from the back of the bar which ignited a chorus of laughter from the peanut gallery. I felt kind of bad for the old barfly. I mean it was bad enough that he was hanging around a place like this with not enough cash for even a drink and then he’s got to be shit on by these lowlifes? I could see in his eyes that life had knocked his shit in the dirt one too many years and one more blow would probably put the nail in his coffin so I threw him a bone. I said, “tell me about this ring.” “Then I barked to the broad behind the bar, “get this guy a beer.” “You buying”she asked. “Does it look like he could afford one?” “Yeah I’m buying”. The bartender handed him the beer and he takes it straight to the head. I mean it was like he was pouring it down the kitchen sink. One second the bottle was full and the next it was empty. So let’s hear it” I said, “the ring?” He let out a five second belch and then began the mother of all bar stories.

“My mother told me that back in late 69’, early 1970 she got wind of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin shacking up in a motel a couple of nights in LA” “She was going to school there at the time. My mom‘s best friend’s father was the night manager at the motel”. “My mother snuck over to the motel the next morning and waited around outside.” “At about noon Janis Joplin steps out of a room, leaves the door open and hops in a VW bug that was sitting outside the room for a half an hour with the motor running.” “My mother says she waited a few minutes and then walked up to the room and poked her head in and she could hear the shower running so she knew someone was still there.” “She just plopped down in the doorway and waited to see who would come out of the shower.” “She says after about 20 minutes some guy in a van pulls up, gets out and walks up to her while she’s still sitting in the doorway, he drops a small brown paper bag in her lap and says “tell’em the gangs all here!”” “The guy hops back in his van and drives off.” “ Five minutes later she says she heard the shower stop running and moments after that Jimi Hendrix walks out of the bathroom nude, soaking wet and looks right at her with surprise and a huge smile on his face and says “say now!”” Right then some hag sitting close to the door that looks like she’s been nursing “the bottle” for the last two decades jumps out of her seat, starts flicking at her vagina like it’s a guitar and screams “ Yeah and I bet ol’ Jimi’s cock played a solo all over your mom’s face!”. The place erupted in chuckles. And just for an extra kick in the pants there was a guy dressed like a Catholic Priest that laughed so hard that he puked on himself a little. Honestly, I nearly spit out my beer, it was pretty funny. ”No it’s true,it’s true”,the man pleaded. I looked around the bar and the regulars were getting a rip out of hearing the old tale be told for the gozillenth time. “Alright, alright!” “Keep goin”’ I said. “Then, Hendrix wraps on a towel and walks over and introduces himself”. “I’m Jimi”. “My mom says she stood up introduced herself and held up the little brown paper bag and said” “The gangs all here!” “She said he was very chatty, he got dressed and they sat on the bed and smoked a “J””. “The radio was playing and a Bob Dylan song came on and she said he just came alive talking about what he called the “poetry of Dylan””. “She said for the next hour they listened to music and talked politics”. “That day she was wearing a matching skirt, boots and headband ensemble that matched the color of the ring that he was wearing”. “She mentioned to him that his ring matched her outfit and she told him that the color was called “ox blood” and he replied “oh that’s so groovy, you know really earthy”. “She said that he told her that Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones had accidentally given him that ring when he first got to London a couple of years earlier”. “He said that they were all in a nightclub together and he and Keith Richards were talking about blues guitarist and the legend Muddy Waters came up and Keith shouted “ i’m wearing his God damned ring!”” “Keith Richards yanks the ring off and hands it to Jimi Hendrix then tells him that when the Rolling Stones first came to America they went to a recording studio to lay down some songs and when they got there they found the Blues Man himself Muddy Waters painting the recording studio ceiling”. “He said that Keith told him he was covered from head to toe in paint”. “Now Muddy was a hero of the Rolling Stones so Keith Richards asked him “what the hell are you doing mate? You’re Muddy fucking Waters!” Muddy Waters replied to him “ that’s what the blues is baby”. “One day you in a long Cadillac and the next day you’re slopping paint to make ends meet”. Just then I stop the barfly from going any further. There’s a suspension of disbelief and then there’s this bullshit! “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” “Now you’re telling me the ring belonged to Keith Richards too?” “That’s what my mom told me and she wasn’t no liar!” I barked over to the bartender for two more beers and then I pulled out my phone. This dude kept talking and I started searching the Internet for clues to whether his story was true or not. I looked up Keith Richards, Muddy Waters and white paint and sure as shittin’ there’s a story about it from back in the 60s. I started to listen with a little more interest. He went on, “later that night Keith Richards and Muddy Waters had drinks and talked some more”. “Keith paid for the drinks and in appreciation Muddy Waters takes off one of the rings he was wearing still covered in paint, gives it to Keith Richards and tells him “let this remind you of how the blues really is.”” “Jimi says just then as Keith was finishing his story a fight breaks out in the nightclub that he in the Rolling Stones were partying at between Keith Richards girlfriend and some other folks and the Stones rush out of the place and Keith left his ring behind so Jimi slips it on”. “Jimi said he forgot about it for a couple of years until 1969 when he went to Madison Square Garden to see the Rolling Stones play”. “He says when he gets there he tells the guys to put on a good show because it’s his birthday.” “Then, all of a sudden he remembers that he’s got Keith Richards/Muddy Waters ring still on his finger”. “He takes the ring off and gives it to Keith Richards and says “you left your ring back in England i’ve had it this whole time!”” I cut in the middle of his story and said “hold up, I got to take a whiz!” As I kick the door open to the filthiest bathroom in Chicago I couldn’t figure out if this guys story was legit or was I just that shitfaced? What I can say for sure is that the smell in this shitter was a strong is 3 cups of black coffee, you know the kind that’s been sitting in the same pot brewing for eight hours? So with the sobering stench of piss stained urinals having slugged me in the nostrils waking me the fuck up I yanked out my phone again and looked up Jimi Hendrix, birthday, Rolling Stones and there it was! These pictures of Jimi Hendrix in 1969, on his birthday at Madison Square Garden with Mick freaking Jagger. “Finish the story” I said to old barfly as I assumed my “what the fuck ever” posture back at the bar. “Well he said Keith bursts into laughter “that’s what happened to the damn thing!”” “Then he tells Jimi “Well it’s your birthday so I guess it’s yours now mate!”” “And they Had a laugh. My mom said that Jimi joked with her “so Keith Richards gave me this ring so I guess we’re married or something.”” “My mom said they smoked more weed, listen to the radio and she sat in amazement as Jimi Hendrix talked more about the “poetry of Dylan” and other beautiful things”. “They had food, dropped acid and in her words “she made love to a rock God” the entire night.” “She said she woke up the following evening and Jimi was gone.” “She said that there was a wad of money on the dresser with a note that just read “taxi” with an arrow on it pointing towards the cash.” “She says she called a cab and went home.” “She said that she kept the note but at some point her boyfriend at the time what is a real jerk and he ripped it up.” “She said when she got home she ran a bath, fell asleep in it, woke up in cold bathwater and then got out and dried her self off.” “When she looked in the mirror to brush her hair she discovered that the ox blood colored ring that Jimi Hendrix had worn the day before was now on her necklace around her neck!” “She didn’t know if he put it there or if she put it there because they were both so high and the night was kind of fuzzy.” “And that’s how this thing at some point in time belonged to three kings of rock ‘n’ roll.” The barfly inarticulately finished the story then raised his brows, crinkled his lips and look towards the floor like he was waiting for me to call “bullshit!” “Well that’s what I heard”, he mumbled.

“Mom wore that ring on that necklace for years and she told that same story for just as long until she got religion sometime in the 1990s and then I didn’t see it no more.” “Mom passed away in 2003 and the ring became mine.” The barfly held up his hands and said “look at these sausage fingers.” “The damn thing hasn’t fit for years and it ain’t doing nobody no good just sitting around.” “So you want it?” He asked with a sad kind of hope in his eyes. To be honest, I was so shitfaced at this point I couldn’t tell whether the barfly was just flapping his gums or if he was some kind of genius that was trying to scam me out of 50 bucks. Even in that frame of mind I thought this guy is oddly specific with some of the details and whether they’re true or not that was one hell of a bar story.

I go in my back pocket, pull out my wallet and said, “I’ll tell you what old timer, I got three $20 bills here and you don’t look like you got change so I’m gonna give you $50 for that ring and the other $10 is for the story. Sounds good?” The barfly shook his head excitedly. But just then in my semi stupor I made a southside of Chicago rookie mistake because not only did I have three 20s in my wallet I accidentally flashed a couple of $100 bills and the table full of slugs right across from me locked eyes on it like a snake to a rat. Right then I knew it was time to go. I paid the barfly, took the ring and headed straight for the door. As soon as I made my move the three scum bags from the table that was eyeing my money heads for the door and blocked the exit. In the ugliest voice I’ve ever heard, one of them forces a sentence out of his drunken caveman skull, “you can go but the wallet stays.” “With the ring in my hand , as drunk as I was I stuck my finger in his face and said some shit I heard in LA once, “bitch if you don’t get out of my way my fist is gonna to do a drive by on your fucking mouth!” The scum bag slaps my hand and the ring goes flying across the room. Now I don’t know if it was the story, the way the old barfly told it or that this was the first time in a decade that I had a taste of some plain old Chicago shit pie and I forgot how much I liked it but for some reason all of a sudden that ring meant everything to me now so I turned and chased after it as it rolled towards the bar. Within the second of me scanning the disgusting dive bar floor from behind I hear the three slugs that blocked the exit say “ get’em!” And then just in that instant my eyes lift up to the bar and what do I see? A couple of “Thors hammers” a.k.a. those longneck bottles just waiting to be gripped. I grabbed one in each hand and it was on! The rest of the night was kind of a blur.

The next day I go to my buddies wedding and as he and his bride passed in the pews on the way to get their shoes full of rice he gives me a look like “WTF?” And his blushing Mrs. who never cared much for me shakes her head. I guess I forgot to mention I had half a black eye, a couple of bruises on my face and some scraped up knuckles to boot.

When I get to the reception my buddy comes over to me, looks me up and down and says “you’re the best dressed beat up turd I’ve ever seen” and we both have a laugh. “You got that right!” I said. As I popped the collar Arthur Fonzarelli style on my oddly colored suit “I said this is all L.A. baby.” My buddy says “please tell me that the other guy looks worse than you?” I shoot him a dumb ass grin and not even knowing exactly what I was talking about my buddy could glean everything he needed to know about last night in that expression. With a crazy look in his eyes he shoots me back the same stupid grin. “Yes!” He says from the bottom of his soul. Just then his “happily ever after” in a white dress yanks him by the back of the collar and leads him away from me. As she’s dragging him to meet the in laws he looks back at me and I hold up my hand with the scraped knuckles to show off my brand new ox colored ring. “Yes!” He says as he gets further away. I scream back as if it was the last time we were going to see each other, “it’s good to be the king motherfuckaaaaaaaa!

The End

Contact:

Knightshade Leone

[email protected]