Jimmy Best's wedding was eventful, well, not the really the wedding itself, but the party we had after, that was a fuckin' corker, man, I kid you not.

Jimmy and I went back a long time, grade school, even. He was a good guy, a real smart, quiet type of bastard, you know? He was a shrimp, had always been a shrimp. And he probably would have gotten beaten up a lot more in school if it wasn't for me. But even then, probably not. Everybody loved Jimmy.

Jimmy had a hard life. It was that same old story. His old man used to drink a lot and beat him. I don't know how he put up with it. If my old man was laying his hands on me I'd smash the motherfucker's head in. I did, as a matter of fact. Laid an old Louisville slugger against his head one night when I was thirteen. Never raised a hand to me again. Not Jimmy, though. Jimmy just took it, took it like a man.

Old Jimmy wanted to go to College. He was real serious in High school, always gettin' top grades. He didn't just slack off like me. Every night I was out drinking, fighting and stealing, Jimmy was locked up in his bedroom studying. I don't think he even popped the cherry until he was nineteen. We stayed pals, though, despite being really different. He graduated from High School and I got sent upriver to the reformatory after I knocked six teeth out of some lousy pig's mouth when he caught me behind the wheel of a stolen Cadillac. Ten months. Got out in eight for good behavior. I never got my diploma. Didn't need one. I wasn't going to no fuckin' college. I didn't even need to get a job. A lot of the crews in the neighborhood needed some extra muscle for their robberies. Usually all I had to do was muscle up some clown if he tried to get brave and hotwire a motor if we needed to make a quick getaway. It was easy work, and the dough was good.

When I got out of the pen my parents had washed their hands of me, so I crashed with Jimmy at his old lady's. Jimmy wasn't making much cash at the time, and his mama was sick (His dad was long gone by then. Ended up bitin' down on the barrel of his .22 and blowing his brains out) so I kicked in some money for them whenever I could. After all, Jimmy was my pal, and that's what pals did for each other.

Things were cool for awhile, and then Jimmy started knocking around with some neighborhood chick named Lisa. She was no prize, let me tell ya, but neither was Jimmy, so I guess they were made for each other. Jimmy didn't have any big plans for her, other than a fuck every Saturday night and the occasional movie date. But then something happened: Jimmy knocked her up. She didn't even tell him until she was about three months along. Let's just say Jimmy wasn't thrilled with the news. The shiner around Lisa's left eye was testament to that.

So Jimmy was left with three options: Pay for an abortion, run off and join the army, or marry Lisa. None of them were really satisfying.

So there was Jimmy, barely twenty years old and about to tie the knot with some broad he didn't love. That was the end of Jimmy's college dreams, but hey, life's a bitch. you play, you pay.

Jimmy asked me to be his best man. I was a bit surprised, because it's not every day your buddy asks you to be his fucking best man. But of course I said yes. I didn't really have to do much. One thing I did do was help Jimmy pay for the wedding ring. He was short on cash, and I had a shitload squirreled away. He promised to pay me back, but what the fuck did I care? It wasn't like I'd ever get short of money. There would always be enough to steal.

On the morning of the big day, Jimmy and I were in his bedroom, fixing our tuxedos and smoking cigarettes. Jimmy was really smoking like a madman. In an hour he'd smoked about half a pack. I told him to slow down before he passed out or something, but he just ignored me and kept on smoking.

I sat down on Jimmy's bed while he tried to fix his tie. He was really freaking out about it. Eventually I got tired of watching him and got up to fix it for him. Poor old Jimmy. He was in quite a fucking state. Shakin' like a leaf, covered in sweat, wheezing like an old man. I just clapped him on the shoulder and told him, cheer up, Jim. It's your wedding day, get happy. And then he says to me, in this real shaky, quivery voice that was so unlike him (Because Jimmy, despite not being a tough guy, always sounded real cool and confidant when he talked), Jesus, Stanley, I can go through with this, man. This ain't me.

I just tried to calm him down, but there was no calming him down. He was about to lose his fucking mind. I gave him more cigarettes and a couple aspririns. I couldn't think of anything better to do.

I drove him to the church. One of my buddies, Rufus, had leant me his car. Jimmy was quiet the whole drive down, which was fine with me. At least he wasn't freaking out like he'd been back in the bedroom.

That's when I started wondering if Jimmy would be able to go through with this whole thing. I thought about Freddy Canyon, a buddy of mine who'd gotten into the same situation Jimmy was in now when he was twenty-one. He married the broad, and then a month later he came home from work and smashed her head in with a claw hammer. He was serving two life sentences, one for his wife, and another for the baby that had been inside of her.

But old Freddy had always been a little fucked in the head, so it was no big surprise that he finally went nuts. Jimmy wasn't like that. He was a good guy.

We pulled up to the church. The wedding wasn't anything big, not like those huge weddings in the movies. It was just Jimmy, Lisa, their folks, me, and Lisa's maid of honor.

The whole wedding was a bit of a fucking pain, really. All I had to do was stand there while the priest went on about the sanctity of marriage and unity and all that other bullshit. It wasn't my scene.

Lisa actually looked pretty good for a pregnant broad. Her wedding gown looked real fancy and expensive. Where had she gotten the dough to buy that?

Lisa's Maid of Honor was quite a piece. Her name was Sylvia and she had nice brown hair and dark eyes. A bit on the chubby side, but that's how I liked them. During the whole ceremony, all I did was make eyes at her. She kept smiling back. I'd definetely check her out later.

The priest kept going on and on, and then he finally got around to the last part.

"Do you, James Best, take Lisa Dixon to be your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Jimmy was gnawing on his bottom lip, looking really unsure. For a second it looked like he might bolt away from the fuckin' altar and right out of the church. Finally, he said, in a very small voice,

"I do."

The priest did the same deal on Lisa, I handed Jimmy the ring, and they were pronounced man and wife, just like that.

Jimmy was shaking and looked like he was about to faint as he walked down the aisle, arm in arm with his new bride.

Lisa's old man told me he'd rented some time at the Fordham dance hall across town for the reception. Then he drove Jimmy's old lady home. She was feeling pretty sick.

I drove Lisa, Jimmy and Sylvia over to the dance hall. The newlyweds and soon to be parents sat in the back seat. Jimmy seemed to have cooled down, but he still looked real sweaty. Lisa was talking a mile a minute about getting an apartment and all that shit. I was trying to strike up a conversation with Sylvia, but we couldn't really talk over her yammering. A few times I came close to telling her to shut the fuck up. I didn't though, because I wanted to make a good impression on Sylvia.

We got a shock when we reached the dance hall. Jesus fuck, I'd never seen so many people in one place. It looked like our entire neighborhood had shown up, and they all had a bit of a buzz on.

One thing I hadn't twigged on when Jimmy asked me to be his best man was having to give a speech. I wasn't ready for that at all, man. But I got up there anyway and improvised, even though I'd never been too good with words. I guess it was good enough though, because everyone toasted at the end of it.

Everybody started dancing after that. Jimmy and Lisa had the first dance. That was something to remember. Jimmy had never been any great shakes at dancing, but being so nervous made him even worse. He kept stumbling around like he was drunk and stepping on poor old Lisa's toes. Me and the boys had a good laugh over that.

Things loosened up as the booze began to flow. Christ, there was a lot of liquor going around, and a fair bit of reefer and uppers, too. Even Jimmy was drinking, and not just beer, either. Before long I saw him swigging off a bottle of JD. The only person not drinking was Lisa, what with her being pregnant and all. There wasn't even that much action, which was a good thing, I guess. The only real upstarts came when my pal Tony, spaced out on whiskey and dexedrine, punched out some asshole who was taking pictures, and when Lisa's father started in on some guy that was trying to put the moves on his wife. They took it outside pretty quick, and I was surprised when I saw Lisa's old man walk in the winner a few minutes later. He didn't look like much of a brawler.

It took me awhile to get away from the boys. I wanted to talk to Sylvia. We found a nice, quiet corner and did just that. She was real interested in my tattoos and my stories about the joint and all that. We ended up smoking a nice big spliff and dancing to some song I didn't recognize since I was a bit out of it. We kept dancing until past midnight, and would have done more if Jimmy, as wasted as I'd ever seen him, hadn't of come and pulled me into the washroom.

He was really fucked up, crying tears and everything, bawling about how he'd screwed everything up, ruined his life, and wouldn't be able to provide for Lisa and the kid. He just cried and cried and cried. Then he started hugging me and telling me that I was his best friend, that I was one of the best guys he'd ever known, and that he wanted me to be the Godfather of his kid. He made me promise that I'd take care of Lisa if anything happened to him. I just let him hug me and sob into the shoulder of my suit jacket, praying to God that no one walked into the washroom. It would look really fucked up to see two guys huggin' and cryin' in the middle of some piss stinking dance hall bathroom.

After maybe fifteen minutes, Jimmy finally left me alone and I returned to the party. Most of the people were gone now and it had boiled down to my group of friends sitting in a circle and passing around bottle of Bacardi while old rock and roll played on the stereo. I found Sylvia half-asleep in the corner and we started making out. I was about to suggest we go back to her place when suddenly, across the dance floor, Jimmy totally lost his rag. He started screaming and throwing things. Lisa tried to calm him down and he just shoved her away, which was a pretty rotten thing to do. I've never been big on guys smackin' around women. So then I got up to calm him down, figuring I could slug him and knock him out if it came to that. But I didn't get the chance, 'cause he took off running out of the dancehall at full speed. I tried to follow him, but he was long gone before I could even get out the front door. I didn't go after him. He was just having some jitters. He'd come back to Lisa in the morning when he sobered up.

Next morning, I woke up in bed with Sylvia. It took me a few minutes to realize where I was. I had one monster of a hangover. Just finding my clothes and putting them on made me feel like puking my guts out.

I left Sylvia's apartment and headed down to the coffee house on Main Street. Most of the boys were down there, still dressed in last night's clothes and as hung over as I was. We did what we usually did, just sat around drinking black coffee and swapping tales about the party the night before while the owner gave us dirty looks.

There was no news on Jimmy until Lisa showed up at about ten, freaking out and almost crying, telling me there was no sign of Jimmy anywhere. I just told her to chill the fuck out, that Jimmy was probably just on a bender or something and that he'd be back in a day at the most. It took awhile, but she eventually did cool down.

Three days later and there was still no sign of Jimmy. Then I got the shock of my life.

I was sitting in the coffee house and reading the paper when I came across a story about a young man who'd washed up on a lake shore two towns over. Sure enough, there was a picture of my friend Jimmy Best, bloated up like a cooked sausage and still in the tux he'd worn on his wedding day. The article said the official cause of death was overdose from Benzedrine. The story was pretty easy to piece together. Jimmy had wandered away from the reception, taken a shitload of Bennies, and then gone for a little swim.

Poor old Jimmy. It was even worse what happened to his old lady. One morning she opened the paper and when she read about what had happened to her one and only son, she suffered a massive heart attack amd died right there at her kitchen table.

I felt real bad for Jimmy. I'd grown up with the bastard, but in the end he just couldn't hack it. He took the easy way out.

I ended up paying for Jimmy and his mother's funerals. Me an the guys had knocked over a big time smack dealer in the neighborhood and I got a pretty big piece of the take. I felt like it was the least I could do.

I also felt bad for Lisa, three days married and already a widow. But I remembered the promise I'd made to take care of her if something happened to Jimmy. So take care of her I would. Lisa wasn't really my type, but in the end they were all my type.

And besides, I always thought it was right for a kid to be raised by it's real father.