Read Online Frank Sinatra in a Blender by Matthew McBride - Free Book Online
Authors: Matthew McBride
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“Grab me a Seven ‘n’ Seven while yer at it.”
Big Tony sniffed a line of cocaine with a stealth that surprised me, then slid the mirror across the table. There wasn’t enough there to get excited about, but I licked my finger and cleaned up what was left. I rubbed the inside of my mouth vigorously, then waited for the numbness to take hold.
I didn’t have to wait long. That overwhelming lack of sensation washed over my gums like a Novocaine dream as rap music blasted a ferocious assault. Vibrations from the mammoth speakers suspended from the ceiling caused my empty Corona to foxtrot across the table.
For a second everything felt right. Like the world was my slave and I had everything I needed.
Big Tony stopped a tall, thin dancer with long blonde pigtails who stood on enormous pink platform heels at least eight inches tall. Her body was tight and shaved clean. I watched her abdominal muscles flex and release under the cruel light of the single bulb that burned dimly above our beer-stained table.
She took Big Tony’s drink order then asked me what I wanted.
I gave her a hard look and told her with my eyes.
She said I’d have to do better than that.
I sat up straight in my chair, my posture rigid, commanding.
I explained that I had a skilled tongue that made women weep. Perhaps, under different circumstances, I could give her a demonstration. Then I asked her for a double shot of Maker’s Mark, a Corona, and a shot of Quervo Gold. Preferably with lime.
She looked confused.
Doyle returned and put the new Corona in my hand. He told me they were fresh out of Seagram’s.
I told him not to worry as I dropped the next Oxy on my tongue. Doyle said he wasn’t, then took a seat and told us what he’d come up with.
Parker’s best man was a guy called English Sid. He asked me if I knew him.
I told him I thought so. That sounded like Parker’s number one.
“Uh huh, that’s him,” Doyle continued. “Well, I been thinkin’. Seems to me, we just gotta follow this English Sid. We follow him and he leads us to the money. Assuming he even has it. Assuming this tweaker fuck is even involved.”
Doyle gave Big Tony a questionning look, but Big Tony was convinced.
“Telly’s involved. He all but told me, the little shit.”
“Yeah, I dunno.” Doyle shrugged. “Just seems like you’re still assumin’ a lot.”
Doyle was right. Big Tony was assuming a lot. But they didn’t know about Norman Russo, a detail that could prove to be everything.
A few minutes passed without words as I continued to drink at a pace that would’ve made any competitive drinker proud. I finally broke the silence with a powerful belch and a brilliant idea.
“Let’s just follow this cocksucker. We’ll do it in shifts. Starting now.”
I volunteered to go first, knowing full well I wouldn’t have to.
Doyle clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “That’s what I’m sayin’! If Parker’s behind this, and he’s probably behind this, then this English cocksucker’s gotta be involved too. We follow him to the money.”
Doyle offered to take the first watch, like I knew he would.
I understood Big Tony’s bobbing head to mean he agreed. He was tapping his finger on the coke kit.
“It’s our only move,” I said. “But it still doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
Doyle shrugged his shoulders and asked me if I could come up with anything better.
I drained the second half of my bottle and set the empty down gently this time. Told them I didn’t know. There wasn’t much to go on.
I failed to mention my involvement with the Chief. Thought some things were better left unsaid.
Before we could discuss things any further, the elegant blonde—the one I failed to enchant with empty promises and pornographic advances—returned in her monstrous pedestal shoes.
She set the tray down on the table and Big Tony grabbed his beer, told her to stick it on his tab.
Then she looked at me so I handed her a twenty and
Big Tony sniffed a line of cocaine with a stealth that surprised me, then slid the mirror across the table. There wasn’t enough there to get excited about, but I licked my finger and cleaned up what was left. I rubbed the inside of my mouth vigorously, then waited for the numbness to take hold.
I didn’t have to wait long. That overwhelming lack of sensation washed over my gums like a Novocaine dream as rap music blasted a ferocious assault. Vibrations from the mammoth speakers suspended from the ceiling caused my empty Corona to foxtrot across the table.
For a second everything felt right. Like the world was my slave and I had everything I needed.
Big Tony stopped a tall, thin dancer with long blonde pigtails who stood on enormous pink platform heels at least eight inches tall. Her body was tight and shaved clean. I watched her abdominal muscles flex and release under the cruel light of the single bulb that burned dimly above our beer-stained table.
She took Big Tony’s drink order then asked me what I wanted.
I gave her a hard look and told her with my eyes.
She said I’d have to do better than that.
I sat up straight in my chair, my posture rigid, commanding.
I explained that I had a skilled tongue that made women weep. Perhaps, under different circumstances, I could give her a demonstration. Then I asked her for a double shot of Maker’s Mark, a Corona, and a shot of Quervo Gold. Preferably with lime.
She looked confused.
Doyle returned and put the new Corona in my hand. He told me they were fresh out of Seagram’s.
I told him not to worry as I dropped the next Oxy on my tongue. Doyle said he wasn’t, then took a seat and told us what he’d come up with.
Parker’s best man was a guy called English Sid. He asked me if I knew him.
I told him I thought so. That sounded like Parker’s number one.
“Uh huh, that’s him,” Doyle continued. “Well, I been thinkin’. Seems to me, we just gotta follow this English Sid. We follow him and he leads us to the money. Assuming he even has it. Assuming this tweaker fuck is even involved.”
Doyle gave Big Tony a questionning look, but Big Tony was convinced.
“Telly’s involved. He all but told me, the little shit.”
“Yeah, I dunno.” Doyle shrugged. “Just seems like you’re still assumin’ a lot.”
Doyle was right. Big Tony was assuming a lot. But they didn’t know about Norman Russo, a detail that could prove to be everything.
A few minutes passed without words as I continued to drink at a pace that would’ve made any competitive drinker proud. I finally broke the silence with a powerful belch and a brilliant idea.
“Let’s just follow this cocksucker. We’ll do it in shifts. Starting now.”
I volunteered to go first, knowing full well I wouldn’t have to.
Doyle clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “That’s what I’m sayin’! If Parker’s behind this, and he’s probably behind this, then this English cocksucker’s gotta be involved too. We follow him to the money.”
Doyle offered to take the first watch, like I knew he would.
I understood Big Tony’s bobbing head to mean he agreed. He was tapping his finger on the coke kit.
“It’s our only move,” I said. “But it still doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
Doyle shrugged his shoulders and asked me if I could come up with anything better.
I drained the second half of my bottle and set the empty down gently this time. Told them I didn’t know. There wasn’t much to go on.
I failed to mention my involvement with the Chief. Thought some things were better left unsaid.
Before we could discuss things any further, the elegant blonde—the one I failed to enchant with empty promises and pornographic advances—returned in her monstrous pedestal shoes.
She set the tray down on the table and Big Tony grabbed his beer, told her to stick it on his tab.
Then she looked at me so I handed her a twenty and
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