Read Online Frank Sinatra in a Blender by Matthew McBride - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matthew McBride
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a ten. I thanked her for being perfect.
She met my stare when she took the money. Her eyes were gleaming bits of rough-cut jade in languid pools of lust. Everything about her mouth and throat was a warning. She made a perfect kiss with her spank me lips and marched out of my life, but she did the walk of shame to the stripper’s pole with immeasurable grace.
Doyle seemed impressed. “I think maybe you could fuck her, Valentine.”
I didn’t say anything. Flawless moments like that didn’t come often.
I hammered the first two shots and thought about a bowl of chili.
•••••
They spent the evening with most of Telly’s body in the trunk of English Sid’s car.
Mr. Parker said to cut him up. He wanted it done his way. He said to give Telly special treatment—his way of saying he wanted Telly cut up into eight individual pieces. The legs cut in half to make two pieces each. Each arm removed at the shoulder. The head separated from the torso.
Mr. Parker called that The Eight Piece Deal . It simplified the transportation of the limbs during the disposal process. But the prospect of sawing through muscle and bone for hours on end proved too difficult for them to even contemplate.
Sid had a better idea.
“Let’s just chop his hands off, Johnny. Maybe, his feet. We should probably cut his head off, too. Long as there’s no fingerprints we’ll be fine.”
No Nuts agreed that was a better idea. A lot less messy too. Cutting and sawing through thigh and quadriceps muscle was hard work. But chopping off an ankle was a walk in the park.
They walked behind the church and grabbed an ax from an old shed they’d converted to a tool room, then they took bets on who could chop the feet off in the fewest blows.
They played rock, paper, scissors and No Nuts won, so he decided to let Sid go first.
Sid rolled up Telly’s right pants leg and removed his boot. He drew a mental line right above the ankle. He took a practice swing at half speed, stopped just shy of blade touching skin. Sid concentrated. Focused hard. There was five dollars riding on each swing.
Swoosh , his first attempt went clean through the bone and the ax plunked on the concrete. Sid began to smile.
“Not so fast, cocksucker,” No Nuts said. “I don’t think so.”
“And why not?” Sid questioned. “The bloody blade went straight fuckin’ through!”
No Nuts squatted down, grabbed Telly’s cold dead foot and leaned back with his weight. It started to give some; they could hear cold meat peeling away from the bone.
“Look, this fucker’s still attached.”
The exposed muscle was vivid and pink. There were muscle fibers still connecting everything together.
No Nuts accused Sid of being sloppy.
Sid said, “Okay, Johnny.” Then he took another swing. This time there was no doubt. Telly’s foot detached from his leg and Sid kicked it across the floor.
No Nuts smiled. “Not bad.”
“Fuck you. That first one went clean through. I got jammed up on a bloody technicality.”
“Uh-huh.” Then, with no mental or physical preparation whatsoever, No Nuts took a powerful swing himself, using every ounce of energy his short, fat body possessed. But his aim was way off; the brunt of the blow was absorbed by Telly’s boot with a dull thud. The ax bounced out of Johnny’s hands.
Sid laughed uncontrollably. He lost his balance, had to sit down.
No Nuts shook his head and finished with the legwork.
It was dark when they left the church. They spent the next three hours driving the St. Louis riverfront depositing limbs. They threw a leg in the Mississippi and an arm in the Missouri. No Nuts tossed a foot into a sewer in old St. Charles.
Sid took his time and drove the speed limit. He listened to bad music while No Nuts complained about the weather. About the price of gas. He complained about the Pope and he wasn’t even Catholic.
They drove Interstate 270 to Highway 44. Most of the trip was spent in a heated debate over politics
She met my stare when she took the money. Her eyes were gleaming bits of rough-cut jade in languid pools of lust. Everything about her mouth and throat was a warning. She made a perfect kiss with her spank me lips and marched out of my life, but she did the walk of shame to the stripper’s pole with immeasurable grace.
Doyle seemed impressed. “I think maybe you could fuck her, Valentine.”
I didn’t say anything. Flawless moments like that didn’t come often.
I hammered the first two shots and thought about a bowl of chili.
•••••
They spent the evening with most of Telly’s body in the trunk of English Sid’s car.
Mr. Parker said to cut him up. He wanted it done his way. He said to give Telly special treatment—his way of saying he wanted Telly cut up into eight individual pieces. The legs cut in half to make two pieces each. Each arm removed at the shoulder. The head separated from the torso.
Mr. Parker called that The Eight Piece Deal . It simplified the transportation of the limbs during the disposal process. But the prospect of sawing through muscle and bone for hours on end proved too difficult for them to even contemplate.
Sid had a better idea.
“Let’s just chop his hands off, Johnny. Maybe, his feet. We should probably cut his head off, too. Long as there’s no fingerprints we’ll be fine.”
No Nuts agreed that was a better idea. A lot less messy too. Cutting and sawing through thigh and quadriceps muscle was hard work. But chopping off an ankle was a walk in the park.
They walked behind the church and grabbed an ax from an old shed they’d converted to a tool room, then they took bets on who could chop the feet off in the fewest blows.
They played rock, paper, scissors and No Nuts won, so he decided to let Sid go first.
Sid rolled up Telly’s right pants leg and removed his boot. He drew a mental line right above the ankle. He took a practice swing at half speed, stopped just shy of blade touching skin. Sid concentrated. Focused hard. There was five dollars riding on each swing.
Swoosh , his first attempt went clean through the bone and the ax plunked on the concrete. Sid began to smile.
“Not so fast, cocksucker,” No Nuts said. “I don’t think so.”
“And why not?” Sid questioned. “The bloody blade went straight fuckin’ through!”
No Nuts squatted down, grabbed Telly’s cold dead foot and leaned back with his weight. It started to give some; they could hear cold meat peeling away from the bone.
“Look, this fucker’s still attached.”
The exposed muscle was vivid and pink. There were muscle fibers still connecting everything together.
No Nuts accused Sid of being sloppy.
Sid said, “Okay, Johnny.” Then he took another swing. This time there was no doubt. Telly’s foot detached from his leg and Sid kicked it across the floor.
No Nuts smiled. “Not bad.”
“Fuck you. That first one went clean through. I got jammed up on a bloody technicality.”
“Uh-huh.” Then, with no mental or physical preparation whatsoever, No Nuts took a powerful swing himself, using every ounce of energy his short, fat body possessed. But his aim was way off; the brunt of the blow was absorbed by Telly’s boot with a dull thud. The ax bounced out of Johnny’s hands.
Sid laughed uncontrollably. He lost his balance, had to sit down.
No Nuts shook his head and finished with the legwork.
It was dark when they left the church. They spent the next three hours driving the St. Louis riverfront depositing limbs. They threw a leg in the Mississippi and an arm in the Missouri. No Nuts tossed a foot into a sewer in old St. Charles.
Sid took his time and drove the speed limit. He listened to bad music while No Nuts complained about the weather. About the price of gas. He complained about the Pope and he wasn’t even Catholic.
They drove Interstate 270 to Highway 44. Most of the trip was spent in a heated debate over politics
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