Read Online Last Stop This Town by David Steinberg - Free Book Online
Authors: David Steinberg
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my friend, you losing your concentration on me now? The queen is a royal bitch and you gots to pay attention.”
The other three guys rolled their eyes.
Noah tried one more time to reason with him, speaking slowly, “It’s. A. Con.”
But Pike was committed to this cause. “No, I can do this.”
“Come on, dude,” Dylan interrupted, “just give him your wallet and stop wasting our time.”
Pike just turned to the dealer. “Let’s go again.”
“That’s the spirit! Do or die, never give up, that’s what made this country great.” The clichés poured out like a fine bottle of Night Train.
He showed the queen again then began his patter. “Round and round, there she goes, where she winds up, nobody knows.”
As the cards jumped back and forth, Walker looked at Noah, like, Shouldn’t we do something? , but Noah was at a loss for how to convince Pike to abandon this avenue of idiocy.
Dylan summed it up, quietly commenting, “There’s no stopping him now.”
The cards came to a rest and this time Pike was sure the queen was on the left. He threw down another twenty and declared his choice.
The dealer flipped up the card. Ace.
He grabbed Pike’s money and Pike turned red. “Fuck! How is he doing that?!”
“You getting sleepy, my man?” the dealer asked, hoping to score a third bet. “I thought we was friends.”
Pike reached for his wallet.
Dylan nodded to Noah and together the two of them literally grabbed Pike by both arms.
“Come on, genius,” Noah prodded.
The dealer was upset. “Hey, man, what’choo doin’? Ain’t this a free country? Ain’t a man got a right to make a fair wager?”
But as the guys pulled the livid Pike away, the dealer knew it was over. In a flash, the table was folded up and he and his shills and lookouts were down the street scouting for their next mark.
“No, wait!” Pike pleaded, “I know how he’s doing it! Let’s go back! Let’s go back!”
As he struggled, Dylan pulled him in to a head lock and gave him a friendly noogie, laughing, “You dumb motherfucker.”
The guys spent the rest of the afternoon walking through Central Park, checking out the 9/11 Memorial, and exploring Rockefeller Center. At FAO Schwartz, they played laser tag, knocking over displays and causing a scene in the store. As for food, they ate hot dogs and pretzels from a vendor on 38th Street. But by five p.m., it was down to business, and the guys found themselves smoking cigars, drinking beers, and watching the show on the main stage of the Baby Dolls Gentlemen’s Club.
It’s funny how guys are around strippers. One regiment of strippers could probably end war as we know it because beautiful naked women have a pacifying effect on everyone around. Men of all ages just sit there, mouths slightly ajar, gaping at the sea of breasts and asses. They look hypnotized—how else could the strippers get them to empty their wallets for a no-touch lap dance?
Our guys were no exception. Even Dylan gazed in amazement at the quality and quantity. Occasionally, a particularly stunning one would walk by and one of the guys would point her out to the others. They bought each other lap dances, as was the custom, as if buying a lap dance for a friend were less seedy than buying one for yourself. Some nonverbal clues were needed so the interested party could convey his preference to the buyer, but at a place like Baby Dolls there weren’t too many bad choices.
Walker scored the most dances. It was fun to watch him squirm and turn red when a girl shook her ass in his face or squeezed her breasts together to grab a dollar bill from his teeth. After a few minutes, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” ended (the guys wondered if strip club DJs ever updated their playlists) and Walker needed a break.
Dylan was just about to call the waitress over for another round when Pike’s eyes went wide. Coming into the club was Chuck Zambrelli with his football buddies.
“No way,” Pike gasped,
The other three guys rolled their eyes.
Noah tried one more time to reason with him, speaking slowly, “It’s. A. Con.”
But Pike was committed to this cause. “No, I can do this.”
“Come on, dude,” Dylan interrupted, “just give him your wallet and stop wasting our time.”
Pike just turned to the dealer. “Let’s go again.”
“That’s the spirit! Do or die, never give up, that’s what made this country great.” The clichés poured out like a fine bottle of Night Train.
He showed the queen again then began his patter. “Round and round, there she goes, where she winds up, nobody knows.”
As the cards jumped back and forth, Walker looked at Noah, like, Shouldn’t we do something? , but Noah was at a loss for how to convince Pike to abandon this avenue of idiocy.
Dylan summed it up, quietly commenting, “There’s no stopping him now.”
The cards came to a rest and this time Pike was sure the queen was on the left. He threw down another twenty and declared his choice.
The dealer flipped up the card. Ace.
He grabbed Pike’s money and Pike turned red. “Fuck! How is he doing that?!”
“You getting sleepy, my man?” the dealer asked, hoping to score a third bet. “I thought we was friends.”
Pike reached for his wallet.
Dylan nodded to Noah and together the two of them literally grabbed Pike by both arms.
“Come on, genius,” Noah prodded.
The dealer was upset. “Hey, man, what’choo doin’? Ain’t this a free country? Ain’t a man got a right to make a fair wager?”
But as the guys pulled the livid Pike away, the dealer knew it was over. In a flash, the table was folded up and he and his shills and lookouts were down the street scouting for their next mark.
“No, wait!” Pike pleaded, “I know how he’s doing it! Let’s go back! Let’s go back!”
As he struggled, Dylan pulled him in to a head lock and gave him a friendly noogie, laughing, “You dumb motherfucker.”
The guys spent the rest of the afternoon walking through Central Park, checking out the 9/11 Memorial, and exploring Rockefeller Center. At FAO Schwartz, they played laser tag, knocking over displays and causing a scene in the store. As for food, they ate hot dogs and pretzels from a vendor on 38th Street. But by five p.m., it was down to business, and the guys found themselves smoking cigars, drinking beers, and watching the show on the main stage of the Baby Dolls Gentlemen’s Club.
It’s funny how guys are around strippers. One regiment of strippers could probably end war as we know it because beautiful naked women have a pacifying effect on everyone around. Men of all ages just sit there, mouths slightly ajar, gaping at the sea of breasts and asses. They look hypnotized—how else could the strippers get them to empty their wallets for a no-touch lap dance?
Our guys were no exception. Even Dylan gazed in amazement at the quality and quantity. Occasionally, a particularly stunning one would walk by and one of the guys would point her out to the others. They bought each other lap dances, as was the custom, as if buying a lap dance for a friend were less seedy than buying one for yourself. Some nonverbal clues were needed so the interested party could convey his preference to the buyer, but at a place like Baby Dolls there weren’t too many bad choices.
Walker scored the most dances. It was fun to watch him squirm and turn red when a girl shook her ass in his face or squeezed her breasts together to grab a dollar bill from his teeth. After a few minutes, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” ended (the guys wondered if strip club DJs ever updated their playlists) and Walker needed a break.
Dylan was just about to call the waitress over for another round when Pike’s eyes went wide. Coming into the club was Chuck Zambrelli with his football buddies.
“No way,” Pike gasped,
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