Read Online Slide by Jason Starr Ken Bruen - Free Book Online Page B

day for, what, two months? It was classy food, but still.
    Scarface was playing on the TV. For a little change of pace, Max put in Carlito’s Way . What could he say, he couldn’t get enough of Pacino. And come to think of it, didn’t he and Al look more than a little alike? Yeah, they both had that smoldering gig going on, the half-lidded eyes.
    Max whispered, “ You wanna piece of me?”
    Maybe Pacino would play Max in the movie of his life. And, make no mistake, Max’s life was ripe for the big screen. They loved riches-to-rags-to-riches stories, didn’t they? And, whoa, hold the phones, what about HBO? His life could be a series—God knew there were enough plot twists—and he had a title already, Maxwood . Speaking of which, he was starting to pop a little wood.
    “Beeeee-atch!”
    Max called for Felicia again and a couple of minutes later she was busy on her knees, chilling. It was great to have things back to normal with his bee-atch and he could tell she was digging the whole mellowed-out Max Fisher deal. Had to be better than having a gun in her face anyway.
    Later on, he and Felicia were chilling with Merlot, watching Pacino, when the phone rang.
    “Maximilian?”
    It was fucking Kyle.
    Shit, had the pot and the Val brought him that far down? It even seemed like Kyle was talking fast.
    “My name’s not Max, it’s The M.A.X.”
    “Oh, sorry ’bout that, sir, I guess I have the wrong number.”
    “It’s me, you stupid fucking moron,” Max said, thinking was this a put-on or what? Could a human being be this retarded? “Hey, and I was about to call you. Where is the mule with my candy? We were supposed to do that deal today? Ten grand, remember?”
    “That’s why I’m calling,” Kyle said. “I have some bad news for you about that.”
    Felicia was eating a spider roll, not paying attention.
    “I’m warning you,” Max said. “I’m an emotional guy lately. You don’t want to say anything that might rub me the wrong way.”
    “I can’t send you any more candy, sir.”
    “Maybe it’s the Southern accent or the insane amount of coke I’ve done today, but I don’t think I understood you. I thought you just said you can’t send me any more candy.”
    “I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “It’s out of my hands.”
    “Whoa, whoa, what the fuck’re you talking about, ‘any more’? You trying to say you’re cutting me off? No one cuts off The M.A.X.!”
    Looked like mellow Max Fisher was a thing of the past. That didn’t last long.
    “Please don’t be mad at me, sir,” Kyle said. “It’s not my fault, sir.”
    “Who is it then? Is it that nigger, Darnell?”
    Felicia gave Max a nasty look. Max mouthed, Sorry . Should’ve added, My bee-atch.
    “No it’s not Darnell either, sir. It’s our friends in Colombia. They don’t...maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this on the phone.”
    “Paranoia’s no way to live your life, Kyle. What the fuck is the Colombians’ problem?”
    “Well, they don’t trust you, sir. They said until they get a chance to meet you we can’t send it up to you in New York.”
    “Did you tell them who they’re dealing with?”
    Long pause, then Kyle said, “I told them your name.”
    “Not my name, you idiot. Did you tell them who I am . Did you tell them I’m a mogul, I’m a kingpin, that I’m a respected businessman, that nobody ever, ever calls the shots with The M.A.X.?”
    “I’m sorry, sir,” Kyle said. “I’m just reportin’ the facts as the facts were reported to me.”
    “Stop the slow talk and just fucking listen to me,” Max said. “I have twenty grand sitting here and I have no candy. Do you understand my predicament? I have customers who have very sweet tooths, or teeth, or whatever the fuck, and I need to get them their goddamn candy.”
    “Maybe if we can arrange a meeting—”
    “You mean an audition? I don’t audition for nobody.”
    Did Pacino ever say that? If not, he should’ve.
    “I’m sorry, Max...I mean, The