Read Online The Chameleon Fallacy (Big Bamboo Book 2) by Shane Norwood - Free Book Online Page B

like. With that there kisser a yourn, you and me can go places.”
    That had kind of set the tone for the whole round. On the ninth hole, some other guys came up. Yorke told him to go and look for lost balls for a while, and Monsoon stood in the shade of a stand of trees as he watched Yorke talking to the men. The men shook hands with Yorke, then climbed into their golf carts and bimbled off. Monsoon knew better than to ask questions. He handed Yorke his bag.
    “ The hell with that, son. Fuck this shit. This game done be over, boy. I done what needed doin’. Scoot over and fetch the cart, boy. We’re gonna go get ourselves a drink.”
    They went to the Laguna Champagne Bar at the Venetian. Monsoon decided to try to play an ace.
    “ Elmo. I’d like to buy you a drink.”
    “ Don’t be an asshole all ya life, kid. Take a fuckin’ day off. Y’all ain’t got a hole to shit in ’er nary a shovel ta dig it with. What y’all drinkin’?”
    A waitress who looked like she could float on her own farts came up and asked them if they would like to see the extensive champagne menu. Monsoon was just shaping his lips to say, “I’d love to,” when Yorke said, “Hell, no. Champagne’s fer ladies ’n’ queers. Gimme a Mickey’s Big Mouth, would ya, darlin’.”
    “ Er, yeah. Right on. Make that two.”
    By way of conversation, as they waited for their drinks, Monsoon said, “So, Elmo. You must be Jewish.”
    Elmo fixed him with a look that would have congealed baby shit. “No. I’m a fucken Rosicrucian. Now, son, they’s some folks that hold there ain’t no such thing as a stupid question, but you just done disproved that there theory right there and then. That is the dumbest-assed question I ever heard. I’m a fucken Rabbi, asshole. When’s the last time y’all encountered any kinda Rabbi who weren’t fucking Jewish. Next off y’all’ll be askin’ me if my mama was a female.”
    “ Shit. Sorry, Elmo. I figured that Rabbi was just some kinda nickname or something. You don’t look like a Rabbi, and you sure as hell don’t talk like one.”
    “ Well, son, you gots to cut the cloth to suit the garment. So’s I talks the way that seems appropriate at the time. Longer you hang around me, the more you’ll see it. Say, you all got a passport?”
    “ Yeah. Why?”
    “’ Cos I gots a proposition fer y’all, and it might be of a peripatetic nature.”
    “ Huh?”
    “ Means you might have to travel some. Now, I like you, son. Y’all just smart enough to be useful and just dumb enough to not be dangerous. I got a big mother of a deal comin’ up, and I could use a guy like you. How’d y’all like to come and work fer me, temporarily permanent-like?”
    Monsoon had a mental image of himself in a Lakers outfit, dropping a trey from the halfway line at the buzzer. He flashed the enamel and his smile popped like a thirties flashbulb.
    “ Deal me in, boss,” he said.
    “ Well, good, then. Now, get yer stuff, move out of whatever deadbeat shithole y’all livin’ in, and we’ll fix y’all up with a room here tonight. Tomorrow we head fer Louisiana, boy.”
     
    As the big red Cadillac merged from the on-ramp and headed down the freeway, Elmo Yorke told the driver to stay at a steady fifty-five. He didn’t like fast driving, and he didn’t want to spill the champagne that he had just pulled out of his bar. He popped the cork, aiming at an elderly couple driving past in a Japanese hatchback, but he missed.
    He poured himself a glass and downed it, taking away the awful taste of that cheap redneck beer. He poured another, set it in the holder, reached for his phone, and dialed. He sipped his second glass of champagne as he waited for his party to answer.
    “ Khuy? How are you, you mamzer ? Da , I love you too. Yes, of course I got you the tchotchke . But it wasn’t fucking cheap, hey? I have to up the price. What? Yeah, you heard right. Double. But listen. I found the perfect guy. Some nebbish . A