Read Online The King of Swords (max mingus) by Nick Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: Nick Stone
Tags: det_police
Ads: Link
uptown bars. The money wasn't as good, the risks were higher and they had to turn twice the number of tricks they had before, but it was still way better than being the next suit down-Spades-and working the street, or else-the worst option of all-getting some kind of regular nine to five. He'd known a few who'd tried just that. 'Going straight,' they'd called it. Yeah, right. Within months they'd all gone straight back to him. No point in selling your soul if you don't get the right price.
It wouldn't all be smooth sailing with Corrina. He took that for granted. In his business, there were ten shitstorms to every sunny day. Any number of things could go badly wrong every time a Card went out on the Game-cops, pregnancy, VD and violence. Carmine would have the Diamond and Heart tricks checked out first to make sure they weren't pigs or feebs, and then he'd find out how much they could afford to pay and how much they had to lose. He used a PI called Clyde Beeson to do the background checks. Beeson was expensive, but he was as quick as he was thorough. It usually took him under a week to find out everything and anything about a person.
Of course, there was just no predicting people, especially the rich. Some tricks turned nasty and liked to knock a bitch about, just for the hell of it, 'cause they could. Most of the time the damage was nothing too serious-a split lip or a black eye, but occasionally they'd overstep the mark and fuck their looks up good. His operation didn't skip more than a beat or two because he'd recycle the Card back as a Club or, if they were fucked-up beyond what a reasonably priced surgeon could fix, he'd use them as Spades. In truth, that was a pretty extreme scenario and had happened only twice in the seven years he'd been running his Deck.
A hot Creole Card called Hortensia had gone out to the Caymans with a Wall Street type for the weekend and didn't come back when she was supposed to. The guy rang Carmine up and said the bitch had freaked out on him and gone AWOL that morning. Carmine sent Beeson out to look for her. He found her thirty-seven hours later, back in Miami, holed up in a shitty hotel, a loaded gun in one hand, a bottle of sleeping pills in the other, trying to decide which way out she wanted to go. Looking back and seeing the state of her now, Carmine didn't know why the bitch hadn't just gone ahead and pulled the fucking trigger. He would've done. Mr Wall Street had given her a shot which had put her to sleep while he'd tattooed the whole of the bitch's beautiful face so she looked like someone out of Kiss. Although Carmine had wanted to cut Hortensia loose, she'd begged to be kept in the Deck. Good thing he'd agreed to it too, because now she had a small but loyal clientele of weirdo freaks who went in for her kind of looks. Then there was Valerie, a Diamond who'd been jumped outside a hotel and pack-raped by a bunch of jocks in the back of a van. When they were through, they'd thrown her out at seventy miles an hour on the freeway. She survived but looked like the Elephant Man's twin sister. Carmine couldn't think of anyone who'd want to fuck that, but men never stopped surprising him. Like Hortensia, Valerie had her paying devotees.
'Su perfume es bueno,' Corrina said as she came back from serving Stinkyman, sniffing her wrist and beaming that smile at him. He thought it her worst feature. It made her look simple and stupid. He'd make her drop it.
'Solamente el major,' Carmine replied. It often ba?ed him how dumb a lot of these bitches were, believing any old shit they were told as long as the teller looked the part.
Corrina was a case in point. She thought he was a photographer from New Orleans called Louis De Ville. That's what it said on the business card he'd given her. It was a classy-looking thing-thick textured cream card with his name embossed in metallic emerald-green capitals. His profession, address and number were printed in smaller lettering below. The number and
It wouldn't all be smooth sailing with Corrina. He took that for granted. In his business, there were ten shitstorms to every sunny day. Any number of things could go badly wrong every time a Card went out on the Game-cops, pregnancy, VD and violence. Carmine would have the Diamond and Heart tricks checked out first to make sure they weren't pigs or feebs, and then he'd find out how much they could afford to pay and how much they had to lose. He used a PI called Clyde Beeson to do the background checks. Beeson was expensive, but he was as quick as he was thorough. It usually took him under a week to find out everything and anything about a person.
Of course, there was just no predicting people, especially the rich. Some tricks turned nasty and liked to knock a bitch about, just for the hell of it, 'cause they could. Most of the time the damage was nothing too serious-a split lip or a black eye, but occasionally they'd overstep the mark and fuck their looks up good. His operation didn't skip more than a beat or two because he'd recycle the Card back as a Club or, if they were fucked-up beyond what a reasonably priced surgeon could fix, he'd use them as Spades. In truth, that was a pretty extreme scenario and had happened only twice in the seven years he'd been running his Deck.
A hot Creole Card called Hortensia had gone out to the Caymans with a Wall Street type for the weekend and didn't come back when she was supposed to. The guy rang Carmine up and said the bitch had freaked out on him and gone AWOL that morning. Carmine sent Beeson out to look for her. He found her thirty-seven hours later, back in Miami, holed up in a shitty hotel, a loaded gun in one hand, a bottle of sleeping pills in the other, trying to decide which way out she wanted to go. Looking back and seeing the state of her now, Carmine didn't know why the bitch hadn't just gone ahead and pulled the fucking trigger. He would've done. Mr Wall Street had given her a shot which had put her to sleep while he'd tattooed the whole of the bitch's beautiful face so she looked like someone out of Kiss. Although Carmine had wanted to cut Hortensia loose, she'd begged to be kept in the Deck. Good thing he'd agreed to it too, because now she had a small but loyal clientele of weirdo freaks who went in for her kind of looks. Then there was Valerie, a Diamond who'd been jumped outside a hotel and pack-raped by a bunch of jocks in the back of a van. When they were through, they'd thrown her out at seventy miles an hour on the freeway. She survived but looked like the Elephant Man's twin sister. Carmine couldn't think of anyone who'd want to fuck that, but men never stopped surprising him. Like Hortensia, Valerie had her paying devotees.
'Su perfume es bueno,' Corrina said as she came back from serving Stinkyman, sniffing her wrist and beaming that smile at him. He thought it her worst feature. It made her look simple and stupid. He'd make her drop it.
'Solamente el major,' Carmine replied. It often ba?ed him how dumb a lot of these bitches were, believing any old shit they were told as long as the teller looked the part.
Corrina was a case in point. She thought he was a photographer from New Orleans called Louis De Ville. That's what it said on the business card he'd given her. It was a classy-looking thing-thick textured cream card with his name embossed in metallic emerald-green capitals. His profession, address and number were printed in smaller lettering below. The number and
Similar Books
