Cloudy November sky, cold drizzle, killer city lights – yeah this shoulda been a great night. Of course by great I mean hanging out in my girlfriend's apartment until midnight or until her husband comes home from his lame-ass job, in which case I would be forced to go out through the window and break a bone or two while trying to zip my pants before the neighbors could see me waggling my dingdong on their back porch, run out the compound, hit the local bar at 28 and 3rd, have a double Scotch on the rocks and trick some brainless bimbo into going home with me.
Instead I got myself in a situation where someone is required to point a gun to my head and feel good about blowing my brains out. Some night, eh?
Well frankly, this isn't a bad thing considering that I've been through the same scenarios before. Yeah I still remember the last time...
...I was tied to a chair, and this fella Tommy Toothpick kept talking in my face I could almost taste the ravioli he had for dinner. Hey believe me, I love pasta just not coming outta someone else's mouth. It woulda helped too if he really did use the toothpick in this mouth coz I saw things sticking outta those jacketed teeth of his that looked as old as my grandma, and the old hag has already been six feet under since the dark ages. Anyway, this Tommy fella, he was the one who squealed me to the boss, that backstabbing swine! He said I was playing both sides. Well it's not necessarily true. I just did a couple o' jobs for this other boss, Vinnie Two-Tone. He was called so because he only used two tones when talking – the angry tone and the less angry tone. Anyway, Mr. Vinnie's last job for me was to whack my boss' youngest son. I got no problem with that. The kid's a fucking moron. I would've whacked him for free if only I weren't running short. That was when Tommy decided to play Judas on me...something about loyalty or somethin'...Hell, I needed the dough and I even offered the sonovabitch half for his silence, but he decided to tell on me anyway, the fuckin' sissy! Some friend, eh? Well they shot me and they thought they've gotten rid o' me but here I am. I just left town and moved here.
The thing is...I just can't seem to keep myself outta trouble. Must be my line o' work. Oh well...
So okay, as I was saying, I've been through the same routine before. It's just that this rut I'm in right now? I don't think it's really my fault.
You see, Friday I got a call from Frankie the Fish. I was necking with some college girl from downtown so I was kinda in a hurry to get off the phone. He asked me if I wanted a job and I said, "Sure what the hell." He told me that he needed some dough delivered and I said, "Sure what the hell." He said this one required me to go to Club Forte and I said, "Uhm...sure what the hell." He gave me a couple o' more details badabing badaboom and that was it.
It was only afterwards that I realized the predicament I've gotten myself into. Frankie the Fish needed me to go to Club Forte at nine in the morning! He expects me to go there in broad daylight? Ha! I ain't bustin' my balls for this one.