EAT SHIT
by
Tony Black
"He said that to you? ... I don't, you wouldn't shit me on this, Eddie?"
Miami Mike carried two Buds back from the bar, he swayed a little - nights like these, with old Eddie from the block could turn tasty, full-on tasty.
"He said it, I tell you now, God as my judge ... it's what he said, Mike."
Mike slammed down the Buds, white foam, froth, whatever, flowed down the sides and onto the table top.
"Whoa ... calm the fuck down, man ..."
The beer spill pooled on the checkered paper tablecloth, a red candle in a dancing-girl statuette, her hooters glowing from within, trembled in prelude to a fall.
"This kinda shit, it's way outta line," said Mike, "run this by me again, from the top, don't leave anything out ... and I mean anything."
Eddie picked up his Bud, ran a hand over the bottleneck, slugged deep. His lips twitched. Nerves on edge, and out there for all to see.
"Well, you asked ..."
*****
"She's at it again, the fucking Party Queen," said Gloria.
Eddie struggled to the edge of the bed, wiped the sleep from his still-tired eyes, "You're kidding me."
"You can't hear her?"
"Honey, I took a bucket of Moggies, how else you think I sleep here."
Eddie slapped palms on his face, shook his head, seemed like the neighborhood joined in, "Oh, yeah now I'm hearing ..."
Gloria stood at the window, looked out with a face ominous as thunder. She tugged at the heavy drapes and light came flooding into the bedroom.
As he smarted, Eddie noticed the Lucky in her fingers; she'd started smoking again already. Was the stress. He knew it was all wrong. They were being held to ransom in their own home.
"I can't take much more of this," said Gloria, "this is some kinda retirement!"
Eddie rose, went to her side. He tried to take the Lucky from her; Gloria snatched her hand away.
"What are you going to do about this? We can't live like this anymore, Eddie...we can't!"
Gloria yanked open the window, roared, "Turn that fucking music down you crazy fucking bitch! Turn it the hell down or I'll come over there and wrap that fucking boom-box round your scrawny motherfucking neck!"
*****
"So that was the start of it, huh?" said Mike.
"Yeah, like I say...since we moved from back East, all we had was like, y'know...parties from the get go."
Mike leaned in, stroked the base of his Bud like it was a lapdog, "She's round the clock with this?"
"Hey, buddy...lemme tell ya, when we was growing up back in the old brownstone, we had it peaceful compared."
Mike looked thoughtful. Eddie scoured his mind for the word.
Oh yeah, he thought ... contemplative.
"What you thinking, Mike?"
He rose, tipped back the rest of his Bud. "Thinking it's your turn to get the Buds in, pal."
Eddie made the run to the bar, returned; careful not to spill any beer like Mike had done last time.
"Well, I'm all ears."
Mike played with the edges of his moustache, greying now, but the jaw was still firm, carrying none of the meat Eddie was, "Then what happened?"
"The bitch's daddy comes round, he's some big ass lawyer, slaps a stack of papers on me and next I know I got a restraining order and he's saying I done harassed his daughter."
"That it?"
"No, man...he's suing my ass."
"You spoke to this girl of his?"
"Man, yeah, 'course...but nice like, fuck this is Miami I ain't looking for no aggravation. I had enough of that thirty years renting Pintos to fat ass out-of-towners."
"This restraining order...what it say?"
Eddie sighed, lowered his eyes, rapid fired on the Bud, "That's the worst," he put down the bear, stared at his palms like they had the answer written there, "...claims I sexually approached her."
Mike banged the table. The dancing girl fell over. The candle went out, "The low motherfucker!"
Eddie stayed silent. He looked at his oldest friend, his one remaining relic from childhood. He knew the look on his face, he'd seen it before. Was like back in '68 when he took the Louisville slugger to the basketball court, took down five, six guys who'd welshed on the drags.
"Eddie, here's what you do...next letter he sends you, you wipe your ass on it."
"What?"
Mike grabbed Eddie's arm, there was darkness in his eyes, this look Eddie had never seen before. The thirty years that had passed before they'd hooked up again held some blind spots...he saw that now.
"Okay, okay ... but, then what?"
Mike released his arm, "I'll keep you posted."
*****
A pool-side party was in full swing as Mike pulled up outside Eddie and Gloria's condo. It was a neat set-up, he thought. Sun-dried adobe brick, bit of a hacienda feel happening. Nice. He could see why Eddie had sprung for the condo, made their old stomping ground on the Lower East Side look just like the hell on Earth it surely had been.
He lowered his mirrored Ray-Bans and scoped his friend's home. Looked quiet; drapes shut. No-one home? Or, if they were, keeping totally out of sight. No way to live, thought Mike. Not at all. Not for a friend of his.
He retread the times Eddie had shared his lunchpail with him when they were kids. Mike could still remember how it felt to have an empty belly. But he'd worked out of that world; so had Eddie, he deserved better.
There was some dance music playing. Loud as all fuckery. Mike was five-hundred yards from the pool but he could still make out every line of Marky-frickin-Mark's Good Vibrations. It was obviously a track daddy's girl enjoyed. 'Yeah, do it, do it ..." said Mike.
Pulman appeared. "You want I should grab the slut?"
"Slut?" said Mike.
"Yeah, she's a slut, look the way she's dancing...that's filth, man!"
The girl was groin-grinding two beach bums, surfer-types with blond bangs and over-tanned complexions.
"She's gonna have those guys dicks out like two ski-poles any minute, wait see."
Mike took off his shades, "She's some piece a'work alright."
"Look, now…” She took off her bikini top and tweaked at her erect nipples, the surfers poured beer on her breasts and she encouraged them to lick it off.
"See, I fucking told ya!"
"Sexual suit, huh?" said Mike.
"Come 'gain?'
Mike put his shades back on, walked back to the SUV.
"Yo, boss...you want I should snatch her?"
"What for?"
"Take her to the border. Make her suck Mexican dick for a month—fifty cents a throw! See how loud she wants to play fucking Marky Mark then."
Miami Mike gunned the engine, motioned Pulman to get in.
*****
Daddy had a practice in the sweet side of the street. Old colonial mansion, painted white and bathed in sunlight. If there was royalty in Miami, they'd keep a joint like this. But Mike knew there was no royalty in Miami. Not the type with crowns and robes and shit anyways. The royalty he knew carried Mossbergs in the trunk and hired people like Pulman to shoot them.
The lawyer wore a light linen suit, black shirt beneath with a flower-print tie. He topped the outfit off with red-toed cowboy boots.
"That's our man," said Mike.
"You sure?" asked Pulman, "Motherfucker looks like Boss Hogg!"
"That's him."
Mike didn't need to say anymore. Pulman got out the SUV and crossed the street. As he went, Mike watched his muscle-bound factotum walk towards the sidewalk.
The SUV's windows were blacked out, they kept Mike's identity hidden from the street as Pulman grabbed the lawyer round the neck and wrestled him to the ground like a steer. It was a carefully-practised maneuver, all over in under a minute.
The lawyer screamed like a stuck pig in the back of the vehicle. It took two raps on the side of the head from Pulman to quiet him down.
They drove out to the flats. It was hot, topping eighty Fahrenheit. A dust trail blew up behind them.
When Mike stopped the SUV, he slowly turned to face the lawyer for the first time.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" said a crumpled suit, covered in blood from a fierce nosebleed.
"Do I look like I care who you are?" said Mike.
The lawyer flustered, raised a finger, "I will, t-tell y-you..."
Pulman grabbed the finger, snapped it back. The lawyer shrieked then folded like a knife, cradling his hand.
"Look, boss...he's crying!...Straight up, he's crying like a fucking girl? I never seen that before, you seen that before, boss?"
Mike turned away, spoke quietly, "Yeah, I've seen that before."
"W-what do you want from me?" screamed the lawyer.
Pulman laid a hand on his chest, "Boss, let me ass-fuck him, please, huh?"
Mike turned front again, watched Pulman in the rear-view, he saw him eye the lawyer up and down, grab his thigh...
"Go on, Boss...I ain't gave no-one a good ass-fucking for the longest time."
Mike laughed. The lawyer seemed to let out a whimper, then wet himself.
"Man, he's pissed in his pants!"
Mike stopped laughing. "Get this motherfucker out of here!"
Pulman opened the door and kicked the lawyer off the seat. He landed face down in the dirt.
"I think he lost some teeth that time," said Pulman.
The lawyer tried to run, his arms and legs splayed out like a newborn foal struggling on new limbs. Mike let him get a hundred feet before sending Pulman to the trunk.
The first shot from the Mossberg stopped the runaway in his tracks.
*****
It was the strangest thing, thought Eddie. It had been quiet for days. Party girl seemed to have shipped out, then the For Sale sign went up.
A knock at the door startled him amidst the silence.
"I wondered if I may...”
It was the lawyer again. Eddie's heart sank.
"I ain't got a goddamn thing to say to you. What is it now? You got a new suit to slap on me?"
The lawyer raised his hands.
"No, no...q-quite the reverse."
There was something strange about him, and it wasn't the Band-aid above his eye. He seemed...different. Quieter somehow.
"Please, may I c-come in?"
Eddie opened the door.
Inside, the lawyer politely asked to sit, produced a bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch from his briefcase.
“I wanted to, a-hem, er, I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for my daughter's over-exuberant behavior..."
Eddie rose, ranted, "You fucking roach! You tried to sue my ass...you filed a restraining ..."
"I-I know...I was very misguided, it would appear I was misinformed...may I offer my sincere apologies, and if I may also, I would like to compensate you."
"What?"
"I did some calculations, you've been here for three months, is that correct?"
"Yeah. What the...you know I have..."
"These condos attract four-thousand dollars a month rental and so I thought twelve-thousand would be..."
"Fifteen," spat Eddie.
The lawyer fumbled for words, looked startled, his bead eyes narrowed some more then seemed to wet up, "But...y-yes, of course. Fifteen-thousand."
Mike's advice was playing to a tee, but Eddie wondered about the next part. He was ready to let it slide, accept the check and kick the lawyer out on his ass. End of story.
But then lawyer daddy spoke up.
"I-I believe you have a letter of mine, if I may have it returned I w-would be most grateful."
Eddie went to the dresser where he kept the letter. He returned to the lawyer, slowly taking the document from its manila envelope then, he presented it, brown streaks of his own shit, still fresh, showed the length of the page.
Slowly, trembling, the lawyer accepted the offering. He stared at it for a moment and then, tore it with his teeth and began to chew on it.
"All the way down," said Eddie.
"Y-yes, yes of course."
"Eat shit!" said Eddie, smiling, "Eat shit you motherfucker."
END
Copyright © 2008, Tony Black