Post by qcipher on Aug 27, 2005 13:36:33 GMT -5
Michael Reuben, the majordomo of the Prince was attending to some files in his office when his cell phone rang. He sighed, seeming to know already who was calling. He saw the name on the screen; Colin Nicholson, that thug of Paulie Quin, again. This was the third time he'd called today, expecting him to payback some ridiculous favor over a stupid bet they had made. He had left messages twice on his voicemail, the second was rather colorful, but either way he had no real intention of humoring him. He allowed it to ring out unanswered and erased whatever pedantic threat was made on it without listening.
Moments later the phone rang again, sighing he checked the caller ID, this time it was Paulie Quin himself. As much as he'd like not to, as the majordomo he needed to attend to all of the Prince's subjects. He opened the phone and clicked the button to respond.
"Hello?" he inquired.
"Hello, this is Paulie Quin, am I speaking with Michael Reuben?" came the mild voice over the other end. Reuben remembered the slight somewhat elderly man, who dressed like a tourist retiree.
"Yes, how can I help you Paulie?"
"That's Mr. Quin." came the flat reply. Reuben put down the papers he was filing.
"I'm sorry Mr. Quin, how can I help you." said Reuben through his teeth.
"Why are you answering my call but not my associate Colin's?"
"I don't believe we have anything to talk about, at any rate that business is between him and me."
"You don't think you have the need to honor the bet that the two of you made, is that what you're telling me?" Paulie's voice was as steady as ever.
"That bet...was a misunderstanding..." began Reuben.
"No it wasn't, but maybe you misunderstand."
"What, are you going to threaten me now Mr. Quin?" Reuben smiled, he'd been threatened before but always slipped out.
"I don't threaten. Colin is calling in his favor, the favor that you owe him. He practically bet his life, and he would have paid up if he lost, I can guarentee you that, so you will pay that favor."
"Or what?"
"Mr. Reuben there's something you need to know about me. I didn't get where I was today by allowing people to walk on a debt, to welsh. It's not profitable. So whether you think you get a free pass because you're the Prince's boy or you're just stupid, let me disillusion you real quick. Like I said, I don't threaten. I offer alternatives, you're heading for one of those alternatives as we speak."
"What's the alternative?" Reuben said sounding bored.
"The Prince's dry cleaning." came the simple response.
"...I beg your pardon?"
"You dropped off three suits, two silk shirts, and a leather jacket at EZ Klean. Run by a Mr. Hanzo Sazama, who owes me a favor. After I'm done talking to you, I talk to him and he loses the Prince's order, and you get to explain why he goes without his favorite suits and lucky jacket."
Reuben paused a bit, he certainly wasn't expecting a threat like that. "And if I tell the Prince that you ordered the loss of his clothes?" started Reuben.
"Be my guest. It's your word against mine, why would he think an honorable Ventrue like myself would do that rather than you screwing it up. But even if I admit it, I'd then explain how his majordomo, the one that carries the keys to his estate and bears his dignitas for him when he's not around is making bets that he has no intention of paying. Would you like to hear the next alternative?"
Reuben swallowed but was not done yet. "Please, I'm all ears."
"The Prince is expecting his courtside seats for the Lakers game the day after tomorrow. When you come to do Colin's favor, you'll get those tickets. Otherwise the friends of the Prince who are expecting a show close enough to smell the sweat off Shaq get to try and scrape for seats in the nosebleed section from a scalper. And you get to explain to the Prince why they weren't courtside. Perhaps he'll understand that you're too busy to pick them up, but I doubt it. These friends are from Chicago if I'm not mistaken? I have other alternatives too, but they start getting nasty Mr. Reuben. Are you interested in the original payment plan yet?"
Reuben paused "I can get courtside seats myself."
"No. You can't. Take it from me Reuben, I'm in the business, those seats are spoken for."
Reuben held the phone away from himself and covered the mouthpiece as he cursed for several seconds. Finally he brought the phone back. "Alright, when is the favor?"
"Come to Davis Lanes tomorrow night. You'll get the tickets after the favor is paid."
"Alright, but you listen to me..." started Reuben, his voice getting some bass as he was about to level some authority down and salvage some face.
"No, you listen." Paulie cut him off, his voice finally changing just a bit, carrying unmistakable menace. "Colin usually gets this message across pretty well but some people don't learn fast. No one welshes on me or my people. If you were the Prince himself we'd be having this same conversation right now. Never bet what you don't intend to pay, especially with someone like me. You can save your threats, because that's all they are. Show up tomorrow at the Lanes, 8ish. If you're late or don't come through with the favor alternative three comes into play, and you don't want that."
"Tomorrow at 8 then." snarled Reuben and he slammed the phone closed.
Michael would ordinarily not be caught dead in this part of town, let alone at a place as...he couldn't even come up with a decent word to describe Davis Lanes as he pulled into it. Some might be nostalgic for a bowling alley seemingly stepped out of the 50's, but not Michael. He was used to cotillions and parlors, not some shithole bowling alley. It was just before eight when he pulled in. An old black man who was sitting in a lawn chair moments before began waving him into a spot near the door. Michael sighed and pulled in, he'd probably expect a tip or something.
"Evenin'." he said as he returned to his chair. Michael barely nodded as he walked by and headed for the door, not leaving a tip. The place reeked of millions of cigarettes, lane oil, bad booze, and cheap hair tonic and cologne. Lockers flanked the entrance, and as he headed up the hall he passed a crappy little arcade, most of the games completely out of date, with yellowed screens. "Paulie's castle." he mused as he headed to the front desk, and was mildly put off still more when he saw that no one was behind it. Heading to the bar area next to the pool room, he saw a woman perhaps in her mid 50s, but with many more years of hard living, pathetically polishing a stained bar while simultaneously dipping ash on it from her dangling cigarette.
"I'm looking for someone named Colin." Michael said, not bothering to hide his disdain. JD looked up from her work, and reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of lite beer, offering it to him. His sneer curled even further down his face at the offer. She shrugged and pointed with her cigarette at one of the few alleys in use at the moment. Looking over, Michael saw Colin, dressed in a t-shirt and vest bowling a game, badly, judging by the way he was cursing. Michael left the bar and headed over to the alley.
As he walked, he clenched and unclenched his fists. This little maggot, this pathetic hoodlum and his master, had embarassed him and driven him past all endurance. It was about time to show this thug what a real ghoul could do.
Colin was turning around after lighting another of his endless smokes when he saw Michael entering his alley. "Hey! Ruby Boy! You made it...". 'Ruby Boy' was on top of him before he could finish the sentence, grabbing him with both hands by the collar and giving him a vicious shake before he made to lift him and perhaps bowl a frame with his body.
"Listen you son of a bitch, if you ever go over my head again!" was what Michael started to say. Unfortunately there was a solid sounding crack into his left knee, which staggered him and caused him to lose his grip. Then there was an explosion in his groin, the pain so exquisite he almost threw up on Colin's shirt. He couldn't concentrate on that for long though, as his hands went to cradle himself, his throat suddenly seized close, his air and the gurgled scream he was going to make instantly cut off as the edge of Colin's hand chopped into it. Then all sense left him as he briefly heard a loud clap right in his ears, only to realize that the clap was on his ears, and he fell forward, feeling like his head was imploding.
"Nice to see you too Ruby. Was it as good for you as it was for me?" asked Colin as he took another drag off his smoke and straightened his shirt and vest. When that was done he placed the cigarette in the tray and then leaned down to Michael and began patting him down. "Let's see what you got here Ruby." he pulled a large semi-automatic from his belt in the back. "Whoah! Look at the size of this thing! What is this, a Desert Eagle? You pack some mean heat there Ruby! No shit." Michael could only cough weakly as he was disarmed, he hurt too much and in too many places. "Fuck man, I heard you can hunt tanks with this thing. You'd really impress the homies with a gat like this." he picked up his cigarette and took another drag. "Only problem is, you don't get to pack in Paulie's house, so I'll just hold onto this for now. You can have it back" Colin slid the magazine out and cleared the chamber in a deft motion "minus the bullets." Michael groaned and started getting to his knees. Despite the pain, he really wasn't injured, each of those shots while vicious were mainly incapacitating, not damaging, and it took more than one to drop a ghoul. He clenched his fists, and his knees tensed to spring.
"Hey! Cut that shit out! You wanted to fight you shoulda' just thrown down. You owe me a favor remember asshole? I'll do the man-dance again if you want, then send you packin' with your balls in a sling, and without the tickets. Now suck it up Ruby." there was a metallic click as the magazine was back in the gun and now pointed at his head. Michael relaxed after a second or two, the Prince's Blood finally dulling the pain and bringing him back to his senses. Colin was right, they had him over a barrel, and he needed to get this over with. He stood up, keeping his hands in front of him.
"What's...the favor?" he finally said, glaring at Colin and massaging his throat with one hand and his nuts with the other. He unfortunately didn't have an extra set of hands for his throbbing skull. "And my name is Michael."
"No shit? I didn't know that Ruby. But, you're better off going by Ruby anyway, you don't want to use your real name tonight." Colin handed him back the emptied gun. "It's pretty simple. Paulie runs a game of Poker, Texas Hold'em on Wednesdays for a few people. He ain't in tonight though, got some shit to take care of. So I'm running it, and I usually back up Paulie, I need you to back me up. Pretty simple. I'm gonna deal, you're gonna sit back and...I dunno, act tough and quiet or somethin'. Lose the tie though." Colin said as he pointed to the $180 floral print tie he wore.
"How long is this going to take?" Michael said, as he loosened the tie and slipped it off.
"Dunno, could be all night, could be an hour or less. Hold'em can be a fast game or take hours. We got a buy-in going so people can stick around even if they get eliminated. You ever play poker?"
"No."
"That's fine, you're here to back me up. I'll be dealing, you'll pick up on it, though I doubt I'll need ya' to know too much about it. Let's get a drink."
"This is your favor?" asked Michael as they walked to the bar. "I mean, Paulie could have used it to get another audience with the Prince, or maybe his schedule, or something important."
"JD, two lites." said Colin as they reahed the bar. "Paulie can talk to the Prince exactly as much as he wants. He don't need a guy like you to make an appointment I can tell you that much. Na, this'll be fun. You'll like it. Loosen you up a bit." Colin accepted his beer, and gestured to the other one. Against his normal rules and tastes, Michael took the beer and gave it a taste. It tasted like piss, and his throat still hurt, but he so needed a drink right now.
They stood mostly in silence drinking their brews, waiting for their poker game, which arrived shortly. The first to arrive was a weaselly looking man, who probably wasn't even 21 yet. Colin said "Hey Nicky-boy! C'mere ya' little shit!" and held his arms out. What looked like what was going to be a hug turned into Colin frisking him for weapons. "OK, no beer for you. You sure you want to do this kid? This ain't party poker on the internet. You fuck around here and you have to answer to Mr. Reuben." Colin jerked a thumb over his shoulder to Michael. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt some of his self respect returning by that gesture. He just nodded slowly at the boy.
"Yeah I can handle this." Nicky-boy said, as two more arrived. These two looked more like what Michael was expecting, two goombas straight out of a mafia movie, both dressed appallingly bad, and they were disgustingly fat and dirty.
"Jimmy, Pete!" said Colin, and gave them a quick hug and brush-kiss on their slovenly cheeks. He didn't pat them down though.
"Colin." one said, Michael still didn't know who was Pete or Jimmy.
"Hey. Where's Paulie?" asked the other, already signalling for a drink.
"Ah, he's got shit to do tonight. You know how it is. Jim, this is Mr. Reuben, he'll be sitting in tonight. Reuben this is Pete and Jimmy." They both offered their hands, but Michael had no intention of touching these pigs. He just sat back and sipped more of his piss-beer. Colin had a hard time hiding his smile. Their drinks arrived and they looked at each other for a bit longer.
"So who else is supposed to be coming?" asked what Michael assumed was Jimmy.
"One more I think. Rick." said Colin.
"That piece a' shit?!" said Pete. "Wish I'da fuckin' known, I wouldn't a'bothered to come."
"Speak of the devil." said Colin pointing over their shoulders. A man in his early thirties was approaching, and he paused when he saw the group.
"Aw shit Colin! You didn't tell me this fuckin' wop was coming!" he exclaimed. The wop in question responded by putting down his drink and making a 'come here' gesture with his hand.
"Hey! Easy guys! Just cause Paulie ain't here don't mean his rules left with him. I'll have Reuben kick all your asses if I gotta put up with this shit." Nick hunkered into the booth he was in, suddenly not so sure he wanted to try the real thing. Again, Michael felt a bit tougher, like he had a reputation or something. He didn't know why he'd care though if a bunch of street thugs thought he was tough. "Besides, you don't need to like a guy to win his money. Right?" there was no answer from the men. "Right?" Colin said again.
"Yeah Colin. I guess." said Rick as he approached the bar and took the offered beer. The others nodded, but all kept eyes on each other.
"Alright, let's get this goin'." said Colin, after he patted down Rick and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys and headed to a door at the end of the bar. When it was opened, Michael could see there was a back room game parlor, along with boxes of liquor and some supplies. The round felt covered table had five chairs around it with stacks of colored clay chips in front of each, and another chair was in the corner near a stack of magazines. The men entered the room and took chairs, with Colin sitting in the chair nearest the door. Michael sat in the chair next o the magazines, and saw that it was literally a stack of porno mags four feet tall.
"OK boys, thousand dollar buy in at a time, I'll deal, pass the button after each hand. First Ace gets the button. There's a thousand bucks worth of chips already stacked in front of you. Bring out your cash." The men all began digging into their pockets as Colin took out a pack of cards and showed it to all, revealing that it was still in the wrapper and the seal hadn't been broken. When they all nodded he began opening it and shuffling.
"Did you break open your piggy bank there junior?" asked Jimmy, and they all laughed. Even Nicky did, and choked back the smart ass response he was going to make. The money was handed to Colin who counted it up, and when he had it all he turned and held it out to Michael. Michael just looked at him for a few seconds, not knowing what was expected.
"Take the money!" hissed Colin. Michael leaned forward and grabbed the stacks of it. Not knowing what to do with it, he put them in his shirt pocket. the men around the table looked at each other quizzically and then shrugged. Colin flipped over cards one at a time in front of each man, stopping when the Ace of Diamonds was shown in front of Pete.
"OK ladies, let's play some cards." said Colin. "Hey Reuben, turn on the radio will ya'?" he asked as he passed a large green disk to Pete and then began dealing some cards out.
Michael never really liked cards, he certainly didn't like them in this kind of place. The men smoked and had obvious bathing issues, and talked about things that were seemingly so stupid and innane to him; sports scores, that broad at the corner deli, Billy Eyeballs (or some other crazy sounding name) and how he was doing with whatever racket he was running. He didn't know cards, but picked up on what they were doing after about the first 10 hands or so. By then the kid was out, and though he did buy in one more time, it was obvious he was out of his league here. He was too intimidated by these gangsters to either bluff or call their bluff. By the fifteenth hand he was cleared out, and practically ran from the place, with everyone's, even Michael's laughter chasing him out. The other three though looked like they knew how to play, and they kept at it for awhile. Most of the time there was a constant tension between Pete and Rick, occasionally simmering into threats, swears and insults, but Colin managed to keep it from boiling over.
After maybe four hours of this Jimmy finally lost and didn't buy back in. He stood up and walked out without saying goodbye. Pete and Rick looked at each other as the only two remaining, but didn't continue their less than witty reparte, and just got down to trying to beat the other. Neither seemed to get an advantage though, both staying pretty equal in their winnings, after forty-five minutes Colin stood up. "I gotta take a leak. Hold onto the cash Mr. Reuben, if they want you can deal a hand or two." Michael had actually been engrossed in one of the magazines, and looked up in some surprise at this.
"Oh, uh...sure." he said. They were probably his first words since the men arrived. He stood up as Colin left and sat in his chair. "So...do you want me to deal?" he asked.
As the door closed, Colin could hear Rick say, "Yeah sure. Don't wanna lose my roll here...". Instead of going to the bathroom, Colin stood outside the door and listened. Not much could be heard for maybe five minutes, and then voices got raised.
"Give us the fuckin' money faggot!" yelled what sounded like Pete. "You motherfucker, you better give us that money!" came Rick's voice.
"Colin!" yelled Reuben, and then there was a series of bangs, crashes, thuds, the sound of fist on meat, and even the door getting almost blown open. Then it was just groans. After a second or two, Colin opened the door and entered. The place was a mess. The table was broken, along with a few chairs, the magazines were scattered everywhere, chips were still settling onto the ground, and Rick and Pete were lying on the ground amidst broken boxes, chairs, and bottles. Michael stood over them, his fists clenched and quivering, his shirt bloodied and torn, his hair messed, lip bloodied, but otherwise OK.
"Let that be a fuckin' lesson to ya'! No one cheats in Paulie's house! Now get the fuck out before I have Mr Reuben really throw you a beatin'! You two assholes are banned, I see you in here again, you better just start runnin' or shootin', and I'm faster and a better shot than either of you shit heads." Both men groaned as they started to crawl out, spitting blood and teeth onto the floor. Colin followed them to the entrance and made sure they left, leaving Michael in the parlor. JD came into the room with a rag full of ice and a fresh beer which he accepted gratefully. Colin returned eventually, lighting up another smoke.
"You still got the money right?" asked Colin as he put his lighter away.
"What? Oh...yeah." he said as he pulled it out of his pants pocket. He'd been getting more and more money as they kept buying in, and had to switch it from his shirt.
"Good. Good job." said Colin as he started counting it out.
"What happened? One minute they were playing and the next they were on top of me!"
"Yeah. Thought that might happen."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Wasn't sure. I'm not as good at spottin' that shit as Paulie. Those two were helpin' each other all night."
"Those two? No. They hated each other."
"Na, it was a scam. A grift. They pretended they hated each other, made it harder to figure out the signals they kept giving each other, made it look like they were pissed at each other and couldn't work together. That's the scam see. What did they do at the end?"
"Um...well, we played a hand, and then they said they'd play one more hand and just split the pot. Rick won, and they told me to split the pot and they were going to leave."
"Thought so. Paulie don't let people split the pot, it's all or nothing. Plus they were probably trying to skip out on paying Paulie his 10%. So what happened next?"
"I told them we should wait for you. And they...they just jumped me!"
"Yeah. You did pretty good though huh?" Colin said, giving Michael a friendly tap on the chest with his fist. Again, he couldn't understand why, but he smiled, and actually felt proud, manly he supposed.
"Feels good don't it? Lettin' go like that?" Colin had finished counting the money, ad was putting a rubber band around one stack, and another stack that was considerably larger.
"Yes...it does." Michael finally answered as he started straightening out his clothes.
"Here. Here's your cut." said Colin, tossing him the shorter stack. Michael caught it, but didn't exactly know what to do with it. "Five grand," and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "and here's the tickets."
"I...don't...need this..." said Michael, taking the tickets and still looking at the money in confusion.
"You don't need five large? What's the matter with you? Take it, it's fuckin' yours. Don't your boss let you have money?"
"Well...actually, he usually takes care of that sort of thing. I mean, I write checks and keep his bank accounts in order...but."
"Geez he don't even let you have an allowance? You needed tonight more than I thought. Keep it, have some fun with it Mike." Michael looked up in surprise, that was maybe the first time he'd been called by his real name tonight. "Alright, now I gotta clean up. You're all set right?"
"Oh, uh...yeah...all set." stammered Michael. "I'll just...take off."
"Cool. Tell the Prince Paulie says hi, and thanks for the help." said Colin as he started putting the room back in order. "Stop by some time, maybe we'll bowl a game."
"Sure. Maybe some time." said Michael, and he was surprised that he might actually take him up on it. He headed out to the parking lot, and the relatively fresher night air. Rick and Pete were long gone, and his car was still there, watched over by the old black man still who nodded and smiled a big toothless grin. Michael didn't return the gesture or leave a tip again, as he got in and started the car. Despite himself, he actually had to admit he did have a decent time. He really couldn't explain it. But he might actually come back some night. He started his drive back to the Prince's mansion, blissfully unaware of the "Honkey Motherfucker" spray painted on the back of his car.
Check
Moments later the phone rang again, sighing he checked the caller ID, this time it was Paulie Quin himself. As much as he'd like not to, as the majordomo he needed to attend to all of the Prince's subjects. He opened the phone and clicked the button to respond.
"Hello?" he inquired.
"Hello, this is Paulie Quin, am I speaking with Michael Reuben?" came the mild voice over the other end. Reuben remembered the slight somewhat elderly man, who dressed like a tourist retiree.
"Yes, how can I help you Paulie?"
"That's Mr. Quin." came the flat reply. Reuben put down the papers he was filing.
"I'm sorry Mr. Quin, how can I help you." said Reuben through his teeth.
"Why are you answering my call but not my associate Colin's?"
"I don't believe we have anything to talk about, at any rate that business is between him and me."
"You don't think you have the need to honor the bet that the two of you made, is that what you're telling me?" Paulie's voice was as steady as ever.
"That bet...was a misunderstanding..." began Reuben.
"No it wasn't, but maybe you misunderstand."
"What, are you going to threaten me now Mr. Quin?" Reuben smiled, he'd been threatened before but always slipped out.
"I don't threaten. Colin is calling in his favor, the favor that you owe him. He practically bet his life, and he would have paid up if he lost, I can guarentee you that, so you will pay that favor."
"Or what?"
"Mr. Reuben there's something you need to know about me. I didn't get where I was today by allowing people to walk on a debt, to welsh. It's not profitable. So whether you think you get a free pass because you're the Prince's boy or you're just stupid, let me disillusion you real quick. Like I said, I don't threaten. I offer alternatives, you're heading for one of those alternatives as we speak."
"What's the alternative?" Reuben said sounding bored.
"The Prince's dry cleaning." came the simple response.
"...I beg your pardon?"
"You dropped off three suits, two silk shirts, and a leather jacket at EZ Klean. Run by a Mr. Hanzo Sazama, who owes me a favor. After I'm done talking to you, I talk to him and he loses the Prince's order, and you get to explain why he goes without his favorite suits and lucky jacket."
Reuben paused a bit, he certainly wasn't expecting a threat like that. "And if I tell the Prince that you ordered the loss of his clothes?" started Reuben.
"Be my guest. It's your word against mine, why would he think an honorable Ventrue like myself would do that rather than you screwing it up. But even if I admit it, I'd then explain how his majordomo, the one that carries the keys to his estate and bears his dignitas for him when he's not around is making bets that he has no intention of paying. Would you like to hear the next alternative?"
Reuben swallowed but was not done yet. "Please, I'm all ears."
"The Prince is expecting his courtside seats for the Lakers game the day after tomorrow. When you come to do Colin's favor, you'll get those tickets. Otherwise the friends of the Prince who are expecting a show close enough to smell the sweat off Shaq get to try and scrape for seats in the nosebleed section from a scalper. And you get to explain to the Prince why they weren't courtside. Perhaps he'll understand that you're too busy to pick them up, but I doubt it. These friends are from Chicago if I'm not mistaken? I have other alternatives too, but they start getting nasty Mr. Reuben. Are you interested in the original payment plan yet?"
Reuben paused "I can get courtside seats myself."
"No. You can't. Take it from me Reuben, I'm in the business, those seats are spoken for."
Reuben held the phone away from himself and covered the mouthpiece as he cursed for several seconds. Finally he brought the phone back. "Alright, when is the favor?"
"Come to Davis Lanes tomorrow night. You'll get the tickets after the favor is paid."
"Alright, but you listen to me..." started Reuben, his voice getting some bass as he was about to level some authority down and salvage some face.
"No, you listen." Paulie cut him off, his voice finally changing just a bit, carrying unmistakable menace. "Colin usually gets this message across pretty well but some people don't learn fast. No one welshes on me or my people. If you were the Prince himself we'd be having this same conversation right now. Never bet what you don't intend to pay, especially with someone like me. You can save your threats, because that's all they are. Show up tomorrow at the Lanes, 8ish. If you're late or don't come through with the favor alternative three comes into play, and you don't want that."
"Tomorrow at 8 then." snarled Reuben and he slammed the phone closed.
Michael would ordinarily not be caught dead in this part of town, let alone at a place as...he couldn't even come up with a decent word to describe Davis Lanes as he pulled into it. Some might be nostalgic for a bowling alley seemingly stepped out of the 50's, but not Michael. He was used to cotillions and parlors, not some shithole bowling alley. It was just before eight when he pulled in. An old black man who was sitting in a lawn chair moments before began waving him into a spot near the door. Michael sighed and pulled in, he'd probably expect a tip or something.
"Evenin'." he said as he returned to his chair. Michael barely nodded as he walked by and headed for the door, not leaving a tip. The place reeked of millions of cigarettes, lane oil, bad booze, and cheap hair tonic and cologne. Lockers flanked the entrance, and as he headed up the hall he passed a crappy little arcade, most of the games completely out of date, with yellowed screens. "Paulie's castle." he mused as he headed to the front desk, and was mildly put off still more when he saw that no one was behind it. Heading to the bar area next to the pool room, he saw a woman perhaps in her mid 50s, but with many more years of hard living, pathetically polishing a stained bar while simultaneously dipping ash on it from her dangling cigarette.
"I'm looking for someone named Colin." Michael said, not bothering to hide his disdain. JD looked up from her work, and reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of lite beer, offering it to him. His sneer curled even further down his face at the offer. She shrugged and pointed with her cigarette at one of the few alleys in use at the moment. Looking over, Michael saw Colin, dressed in a t-shirt and vest bowling a game, badly, judging by the way he was cursing. Michael left the bar and headed over to the alley.
As he walked, he clenched and unclenched his fists. This little maggot, this pathetic hoodlum and his master, had embarassed him and driven him past all endurance. It was about time to show this thug what a real ghoul could do.
Colin was turning around after lighting another of his endless smokes when he saw Michael entering his alley. "Hey! Ruby Boy! You made it...". 'Ruby Boy' was on top of him before he could finish the sentence, grabbing him with both hands by the collar and giving him a vicious shake before he made to lift him and perhaps bowl a frame with his body.
"Listen you son of a bitch, if you ever go over my head again!" was what Michael started to say. Unfortunately there was a solid sounding crack into his left knee, which staggered him and caused him to lose his grip. Then there was an explosion in his groin, the pain so exquisite he almost threw up on Colin's shirt. He couldn't concentrate on that for long though, as his hands went to cradle himself, his throat suddenly seized close, his air and the gurgled scream he was going to make instantly cut off as the edge of Colin's hand chopped into it. Then all sense left him as he briefly heard a loud clap right in his ears, only to realize that the clap was on his ears, and he fell forward, feeling like his head was imploding.
"Nice to see you too Ruby. Was it as good for you as it was for me?" asked Colin as he took another drag off his smoke and straightened his shirt and vest. When that was done he placed the cigarette in the tray and then leaned down to Michael and began patting him down. "Let's see what you got here Ruby." he pulled a large semi-automatic from his belt in the back. "Whoah! Look at the size of this thing! What is this, a Desert Eagle? You pack some mean heat there Ruby! No shit." Michael could only cough weakly as he was disarmed, he hurt too much and in too many places. "Fuck man, I heard you can hunt tanks with this thing. You'd really impress the homies with a gat like this." he picked up his cigarette and took another drag. "Only problem is, you don't get to pack in Paulie's house, so I'll just hold onto this for now. You can have it back" Colin slid the magazine out and cleared the chamber in a deft motion "minus the bullets." Michael groaned and started getting to his knees. Despite the pain, he really wasn't injured, each of those shots while vicious were mainly incapacitating, not damaging, and it took more than one to drop a ghoul. He clenched his fists, and his knees tensed to spring.
"Hey! Cut that shit out! You wanted to fight you shoulda' just thrown down. You owe me a favor remember asshole? I'll do the man-dance again if you want, then send you packin' with your balls in a sling, and without the tickets. Now suck it up Ruby." there was a metallic click as the magazine was back in the gun and now pointed at his head. Michael relaxed after a second or two, the Prince's Blood finally dulling the pain and bringing him back to his senses. Colin was right, they had him over a barrel, and he needed to get this over with. He stood up, keeping his hands in front of him.
"What's...the favor?" he finally said, glaring at Colin and massaging his throat with one hand and his nuts with the other. He unfortunately didn't have an extra set of hands for his throbbing skull. "And my name is Michael."
"No shit? I didn't know that Ruby. But, you're better off going by Ruby anyway, you don't want to use your real name tonight." Colin handed him back the emptied gun. "It's pretty simple. Paulie runs a game of Poker, Texas Hold'em on Wednesdays for a few people. He ain't in tonight though, got some shit to take care of. So I'm running it, and I usually back up Paulie, I need you to back me up. Pretty simple. I'm gonna deal, you're gonna sit back and...I dunno, act tough and quiet or somethin'. Lose the tie though." Colin said as he pointed to the $180 floral print tie he wore.
"How long is this going to take?" Michael said, as he loosened the tie and slipped it off.
"Dunno, could be all night, could be an hour or less. Hold'em can be a fast game or take hours. We got a buy-in going so people can stick around even if they get eliminated. You ever play poker?"
"No."
"That's fine, you're here to back me up. I'll be dealing, you'll pick up on it, though I doubt I'll need ya' to know too much about it. Let's get a drink."
"This is your favor?" asked Michael as they walked to the bar. "I mean, Paulie could have used it to get another audience with the Prince, or maybe his schedule, or something important."
"JD, two lites." said Colin as they reahed the bar. "Paulie can talk to the Prince exactly as much as he wants. He don't need a guy like you to make an appointment I can tell you that much. Na, this'll be fun. You'll like it. Loosen you up a bit." Colin accepted his beer, and gestured to the other one. Against his normal rules and tastes, Michael took the beer and gave it a taste. It tasted like piss, and his throat still hurt, but he so needed a drink right now.
They stood mostly in silence drinking their brews, waiting for their poker game, which arrived shortly. The first to arrive was a weaselly looking man, who probably wasn't even 21 yet. Colin said "Hey Nicky-boy! C'mere ya' little shit!" and held his arms out. What looked like what was going to be a hug turned into Colin frisking him for weapons. "OK, no beer for you. You sure you want to do this kid? This ain't party poker on the internet. You fuck around here and you have to answer to Mr. Reuben." Colin jerked a thumb over his shoulder to Michael. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt some of his self respect returning by that gesture. He just nodded slowly at the boy.
"Yeah I can handle this." Nicky-boy said, as two more arrived. These two looked more like what Michael was expecting, two goombas straight out of a mafia movie, both dressed appallingly bad, and they were disgustingly fat and dirty.
"Jimmy, Pete!" said Colin, and gave them a quick hug and brush-kiss on their slovenly cheeks. He didn't pat them down though.
"Colin." one said, Michael still didn't know who was Pete or Jimmy.
"Hey. Where's Paulie?" asked the other, already signalling for a drink.
"Ah, he's got shit to do tonight. You know how it is. Jim, this is Mr. Reuben, he'll be sitting in tonight. Reuben this is Pete and Jimmy." They both offered their hands, but Michael had no intention of touching these pigs. He just sat back and sipped more of his piss-beer. Colin had a hard time hiding his smile. Their drinks arrived and they looked at each other for a bit longer.
"So who else is supposed to be coming?" asked what Michael assumed was Jimmy.
"One more I think. Rick." said Colin.
"That piece a' shit?!" said Pete. "Wish I'da fuckin' known, I wouldn't a'bothered to come."
"Speak of the devil." said Colin pointing over their shoulders. A man in his early thirties was approaching, and he paused when he saw the group.
"Aw shit Colin! You didn't tell me this fuckin' wop was coming!" he exclaimed. The wop in question responded by putting down his drink and making a 'come here' gesture with his hand.
"Hey! Easy guys! Just cause Paulie ain't here don't mean his rules left with him. I'll have Reuben kick all your asses if I gotta put up with this shit." Nick hunkered into the booth he was in, suddenly not so sure he wanted to try the real thing. Again, Michael felt a bit tougher, like he had a reputation or something. He didn't know why he'd care though if a bunch of street thugs thought he was tough. "Besides, you don't need to like a guy to win his money. Right?" there was no answer from the men. "Right?" Colin said again.
"Yeah Colin. I guess." said Rick as he approached the bar and took the offered beer. The others nodded, but all kept eyes on each other.
"Alright, let's get this goin'." said Colin, after he patted down Rick and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys and headed to a door at the end of the bar. When it was opened, Michael could see there was a back room game parlor, along with boxes of liquor and some supplies. The round felt covered table had five chairs around it with stacks of colored clay chips in front of each, and another chair was in the corner near a stack of magazines. The men entered the room and took chairs, with Colin sitting in the chair nearest the door. Michael sat in the chair next o the magazines, and saw that it was literally a stack of porno mags four feet tall.
"OK boys, thousand dollar buy in at a time, I'll deal, pass the button after each hand. First Ace gets the button. There's a thousand bucks worth of chips already stacked in front of you. Bring out your cash." The men all began digging into their pockets as Colin took out a pack of cards and showed it to all, revealing that it was still in the wrapper and the seal hadn't been broken. When they all nodded he began opening it and shuffling.
"Did you break open your piggy bank there junior?" asked Jimmy, and they all laughed. Even Nicky did, and choked back the smart ass response he was going to make. The money was handed to Colin who counted it up, and when he had it all he turned and held it out to Michael. Michael just looked at him for a few seconds, not knowing what was expected.
"Take the money!" hissed Colin. Michael leaned forward and grabbed the stacks of it. Not knowing what to do with it, he put them in his shirt pocket. the men around the table looked at each other quizzically and then shrugged. Colin flipped over cards one at a time in front of each man, stopping when the Ace of Diamonds was shown in front of Pete.
"OK ladies, let's play some cards." said Colin. "Hey Reuben, turn on the radio will ya'?" he asked as he passed a large green disk to Pete and then began dealing some cards out.
Michael never really liked cards, he certainly didn't like them in this kind of place. The men smoked and had obvious bathing issues, and talked about things that were seemingly so stupid and innane to him; sports scores, that broad at the corner deli, Billy Eyeballs (or some other crazy sounding name) and how he was doing with whatever racket he was running. He didn't know cards, but picked up on what they were doing after about the first 10 hands or so. By then the kid was out, and though he did buy in one more time, it was obvious he was out of his league here. He was too intimidated by these gangsters to either bluff or call their bluff. By the fifteenth hand he was cleared out, and practically ran from the place, with everyone's, even Michael's laughter chasing him out. The other three though looked like they knew how to play, and they kept at it for awhile. Most of the time there was a constant tension between Pete and Rick, occasionally simmering into threats, swears and insults, but Colin managed to keep it from boiling over.
After maybe four hours of this Jimmy finally lost and didn't buy back in. He stood up and walked out without saying goodbye. Pete and Rick looked at each other as the only two remaining, but didn't continue their less than witty reparte, and just got down to trying to beat the other. Neither seemed to get an advantage though, both staying pretty equal in their winnings, after forty-five minutes Colin stood up. "I gotta take a leak. Hold onto the cash Mr. Reuben, if they want you can deal a hand or two." Michael had actually been engrossed in one of the magazines, and looked up in some surprise at this.
"Oh, uh...sure." he said. They were probably his first words since the men arrived. He stood up as Colin left and sat in his chair. "So...do you want me to deal?" he asked.
As the door closed, Colin could hear Rick say, "Yeah sure. Don't wanna lose my roll here...". Instead of going to the bathroom, Colin stood outside the door and listened. Not much could be heard for maybe five minutes, and then voices got raised.
"Give us the fuckin' money faggot!" yelled what sounded like Pete. "You motherfucker, you better give us that money!" came Rick's voice.
"Colin!" yelled Reuben, and then there was a series of bangs, crashes, thuds, the sound of fist on meat, and even the door getting almost blown open. Then it was just groans. After a second or two, Colin opened the door and entered. The place was a mess. The table was broken, along with a few chairs, the magazines were scattered everywhere, chips were still settling onto the ground, and Rick and Pete were lying on the ground amidst broken boxes, chairs, and bottles. Michael stood over them, his fists clenched and quivering, his shirt bloodied and torn, his hair messed, lip bloodied, but otherwise OK.
"Let that be a fuckin' lesson to ya'! No one cheats in Paulie's house! Now get the fuck out before I have Mr Reuben really throw you a beatin'! You two assholes are banned, I see you in here again, you better just start runnin' or shootin', and I'm faster and a better shot than either of you shit heads." Both men groaned as they started to crawl out, spitting blood and teeth onto the floor. Colin followed them to the entrance and made sure they left, leaving Michael in the parlor. JD came into the room with a rag full of ice and a fresh beer which he accepted gratefully. Colin returned eventually, lighting up another smoke.
"You still got the money right?" asked Colin as he put his lighter away.
"What? Oh...yeah." he said as he pulled it out of his pants pocket. He'd been getting more and more money as they kept buying in, and had to switch it from his shirt.
"Good. Good job." said Colin as he started counting it out.
"What happened? One minute they were playing and the next they were on top of me!"
"Yeah. Thought that might happen."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Wasn't sure. I'm not as good at spottin' that shit as Paulie. Those two were helpin' each other all night."
"Those two? No. They hated each other."
"Na, it was a scam. A grift. They pretended they hated each other, made it harder to figure out the signals they kept giving each other, made it look like they were pissed at each other and couldn't work together. That's the scam see. What did they do at the end?"
"Um...well, we played a hand, and then they said they'd play one more hand and just split the pot. Rick won, and they told me to split the pot and they were going to leave."
"Thought so. Paulie don't let people split the pot, it's all or nothing. Plus they were probably trying to skip out on paying Paulie his 10%. So what happened next?"
"I told them we should wait for you. And they...they just jumped me!"
"Yeah. You did pretty good though huh?" Colin said, giving Michael a friendly tap on the chest with his fist. Again, he couldn't understand why, but he smiled, and actually felt proud, manly he supposed.
"Feels good don't it? Lettin' go like that?" Colin had finished counting the money, ad was putting a rubber band around one stack, and another stack that was considerably larger.
"Yes...it does." Michael finally answered as he started straightening out his clothes.
"Here. Here's your cut." said Colin, tossing him the shorter stack. Michael caught it, but didn't exactly know what to do with it. "Five grand," and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "and here's the tickets."
"I...don't...need this..." said Michael, taking the tickets and still looking at the money in confusion.
"You don't need five large? What's the matter with you? Take it, it's fuckin' yours. Don't your boss let you have money?"
"Well...actually, he usually takes care of that sort of thing. I mean, I write checks and keep his bank accounts in order...but."
"Geez he don't even let you have an allowance? You needed tonight more than I thought. Keep it, have some fun with it Mike." Michael looked up in surprise, that was maybe the first time he'd been called by his real name tonight. "Alright, now I gotta clean up. You're all set right?"
"Oh, uh...yeah...all set." stammered Michael. "I'll just...take off."
"Cool. Tell the Prince Paulie says hi, and thanks for the help." said Colin as he started putting the room back in order. "Stop by some time, maybe we'll bowl a game."
"Sure. Maybe some time." said Michael, and he was surprised that he might actually take him up on it. He headed out to the parking lot, and the relatively fresher night air. Rick and Pete were long gone, and his car was still there, watched over by the old black man still who nodded and smiled a big toothless grin. Michael didn't return the gesture or leave a tip again, as he got in and started the car. Despite himself, he actually had to admit he did have a decent time. He really couldn't explain it. But he might actually come back some night. He started his drive back to the Prince's mansion, blissfully unaware of the "Honkey Motherfucker" spray painted on the back of his car.
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