PART TWO
Bernard Slackbacker stepped into the apartment building elevator. He took a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of his flowered cotton dress and held it to his nose. He was sick of this building. He'd be happy never to smell curry again as long as he lived. Thank goodness this part of the plan was nearly over.
He was alone in the elevator and pulled a compact mirror out of his bag, to check his makeup. He'd just had his red hair touched up at the beauty parlor covering the gray roots and his nails manicured and painted. Even though his feet ached from new shoes he still felt every inch a lady.
Bernie dropped the compact back into his large Gucci bag and it clunked nosily against his silver-plated 9mm Beretta. Before the elevator reached the 12th floor he took out a pair of white dress gloves and pulled them on.
The Brazilian answered the door almost immediately.
"Bernice. How lovely you look today," the Latin crooned.
"Skip the shit Romeo! Is it ready?"
"As you can see," The Brazilian said pointing to a large Tupperware container on the kitchen table.
"Is it stable?"
"Rock solid. Yew would need a primer and an electrical charge to set it off. Just like what I make for the Colombians. Somethin from the pharmacy, somethin from the grocery store. A little of my wizardry an boom your problem solved. Yew got my money?"
Fifty thousand dollars in 100-dollar bills make a pile about the height of a 500-page novel of warmongering drivel by Tom Clancy. The Brazilian broke it into two piles and shoved one into each of his front pant pockets, chuckling to himself about the size of the wad in his pants as he took the elevator to the ground floor.
He was whistling to himself as he walked across the parking lot to his rental car. After that stupid bitch had given him the money he'd thought about slapping her around a little. An ugly little woman like that give you disrespect back home you do what any real man would do and kick the snot out of her. But the Brazilian was in too good a mood for that shit.
As he put the key in the car door lock a burly man in a black suit came around the front of his car toward him. The Brazilian stepped back into the arms of another burly man in a black suit who had come up behind him.
"Let's go for a drive!" One suit said.
A black Hummer with tinted windows pulled up with two more suits in the front seats. They duck walked the Brazilian to the car and squashed him between them in the back seat.
"Don't kill me," he pleaded.
"We're not going to kill you," one of the suits said.
"Please don't kill me," he moaned.
"We're not going to kill you," the other suits answered.
"I know you're going to kill me," he sniveled.
"Shut the fuck up or we'll kill you just to stop your whining," the first suit snapped.
The Brazilian stopped whining and shut the fuck up. He started to tremble.
"You piss your pants and I'm going to cut your nuts off and shove them up your nose. You got that?"
The Brazilian shook his head to indicate that he got it. Not pissing his pants for the next ten minutes was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He thought his bladder would explode. When the suit in the front passenger seat turned around and jabbed him in the leg with the hypodermic needle it was a relief to pass out.
When he woke up at the corner of Sherbourne and Dundas in downtown Toronto the Brazilian couldn't remember who he was, where he was or even what he was. He searched his empty pockets. Nada.
He stood there watching taxis and streetcars whip by, unable to decide what to do. The Brazilian had never been able to make good decision. The events of the day had done little to improve that character deficiency.
He walked up to a twenty-dollar hooker standing on the corner giving phony smiles to the lone male drivers who passed.
"I don know who I yam," he whined to her.
The hooker was doing her best to focus on her work. One trick was all she needed for a piece of crack to get herself straight. She looked at the Brazilian and sneered at his lost face and dirty clothes.
"Ain't you the lucky one," she snorted.
Bernard Slackbacker stepped into the apartment building elevator. He took a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of his flowered cotton dress and held it to his nose. He was sick of this building. He'd be happy never to smell curry again as long as he lived. Thank goodness this part of the plan was nearly over.
He was alone in the elevator and pulled a compact mirror out of his bag, to check his makeup. He'd just had his red hair touched up at the beauty parlor covering the gray roots and his nails manicured and painted. Even though his feet ached from new shoes he still felt every inch a lady.
Bernie dropped the compact back into his large Gucci bag and it clunked nosily against his silver-plated 9mm Beretta. Before the elevator reached the 12th floor he took out a pair of white dress gloves and pulled them on.
The Brazilian answered the door almost immediately.
"Bernice. How lovely you look today," the Latin crooned.
"Skip the shit Romeo! Is it ready?"
"As you can see," The Brazilian said pointing to a large Tupperware container on the kitchen table.
"Is it stable?"
"Rock solid. Yew would need a primer and an electrical charge to set it off. Just like what I make for the Colombians. Somethin from the pharmacy, somethin from the grocery store. A little of my wizardry an boom your problem solved. Yew got my money?"
Fifty thousand dollars in 100-dollar bills make a pile about the height of a 500-page novel of warmongering drivel by Tom Clancy. The Brazilian broke it into two piles and shoved one into each of his front pant pockets, chuckling to himself about the size of the wad in his pants as he took the elevator to the ground floor.
He was whistling to himself as he walked across the parking lot to his rental car. After that stupid bitch had given him the money he'd thought about slapping her around a little. An ugly little woman like that give you disrespect back home you do what any real man would do and kick the snot out of her. But the Brazilian was in too good a mood for that shit.
As he put the key in the car door lock a burly man in a black suit came around the front of his car toward him. The Brazilian stepped back into the arms of another burly man in a black suit who had come up behind him.
"Let's go for a drive!" One suit said.
A black Hummer with tinted windows pulled up with two more suits in the front seats. They duck walked the Brazilian to the car and squashed him between them in the back seat.
"Don't kill me," he pleaded.
"We're not going to kill you," one of the suits said.
"Please don't kill me," he moaned.
"We're not going to kill you," the other suits answered.
"I know you're going to kill me," he sniveled.
"Shut the fuck up or we'll kill you just to stop your whining," the first suit snapped.
The Brazilian stopped whining and shut the fuck up. He started to tremble.
"You piss your pants and I'm going to cut your nuts off and shove them up your nose. You got that?"
The Brazilian shook his head to indicate that he got it. Not pissing his pants for the next ten minutes was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He thought his bladder would explode. When the suit in the front passenger seat turned around and jabbed him in the leg with the hypodermic needle it was a relief to pass out.
When he woke up at the corner of Sherbourne and Dundas in downtown Toronto the Brazilian couldn't remember who he was, where he was or even what he was. He searched his empty pockets. Nada.
He stood there watching taxis and streetcars whip by, unable to decide what to do. The Brazilian had never been able to make good decision. The events of the day had done little to improve that character deficiency.
He walked up to a twenty-dollar hooker standing on the corner giving phony smiles to the lone male drivers who passed.
"I don know who I yam," he whined to her.
The hooker was doing her best to focus on her work. One trick was all she needed for a piece of crack to get herself straight. She looked at the Brazilian and sneered at his lost face and dirty clothes.
"Ain't you the lucky one," she snorted.
posted by Paul at
3:30 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home