Buddha Thug 7 part 1


   
     "Haha!?"
     "My father named me; Budrow Wilson Dexter Laurel and Hardy Har Har." Buddy smiled. "One word though. You have to say it as one word."
     She almost smiled but instead her lip fish-hooked to one side and held.
     "Pop was a schmuck," he added
     Then she smiled.
     "And you? Venice? Is that a nickname or...?" The question hung off the edge of Buddy's wide smile.
     Venice made you and me with a loose index finger between her own slim chest and Haha's. "Schmuck spawn, both of us," she whispered.
     Buddy liked her. She reminded him of a soft childhood moment that he couldn't fully touch.
     "So they call me Nice, or Nitzia -
Angel, sometimes, if they're happy or drunk or both."
     She'd been relocated. It had taken sacks of cash and the removal of two consecutive links in the chain of contact between Venice and her misdeeds. Buddy's job was to see how well the slip stuck. She didn't look like at all like what they claimed she was.
     Nice didn't think happy, sad, angry, lonely.
     She thought ok, not ok.
      Mac's Place was hidden below street level in The Village. They served what they had and charged whatever Mac felt was reasonable. The food was better than good but most of the customers came to hide in the cavernous depths, hewn in blocks of smoked oak and granite.
     "My mom had these giant throw-up kneecaps. That was her gig, what messed her up - what messed us all up - can you believe it?
People are dead because of mothers kneecaps! I think about that."
   Buddy wanted to ask a question but Nice continued.
     "I see them laying there, heads blown clear off, nearly clean off - worse than that - splinters and bloody grey mush."
     Buddy's wide smile didn't flinch.
     "One instant there's two guys arguing with me, the next instant -meat on the floor. No more guys, no more arguing. Just two vague piles of gristle."
     "What are you ordering?" asked
Buddy.
     "Steak, rare."
     "Good choice."

 End part 1

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Souls of Beautiful Monsters - Lucy

“Turquoise? I can't even say the word without falling down. You want me to spell it?” “No, no. Just describe it.” “Describe turquoise? The color or the stone?” Lucy laughs and scratches her head. “Hmmm… I suppose it doesn't matter,” she says. Stephen twirls a finger around Lucy's bare foot then traces her toes gently before glancing up. “Hang on,“ he says, “it’s the same problem!” Stephen was fascinated by Lucy's ability to confound the simplest notions with an ease that surpassed the remarkable agility of her practical mind. It was what first sent shivers up his spine that first week in thesis for biomedical engineering.   Dr. Shirkfield, the startling young star professor, had asked for the students to share their topic concepts for the attendant research course. When no one took the bait, and an uncomfortable silence grew in the room, the young woman in the front of the class raised her hand and flopped it about. “Ah! One fearless target… I mean, stu...
Read more

Sweet Little Things - Part 2 (Horrible Marriages Collection)

Part 2         I braced myself for the attack. It was a ritual.        “King of the mountain! King of the mountain!”   I am the mountain. No one ever won that contest. The mountain tumbled every time.         They'd gotten as far as they could before I scooped them up and rolled them, elbows over giggles onto the soft, Persian  rug.         “Your getting slow, Lurch!” Squealed Simone.         “You're getting heavy!” I replied, honestly.         I was Lurch; from the Adams family. They found that unlikely association hilarious. Especially when I tried the voice.         After nuggies, a belch contest, and silly how-do-you-do, the girls composed themselves. I received a years worth of catch-up in a six-minute, stereophonic, high speed summary, which ended with four handed vote that my hairline had receded, and it was a sad state of...
Read more

The Hit (Horrible Marriages Collection)

        “It's not that I never liked him – I liked  him enough -  if it mattered anyhow, which it doesn't,” she hissed.         “I want him dead. I want it to hurt. I want him dead and then bring him back so you can kill him again, right away, right now…” The hit-man squinted. “That's twice the cash, even if I could… I'm no expert, but even if I could, it ain't right...” She smiled and the words sliced through clenched teeth, “You have no problem killing him once but..,” she said and shook her head.         Stupidity. Killers. Assholes. Dropouts – they make it look like something in the movies.  A hit man is a losers loser: Bad breath, bad manners, dirty, filthy, stupid third-grade dropouts. “Listen to me! Every week goes by I have to pay that schmuck to live, to breath, to exist in this world just to bust my ass and remind me of what a god damned fool I was in the very first god-...
Read more