Drop Shot
Page 24
Myron felt a little ill.
“Fifteen dollars for the first ten minutes,” the girl said. “I can’t do better than that.”
“Don’t jerk us around, whore,” Fishnet said. “There’s two of us here. Two for one.”
“Yeah,” the black guy chimed in. “Two for one.”
“I can’t do that,” the girl said. If she seemed insulted by the name calling, it didn’t show. Her voice was tired and matter-of-fact, like a diner waitress on the night shift.
Fishnet was not pleased by this. “Listen, bitch, don’t get me angry.”
“I’ll get the manager,” she said.
“The fuck you will. You ain’t leaving here till I get my rocks off, slut.”
“Yeah,” the black guy added. “Me too. Slut.”
“Look, I charge more for talking dirty,” the girl said.
Fishnet looked at her in disbelief. “What did you say?”
“There’s a surcharge for talking dirty.”
“A surcharge?” Fishnet shouted. He was enraged now. “This might come as a surprise to a stupid whore, but we live in the U.S. of A. Land of the free, home of the brave. I can say whatever I want, slut—or haven’t you ever heard of freedom of speech?”
A constitutional scholar, Myron thought. Nice to see a man defending the First Amendment.
“Look,” the dancer said, “the price is twelve dollars for five minutes, twenty dollars for ten minutes. Plus tip. That’s it.”
“How about this,” Fishnet said. “You dance on both of us at the same time.”
“Huh?”
“Like you’re dancing on me but stroking him. How’s that sound, pig?”
“Yeah,” the black guy said. “Pig.”
“Look, fellas, there’s no two-for-one deals,” the dancer said. “Just let me get another girl. We’ll take good care of you.”
Myron stepped into view. “Will I do?”
No one moved.
“Gee,” Myron said, “they’re both so attractive. I just can’t choose.”
Fishnet looked at the black guy. The black guy looked at Fishnet.
Myron turned to the girl. “Do you have a preference?”
She shook her head no.
“Then I’ll take him.” Myron pointed to Fishnet. “He likes me. I can tell by the erect nipples.”
The black guy said, “Hey, what’s he doing here?”
Fishnet shot him a look.
“I mean, who is this guy?”
Myron nodded. “Nice recovery. Very smooth.”
“What do you want, mister?” Fishnet asked.
“Actually, I was lying.”
“What?”
“About how I knew you liked me. It wasn’t just the erect nipples, though they were a noticeable—albeit nauseating—tip-off.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your following me around the past two days, that’s what gave it away. Next time try the secret admirer route. Send flowers without signing for them. A nice Hallmark card. That kind of thing.”
“Come on, Jim,” Fishnet said to the black guy, “this guy’s nuts. Let’s get out of here.”
The girl said, “No lap dance?”
“No. We gotta go.”
“Someone’s got to pay for this,” the girl said. “Otherwise the manager’s going to fry my ass.”
“Get lost, whore. Or I’ll whack you.”
“Whoa, big man,” Myron said.
“Look, mister, I don’t got no beef with you. Just get out of my way.”
“No lap dance for me either?”
“You’re crazy.”
“I can offer you a special discount,” Myron said.
Fishnet’s hands tightened into fists. He’d been ordered to follow Myron, not to be found out or get involved in a physical altercation. “Come on, Jim.”
“Why have you been following me?” Myron asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is it my hypnotic blue eyes? The strong features? The shapely derriere? By the way what do you think of these pants? They’re not too tight, are they?”
“Fruitcake.” They moved past him.
“Tell you what,” Myron said. “You tell me who you’re working for and I promise not to tell your boss.”
They kept walking.
“Promise,” Myron said.
They headed out the door. Another day, another friend. Myron had that knack.
Myron followed them out to the street. Fishnet and Jim hurried west.
Win appeared from the shadows across the street. “This way,” he said.
They cut through an alley and arrived at the lot before Fishnet and Jim. It was an outdoor lot. The parking attendant was in a little booth watching a Roseanne rerun on a minuscule black-and-white TV. Win pointed out the Cadillac. They ducked behind an Oldsmobile parked two cars away and waited.
Fishnet and Jim approached the booth. They were still looking down the street. Jim was panicking. “How did he find us, Lee? Huh?”
“I don’t know.”
“What we gonna do?”
“Nothing. We’ll change cars. Try again.”
“You got another car, Lee?”
“No,” Fishnet said. “We’ll rent one.”
They paid, got a receipt and their keys. Fishnet had insisted on parking the car himself.
“This,” Win said, “should be fun.”
When they arrived at the Cadillac, Fishnet put his key in the lock. He stopped, looked down, and began screaming.
“Shit! Goddamn fuck!”
Myron and Win stepped out of the shadows.
“Language, language,” Myron said.
Fishnet stared down at his car in disbelief. Win had drilled a hole under the lock to break in. He didn’t use that particular method when neatness counted, but this was an occasion when he thought it necessary. On top of that, Win’s hand had “accidentally” slipped, scratching both driver’s-side doors.
“You!” Fishnet shouted. He pointed at Myron, his face red and apoplectic. “You!”
Win turned to Myron. “Quite the vocabulary.”
“Yeah, but it’s the threads that really make me swoon.”
“You!” Fishnet said. “You did this to my car?”
“Not him,” Win said. “Me. And may I say you keep the inside lovely. I felt terrible about spilling that maple syrup all over the velour seats.”
“Fifteen dollars for the first ten minutes,” the girl said. “I can’t do better than that.”
“Don’t jerk us around, whore,” Fishnet said. “There’s two of us here. Two for one.”
“Yeah,” the black guy chimed in. “Two for one.”
“I can’t do that,” the girl said. If she seemed insulted by the name calling, it didn’t show. Her voice was tired and matter-of-fact, like a diner waitress on the night shift.
Fishnet was not pleased by this. “Listen, bitch, don’t get me angry.”
“I’ll get the manager,” she said.
“The fuck you will. You ain’t leaving here till I get my rocks off, slut.”
“Yeah,” the black guy added. “Me too. Slut.”
“Look, I charge more for talking dirty,” the girl said.
Fishnet looked at her in disbelief. “What did you say?”
“There’s a surcharge for talking dirty.”
“A surcharge?” Fishnet shouted. He was enraged now. “This might come as a surprise to a stupid whore, but we live in the U.S. of A. Land of the free, home of the brave. I can say whatever I want, slut—or haven’t you ever heard of freedom of speech?”
A constitutional scholar, Myron thought. Nice to see a man defending the First Amendment.
“Look,” the dancer said, “the price is twelve dollars for five minutes, twenty dollars for ten minutes. Plus tip. That’s it.”
“How about this,” Fishnet said. “You dance on both of us at the same time.”
“Huh?”
“Like you’re dancing on me but stroking him. How’s that sound, pig?”
“Yeah,” the black guy said. “Pig.”
“Look, fellas, there’s no two-for-one deals,” the dancer said. “Just let me get another girl. We’ll take good care of you.”
Myron stepped into view. “Will I do?”
No one moved.
“Gee,” Myron said, “they’re both so attractive. I just can’t choose.”
Fishnet looked at the black guy. The black guy looked at Fishnet.
Myron turned to the girl. “Do you have a preference?”
She shook her head no.
“Then I’ll take him.” Myron pointed to Fishnet. “He likes me. I can tell by the erect nipples.”
The black guy said, “Hey, what’s he doing here?”
Fishnet shot him a look.
“I mean, who is this guy?”
Myron nodded. “Nice recovery. Very smooth.”
“What do you want, mister?” Fishnet asked.
“Actually, I was lying.”
“What?”
“About how I knew you liked me. It wasn’t just the erect nipples, though they were a noticeable—albeit nauseating—tip-off.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Your following me around the past two days, that’s what gave it away. Next time try the secret admirer route. Send flowers without signing for them. A nice Hallmark card. That kind of thing.”
“Come on, Jim,” Fishnet said to the black guy, “this guy’s nuts. Let’s get out of here.”
The girl said, “No lap dance?”
“No. We gotta go.”
“Someone’s got to pay for this,” the girl said. “Otherwise the manager’s going to fry my ass.”
“Get lost, whore. Or I’ll whack you.”
“Whoa, big man,” Myron said.
“Look, mister, I don’t got no beef with you. Just get out of my way.”
“No lap dance for me either?”
“You’re crazy.”
“I can offer you a special discount,” Myron said.
Fishnet’s hands tightened into fists. He’d been ordered to follow Myron, not to be found out or get involved in a physical altercation. “Come on, Jim.”
“Why have you been following me?” Myron asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is it my hypnotic blue eyes? The strong features? The shapely derriere? By the way what do you think of these pants? They’re not too tight, are they?”
“Fruitcake.” They moved past him.
“Tell you what,” Myron said. “You tell me who you’re working for and I promise not to tell your boss.”
They kept walking.
“Promise,” Myron said.
They headed out the door. Another day, another friend. Myron had that knack.
Myron followed them out to the street. Fishnet and Jim hurried west.
Win appeared from the shadows across the street. “This way,” he said.
They cut through an alley and arrived at the lot before Fishnet and Jim. It was an outdoor lot. The parking attendant was in a little booth watching a Roseanne rerun on a minuscule black-and-white TV. Win pointed out the Cadillac. They ducked behind an Oldsmobile parked two cars away and waited.
Fishnet and Jim approached the booth. They were still looking down the street. Jim was panicking. “How did he find us, Lee? Huh?”
“I don’t know.”
“What we gonna do?”
“Nothing. We’ll change cars. Try again.”
“You got another car, Lee?”
“No,” Fishnet said. “We’ll rent one.”
They paid, got a receipt and their keys. Fishnet had insisted on parking the car himself.
“This,” Win said, “should be fun.”
When they arrived at the Cadillac, Fishnet put his key in the lock. He stopped, looked down, and began screaming.
“Shit! Goddamn fuck!”
Myron and Win stepped out of the shadows.
“Language, language,” Myron said.
Fishnet stared down at his car in disbelief. Win had drilled a hole under the lock to break in. He didn’t use that particular method when neatness counted, but this was an occasion when he thought it necessary. On top of that, Win’s hand had “accidentally” slipped, scratching both driver’s-side doors.
“You!” Fishnet shouted. He pointed at Myron, his face red and apoplectic. “You!”
Win turned to Myron. “Quite the vocabulary.”
“Yeah, but it’s the threads that really make me swoon.”
“You!” Fishnet said. “You did this to my car?”
“Not him,” Win said. “Me. And may I say you keep the inside lovely. I felt terrible about spilling that maple syrup all over the velour seats.”
