The
room smells of fish. A sign on the wall says
FRIDAY NIGHT FISH FRY
$5
BOOZE $1
NO GUNS OR NIFES
The room is clammy, outside the rain beats down in sheets and thunder is in the air. The window is open and to the side of the window is an upright piano with the middle C key missing. At it sits a large black man in a red striped waistcoat yellow bow tie and brown Derby hat. In his mouth is a chewed stogie and on the piano top is a row of empty glasses and a jug with WHISKEY written in bold type on it's side. The piano player has a pencil moustache. A flash of lightning lights up the room bleaching out a figure in a trilby hat standing by the door. On the sofa sits a blonde, with long legs, open, and her head between them. Her hair hangs to the floor. The legs are bare, ending in four inch open toed red pumps. Toe nails to match. Along her arms are needle tracks. Sitting on the arm of the sofa is her pimp, dressed like Cab Calloway. He is fully tooled up, expecting a war. Derringer in his sock, colt under his arm, five inch blade in his pocket, and a long hat pin in his hat band. Along the corridor is an open door by which stands a six foot hooker with tits and a schlong, as black as the night. Business is slow. In the back of the fish fry is a small room in which a high roller poker game is in progress. Five men sit in front of stacks of notes, there must be $10,000 on the table. The dealer is a woman who is the spit of Veronica Lake. She is in for 5% of the action, it's her game her rules. Aces high. Jokers wild. Her manicured fingers caress the cards, reds nails scratching the surface. The room is smokey and hot. The men perspire, while she looks and is cool. Fats plays some boogie, then a slow waltz. He is hoping to hit a sequence of notes that will reverberate through time. There is the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The Man enters with four foot soldiers. The pimp stands and blocks his way. The soldiers draw their pieces. The Man smiles.
“Relax bud, it's the dealer. She's needs to pay her dues.”
The pimp stands aside and The Man continues to the back room. The guy in the trilby pushes himself off the wall undoes his coat and adjusts his police special and shoulder holster. His name is Doil. The Man stops at the table behind a very fat man with sweat patches, and looks across to the dealer.
“My turf, my game.” he says. Then realises that the dealer is so much like his number one heart throb that it must be her.
“Veronica Lake”
“Sright, buster who's asking.”
He taps the fat man on the shoulder and tells him to beat it. Then takes the seat.
“Deal me in, you can call me anything you like, but to others I'm The Man.”
“OK Mr Man, aces high jokers wild, no limit. I take five per of the pot, like it or beat it. Lets see the colour of your money.”
The Man clicks his fingers and the lead soldier hands him a wad of C notes.
“You can use what was Fatso's hand or we scrub the deal.” Fatso is having non of this and says so. The lead soldier takes him by the arm and explains that The Man can do as he likes.
The game continues. Doil goes back to his position by the door and the pimp pulls his hooker upright. He has to make a living.
Soon the room is full, the Fleet is in and the salts are looking for some action. The hooker with the tits and schlong soon has a queue down the corridor catering for all tastes. Fats goes through his repertoire and more hookers arrive, it is going to be a busy night. Two black and whites park over the road by the drug store, just in case. Doil heads down to the basement and drops a couple and nickels into the payphone. The room is too full for him to handle alone, he needs some help. As soon as he hangs a high pitched scream has him climbing the stairs two at a time. The hooker with the tits and schlong is holding a rating by the throat some inches off the floor. Doil takes out his gun and motions that the rating be let down.
“He tried to cut my dick off, fucking motherfucking psyco.” The rating is turning blue and his mates are beating the hooker with their fists. Doil fires into the ceiling.
“Let him down and the Navy; back off.”
He tells the rating to hand over the knife.
“He has no knife, he used his motherfucking teeth .”
Doil couldn't help, but smile. “Maybe you were just too big for him. Ok shows over if you want his services get your wages out or, git.” The discouraged ones pushed past Getz and two more bulls on the way up.
“What kept ya?' says Doil.
The Man is on a losing streak and and not liking it. He is down a couple of G's. The pile in front of Veronica just gets bigger.
“You dealing from the bottom?” he asks. Veronica gives him a stare that would freeze hell. As much as he loves Veronica Lake, he loves money more. He snaps his fingers and number one soldier hands him a silver Beretta, which he points at Veronica. The other players remove themselves pronto.
“Just you and me doll face. Deal.”
“Dealer don't play. House rules.”
“Deal”
Veronica deals him a hand. Two aces, hearts and spades.
“Flip”
Veronica turns over the other two aces and a joker. The Man picks up the joker tosses it in the air and holes it with one shot. Doil reacts and pistol whips The Man, he falls unconscious on to the table, his soldiers draw their weapons and bullets fly everywhere. Mostly into Veronica.
FRIDAY NIGHT FISH FRY
$5
BOOZE $1
NO GUNS OR NIFES
The room is clammy, outside the rain beats down in sheets and thunder is in the air. The window is open and to the side of the window is an upright piano with the middle C key missing. At it sits a large black man in a red striped waistcoat yellow bow tie and brown Derby hat. In his mouth is a chewed stogie and on the piano top is a row of empty glasses and a jug with WHISKEY written in bold type on it's side. The piano player has a pencil moustache. A flash of lightning lights up the room bleaching out a figure in a trilby hat standing by the door. On the sofa sits a blonde, with long legs, open, and her head between them. Her hair hangs to the floor. The legs are bare, ending in four inch open toed red pumps. Toe nails to match. Along her arms are needle tracks. Sitting on the arm of the sofa is her pimp, dressed like Cab Calloway. He is fully tooled up, expecting a war. Derringer in his sock, colt under his arm, five inch blade in his pocket, and a long hat pin in his hat band. Along the corridor is an open door by which stands a six foot hooker with tits and a schlong, as black as the night. Business is slow. In the back of the fish fry is a small room in which a high roller poker game is in progress. Five men sit in front of stacks of notes, there must be $10,000 on the table. The dealer is a woman who is the spit of Veronica Lake. She is in for 5% of the action, it's her game her rules. Aces high. Jokers wild. Her manicured fingers caress the cards, reds nails scratching the surface. The room is smokey and hot. The men perspire, while she looks and is cool. Fats plays some boogie, then a slow waltz. He is hoping to hit a sequence of notes that will reverberate through time. There is the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. The Man enters with four foot soldiers. The pimp stands and blocks his way. The soldiers draw their pieces. The Man smiles.
“Relax bud, it's the dealer. She's needs to pay her dues.”
The pimp stands aside and The Man continues to the back room. The guy in the trilby pushes himself off the wall undoes his coat and adjusts his police special and shoulder holster. His name is Doil. The Man stops at the table behind a very fat man with sweat patches, and looks across to the dealer.
“My turf, my game.” he says. Then realises that the dealer is so much like his number one heart throb that it must be her.
“Veronica Lake”
“Sright, buster who's asking.”
He taps the fat man on the shoulder and tells him to beat it. Then takes the seat.
“Deal me in, you can call me anything you like, but to others I'm The Man.”
“OK Mr Man, aces high jokers wild, no limit. I take five per of the pot, like it or beat it. Lets see the colour of your money.”
The Man clicks his fingers and the lead soldier hands him a wad of C notes.
“You can use what was Fatso's hand or we scrub the deal.” Fatso is having non of this and says so. The lead soldier takes him by the arm and explains that The Man can do as he likes.
The game continues. Doil goes back to his position by the door and the pimp pulls his hooker upright. He has to make a living.
Soon the room is full, the Fleet is in and the salts are looking for some action. The hooker with the tits and schlong soon has a queue down the corridor catering for all tastes. Fats goes through his repertoire and more hookers arrive, it is going to be a busy night. Two black and whites park over the road by the drug store, just in case. Doil heads down to the basement and drops a couple and nickels into the payphone. The room is too full for him to handle alone, he needs some help. As soon as he hangs a high pitched scream has him climbing the stairs two at a time. The hooker with the tits and schlong is holding a rating by the throat some inches off the floor. Doil takes out his gun and motions that the rating be let down.
“He tried to cut my dick off, fucking motherfucking psyco.” The rating is turning blue and his mates are beating the hooker with their fists. Doil fires into the ceiling.
“Let him down and the Navy; back off.”
He tells the rating to hand over the knife.
“He has no knife, he used his motherfucking teeth .”
Doil couldn't help, but smile. “Maybe you were just too big for him. Ok shows over if you want his services get your wages out or, git.” The discouraged ones pushed past Getz and two more bulls on the way up.
“What kept ya?' says Doil.
The Man is on a losing streak and and not liking it. He is down a couple of G's. The pile in front of Veronica just gets bigger.
“You dealing from the bottom?” he asks. Veronica gives him a stare that would freeze hell. As much as he loves Veronica Lake, he loves money more. He snaps his fingers and number one soldier hands him a silver Beretta, which he points at Veronica. The other players remove themselves pronto.
“Just you and me doll face. Deal.”
“Dealer don't play. House rules.”
“Deal”
Veronica deals him a hand. Two aces, hearts and spades.
“Flip”
Veronica turns over the other two aces and a joker. The Man picks up the joker tosses it in the air and holes it with one shot. Doil reacts and pistol whips The Man, he falls unconscious on to the table, his soldiers draw their weapons and bullets fly everywhere. Mostly into Veronica.
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