Free Radicals by Zeke Teflon

Author:Zeke Teflon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: See Sharp Press
Published: 2012-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

The next evening, Kel, Chuy, and Mikel were sitting at a table in the construction barracks’ rec room, an addition still under construction with bare studs and bare rafters—so no surveillance cameras—and with a two-liter bottle of vodka and half-full shot glasses before them, playing penny-ante poker. Kel had just won a hand of seven-card stud, and had raised his glass in salute as Stakhanov walked into the barracks. Chuy waved his drink and motioned for Stakhanov to join them. “¡Compañero, juntanos!” Stakhanov smiled and said “Da! I do watch duty in hour. But one does not hurt!” He walked over and sat down. Mikel got up, walked to a cabinet along the nearest wall, and made a show of looking for another shot glass. He returned with a water glass, which he set on the table before Stakhanov. Stakhanov looked at it in surprise, and then in satisfaction, as Mikel poured four fingers of vodka into it.

Stakhanov held it up to the nearest light, stared at it a second, lowered it, and said, “One only. Tonight I do guard duty.” He slugged half of it down in one gulp, looked at his comrades, and spoke. “Is good to finish people’s palace, no? He raised his glass again in a toast and said, “Chtob vse byli zdorovy!” and clinked his glass against Mikel’s. Mikel returned the toast in Spanish: “¡Salud!” Stakhanov nearly drained what was left in his glass as the others downed their half-full shot glasses.

Stakhanov reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He dropped it onto the table, took a long sip of what was left of his drink, and then carefully separated his coins into piles. Mikel dealt a hand of five-card stud, which Kel won.

Mikel passed the deck to Kel. Chuy picked up the bottle and started to add a bit to Stakhanov’s glass, as Stakhanov waved him off and said, “No more.” Chuy, bottle still in hand hovering over Stakhanov’s glass, said, “Just un poco más,” and when Stakhanov said, “Okay, un poco,” Chuy added almost three fingers, and then filled his, Kel’s and Mikel’s shot glasses three-quarters full. He raised his glass and looked at the others.

“To comrade Modelo!” Mikel, Kel, and Chuy chugged their 20-cc shots as Stakhanov downed half of his 100-cc shot. Chuy immediately called out “¡Otro!” and refilled the glasses.

Kel called a game of four-four-four with an ante of four, and as he was dealing Mikel asked, “What in hell is this?”

Kel replied, as he rapid fired cards, “Four up, four down, fours wild.” Stakhanov won the comparatively large pot, raised his glass, said “¡Salud!” and took another slug.

Chuy poured two fingers into his, Mikel’s, and Kel’s shot glasses, and poured another two fingers into Stakhanov’s water glass. Chuy raised his shot glass and looked at the others at the table and said, “¡Salud!” They downed their slugs of vodka almost simultaneously.

Mikel, obviously enjoying himself, filled their glasses again, turned toward Stakhanov and said, “Imperialism lives

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