Night Train by Nick Tosches

Author:Nick Tosches
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241982402
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2017-05-04T04:00:00+00:00

Blinky would say nothing more than this in response to every further question, and in the end Kefauver announced that he would seek a contempt citation against him.

Sonny showed up in a suit and tie that shone. He looked good. He looked better than good. He looked like Charles L. Liston, the mightiest of men and the sharpest of dressers. He was too cool to be real, too real to be cool. He just was what he fucking was: Charles L. Liston, mightiest of men, sharpest of dressers. Had more pasts then most people had socks. Go on, pick a past, any past. They were all the same to him: sand slough and alleys, barrooms and prison cells, fancy ass big bad gangster men and bent-down cotton pickers. All the same. Working for halves here, Boss, working for halves: you and me, we’re working for halves. Sing it loud, sister: “Oh, what a friend we have in Blinky. Oh, what a friend we have in Mr. Gray.” Can’t barely hear you, sister; why don’t you slide up on in here. Gonna be the world champeen. Good Lord told me so. Told me buy this damn suit, too. Had him a whole flock of suits, one for every motherfucker he knocked out. No, not that many; nobody had that many, not even Mr. Frankie C. Gray, not even him. No, maybe one for every past, one for every day of the week. Yeah, had a gal for every day in the week, too. A lot of tail lately, yeah, a good amount of tail. No crime in that, is there, Your Honor, or Your Holiness, or Your Let’s-Get-Blinkiness, or whatever the fuck you are? Yeah, he’d heard that one: “Your Honorable Body.” Shit, whip this dick out from these guinea britches, show you some honorable fucking body. He was the baddest man with the biggest dick that ever was. That’s what those women said. All of them, the free ones and the store-bought, too. That old sign-casting hoodoo-Jesus lady, midwifed him way back when: he knew, all right, he knew where that “L” came from. Yeah, that’s what he told those chicks, but, no, he didn’t know. He wondered on it, but he didn’t know. Charles Lost Liston. Yeah, that would’ve been a good one: “and in this corner … Lost Charles Liston.” Charles Loverboy Liston. Knock the men out with one hand, squeeze the women with other, drink whiskey and shoot dice all at the same damn time. Charles L. Liston. Maybe it didn’t stand for nothing. Maybe it was some other man’s name that mama and that woman couldn’t say outright. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why Tobe had all the mean in the world coming out of those eyes when he looked at him. That wouldn’t be half bad, no. Least that way it would halfwise make sense. No use in asking. Mama can’t tell you where or when her boys were born or where her eyeglasses

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