Florida Man by Mike Baron

Author:Mike Baron [Baron, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Satire, Humor
ISBN: 1641197498
Amazon: B07X118GT4
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2019-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

38 El Nariz

Eleven p.m. Thursday night found El Cheapo parked at the curb across the street from Tango’s Night Club in South Beach. He’d put the word out and received word back. An old clubbing friend, Tomas Villaneuve, would meet him in five minutes. A transplanted Columbian, Villaneuve ostensibly worked as a booking agent and talent scout for the many South Beach and Miami night clubs.

El Cheapo waited with the windows down, listening to the Afro/Cuban All Stars playing softly on his CD player, smoking a Cohiba, wearing Emporio Armani men’s jeans, Skecher loafers, and a silk shirt in a purple and yellow pattern. He spotted Villaneuve in his rear view, sauntering up the sidewalk wearing a narrow-brimmed fedora, carrying a man purse, a tall man with a Frank Zappa nose and mustache. El Cheapo waved through the open window. Villaneuve came up on the passenger side and slid inside bringing with him the scent of Versace Dylan Blue. Villaneuve had never really recovered from Versace’s death.

They slipped skin.

“Hombre!” Villaneuve said.

“Tomas. How are you doing?”

Villaneuve shot his cuffs revealing a Tag Heuer on his left wrist. As a young man, Villaneuve had raced Formula One for Honda. Two races. He failed to place, yet he was an expert on all things automotive.

“I am doing great, my friend. I have bookings from one end of Miami Beach to the other. I have sexy babes from one end of the beach to the other. And if you are looking to install a sound system in your car, I am your man.”

He looked around. “A vehicle such as this deserves a superior sound system. What are you running?”

El Cheapo used the steering wheel control to crank the volume until the vehicle, the boulevard, and the very waters themselves were doing the Latin boogaloo. Giggling young women, boys on boards, spandex-clad cyclists all looked his way. Laughing, Villaneuve put his hands to his ears.

“All right! All right!”

El Cheapo turned the volume down and started the engine. “Let’s take a drive.” They took Venusian Way to Miami where El Cheapo pulled into Duarte Park, stopping the vehicle beneath a spreading acacia tree. A handful of other vehicles were scattered around the parking lot, some glowing softly, others burbling with bass. El Cheapo opened the center console, removed the brick of blow and set it in Villaneuve’s lap. He handed Villeaneuve an amber bottle and a tiny silver coke spoon.

Villaneuve did a one and one. His head snapped back. “Whoa, Mama!” He reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out an envelope. Turning on the cab light, El Cheapo quickly counted the cash. He started the engine and headed back for Miami. His next appointment was at midnight.

El Cheapo waited for a Panamera to pull out of a space on the boulevard, then expertly parallel parked his massive Cadillac. Villaneuve slipped the brick in his man purse, got out, saluted, and dashed across the boulevard toward the Cameo Lounge. Elbow in the breeze,

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