Lucky Supreme by Jeff Johnson

Author:Jeff Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arcade Publishing
Published: 2017-04-19T04:00:00+00:00

Big Mike had returned from his self-cleaning cycle and Delia and Alex were both working when I got back to the Lucky, half an hour late. We settled into an easy routine, Delia ribbing us, Alex smiling politely but more quiet than ever, almost certainly plotting a permanent exit solution, and me fielding phone calls and expertly steering Delia’s rhapsodizing away from the X-rated or tabloid Bigfoot sightings. By the time six o’clock and the shift change came around, I was in an okay mood, ready for a drink.

Nigel arrived and started setting up after a quick round of greetings. Alex did his totals and went home without a word. Delia was on her cell phone planning an evening of unbridled debauchery with her two best friends, Cordy and Biji, two trashy cock-chasing lunatics we all adored. Both of them were computer nerds by day, so part of what Delia was planning was pure trickery. I was in the back at my desk looking over some indecipherable letter from the phone company when Big Mike peeked into the room.

“Customer,” he said. “Wants to talk to you about a consultation. Iffy on the scumbagometer.”

I got up and followed him out front. Standing at the tip wall was a power lifter with cropped black hair and a convict’s handlebar moustache. His weathered black leather jacket hung open, revealing a massive chest in a tight wife beater tee. Some spidery, pencil-colored prison tattoos were drifting up out of his neckline.

“Howdy,” I said. He nodded, and when he did his glaring, beady eyes stayed fixed on mine. A bad smile waited in his face.

“Hey, little buddy,” he replied in a way-too-measured purr. “Wanted to talk to you about a tattoo.”

“Sure,” I replied. “What kind of thing you looking for?”

He shrugged and that smile spread open, a slash that was all wolf and rape. “Don’t even care. Just know I want you to do it.” The rictus held.

“Not much of a starting point,” I said slowly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see both Nigel and Big Mike pause. Their heads swiveled in my direction.

“Yeah, I probably got enough ink. I wanted to get one last one from you, though. Heard they were gonna be a collector’s item.” He kept his long, yard-bully stare pointed straight into my face. “You know all about collector’s items, right?”

“What the motherfucking hell are you talking about?” I asked, harsh. “Is that some kind of wussy talk?” I laughed. “Don’t tell me. Some skank gave you a lap dance and some coke, then sent you in here to shoot your mouth off.”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “Just heard you were the guy to talk to, little brother. Maybe you have a few things some people might want. Heard about a price tag. Heard you were gonna disappear.” He made a poof noise and flicked his hands like an amateur magician. He reminded me of a TV wrestler working a kid’s party

“Look, dudes,” I said to Nigel and Mikey.

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