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DGP PRESENTS FOUR DEEP
by Brandon Rucker
Right now it’s a quarter to three, we’re outside Mulligan’s, sitting four-deep in my Olds Ninety-Eight convertible, waiting. This guy Sammy Raleigh hasn’t shown up yet. Said he’d meet us here around two-thirty, which is last call at most joints.
Well, last call’s come and gone. My guys are getting impatient, especially Bert who already thinks the jobs I find for us are bunk. And then there’s Percy with his delusions of grandeur, thinking we should be going Big Time, but the reality is we’re tiny fish in a large pond.
We ain’t Italian or Russian, and none of us are connected, really, not to made guys anyways, so any mob work we get is going to be for scraps. That’s just how it is on the lower level. Especially since we don’t screw around with running drugs or stupid shit like that. It takes more brains to rise from the bottom of the food chain. Frankly, that’s just not us.
Well, last call’s come and gone. My guys are getting impatient, especially Bert who already thinks the jobs I find for us are bunk. And then there’s Percy with his delusions of grandeur, thinking we should be going Big Time, but the reality is we’re tiny fish in a large pond.
We ain’t Italian or Russian, and none of us are connected, really, not to made guys anyways, so any mob work we get is going to be for scraps. That’s just how it is on the lower level. Especially since we don’t screw around with running drugs or stupid shit like that. It takes more brains to rise from the bottom of the food chain. Frankly, that’s just not us.
* * * * * * * * *
Let’s rewind a bit, back to a quarter past midnight.
The four of us head over to the strip on Eden Blvd to pass the time. The trick being to just cop a slight buzz and manage to keep it just that because none of us want to show up at the meet sauced, or in Tevin’s case, completely passed out.
We arrive at a little dive called Geronimo’s where they have four dollar shots from the top shelf. Like any other drinking establishment this place is dark and smoky, only they’ve got a Native American motif that’s pretty cool. The jukebox isn’t so loud that you can’t have conversations at a normal speaking voice. At any rate, it’s the kind of laid back place we prefer. Crowd seems pretty chill, which is a bonus.
We take a seat at a booth near the entrance with Bert and Percy on one side, and me and Tevin on the other. A perky blonde cocktail waitress comes to greet us with a sparkling smile, eager to serve us. We order four shots: Bert—1800 Silver, Percy—Tanqueray, Tevin—Johnny Walker Black, and me, a Grey Goose. Perky-Smiling-Flirting-Blonde waitress leaves to fetch our drinks as we begin to scope the place out. It’s not long before Bert starts in on me about the plan, as usual.
“Zane, why’d you let this other cat set the time and place for the meet, anyways?”
I look him in the eye as I light a Camel, blowing smoke his way, which always pisses him off. I say, “Hell, I figured since we’re kind of at his mercy we might as well let him pick what he’s most comfortable with.”
“Makes sense,” Percy says between puffs on his cigar, “We don’t want this dude gettin’ all squirrelly on us.”
Bert looks away from me now and I follow his eyes to the sight of a lovely brunette sitting by herself at the bar. He says, “At his mercy, huh? We pull a job with this guy and we’re at his mercy?”
After making her way through a line of obnoxious frat boys lining up at the bar, our waitress returns with our four shots on a tray. “I’ve got this first round, honey,” I tell her, passing on starting a tab and paying her with a Jackson. “Keep the change.”
Flirting with us now, she says, “No wives or girlfriends, good looking crew like you four?”
“Yeah, you could say I’m available, sweetness,” Percy says with all his oafish creepiness, which thankfully she has the good sense to just laugh away.
“Yeah, we’re quite the crew,” I tell her. “You got Bert—short for Robert—over here, the token black guy who’s all business and attitude…” Bert glares at me like I stole his lunch money. “…and his unlikely, portly best friend Percy there who’s our resident psychopath,” Percy shoots me a scruffy scowl. “This affable fella to my left is Tevin who thinks being of Irish-Scot decent gives him the license to be a professional drunk,” Tevin gives me the two-bird special. “And last but certainly not least is my charming ass, the loudmouth Aryan bastard who will steal your heart. Gimme me five minutes, it’s a done deal.” I flash her my thousand watt smile.
She mocks us. “Ooh, you sure sound like quite the scary bunch,”
Bert says, “Darlin’, we’re just four scumbags tryin’ to stay outta trouble. And no offense, but beautiful women are trouble.”
“Shit, women in general,” Percy says with his raspy chuckle.
I thank her before she makes her way to another table, no doubt unimpressed by yet another bunch of scumbags at a pub. When I look back at the fellas I see Tevin’s got his panties all in a bunch. “What’s your problem?”
“Man, y’all are like women repellent,” he says. He’s being judgmental, as if there’s any hope in increasing his chances. Trust me, there isn’t.
“Calm down, Red Sox” Percy says, “we’re just entertaining.”
Out of the corner of my I catch the lonesome brunette at the bar looking our way. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say to my guys, “There’s a damsel sending out a brown-eyed distress call.”
What can I say? I’d much rather pass a couple of boring hours with a lovely dame.
The four of us head over to the strip on Eden Blvd to pass the time. The trick being to just cop a slight buzz and manage to keep it just that because none of us want to show up at the meet sauced, or in Tevin’s case, completely passed out.
We arrive at a little dive called Geronimo’s where they have four dollar shots from the top shelf. Like any other drinking establishment this place is dark and smoky, only they’ve got a Native American motif that’s pretty cool. The jukebox isn’t so loud that you can’t have conversations at a normal speaking voice. At any rate, it’s the kind of laid back place we prefer. Crowd seems pretty chill, which is a bonus.
We take a seat at a booth near the entrance with Bert and Percy on one side, and me and Tevin on the other. A perky blonde cocktail waitress comes to greet us with a sparkling smile, eager to serve us. We order four shots: Bert—1800 Silver, Percy—Tanqueray, Tevin—Johnny Walker Black, and me, a Grey Goose. Perky-Smiling-Flirting-Blonde waitress leaves to fetch our drinks as we begin to scope the place out. It’s not long before Bert starts in on me about the plan, as usual.
“Zane, why’d you let this other cat set the time and place for the meet, anyways?”
I look him in the eye as I light a Camel, blowing smoke his way, which always pisses him off. I say, “Hell, I figured since we’re kind of at his mercy we might as well let him pick what he’s most comfortable with.”
“Makes sense,” Percy says between puffs on his cigar, “We don’t want this dude gettin’ all squirrelly on us.”
Bert looks away from me now and I follow his eyes to the sight of a lovely brunette sitting by herself at the bar. He says, “At his mercy, huh? We pull a job with this guy and we’re at his mercy?”
After making her way through a line of obnoxious frat boys lining up at the bar, our waitress returns with our four shots on a tray. “I’ve got this first round, honey,” I tell her, passing on starting a tab and paying her with a Jackson. “Keep the change.”
Flirting with us now, she says, “No wives or girlfriends, good looking crew like you four?”
“Yeah, you could say I’m available, sweetness,” Percy says with all his oafish creepiness, which thankfully she has the good sense to just laugh away.
“Yeah, we’re quite the crew,” I tell her. “You got Bert—short for Robert—over here, the token black guy who’s all business and attitude…” Bert glares at me like I stole his lunch money. “…and his unlikely, portly best friend Percy there who’s our resident psychopath,” Percy shoots me a scruffy scowl. “This affable fella to my left is Tevin who thinks being of Irish-Scot decent gives him the license to be a professional drunk,” Tevin gives me the two-bird special. “And last but certainly not least is my charming ass, the loudmouth Aryan bastard who will steal your heart. Gimme me five minutes, it’s a done deal.” I flash her my thousand watt smile.
She mocks us. “Ooh, you sure sound like quite the scary bunch,”
Bert says, “Darlin’, we’re just four scumbags tryin’ to stay outta trouble. And no offense, but beautiful women are trouble.”
“Shit, women in general,” Percy says with his raspy chuckle.
I thank her before she makes her way to another table, no doubt unimpressed by yet another bunch of scumbags at a pub. When I look back at the fellas I see Tevin’s got his panties all in a bunch. “What’s your problem?”
“Man, y’all are like women repellent,” he says. He’s being judgmental, as if there’s any hope in increasing his chances. Trust me, there isn’t.
“Calm down, Red Sox” Percy says, “we’re just entertaining.”
Out of the corner of my I catch the lonesome brunette at the bar looking our way. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say to my guys, “There’s a damsel sending out a brown-eyed distress call.”
What can I say? I’d much rather pass a couple of boring hours with a lovely dame.
* * * * * * * * *
Now it’s three-thirty. Raleigh’s got the four of us waiting with our cocks in our hands, but since I’m responsible for this partnership I’m the one who’s going to get pissed on.
Mulligan’s is closed now and we’re lucky we haven’t seen any cops sweeping the parking lot. I’m sure it’s just a matter time, though. After another five minutes we finally see the rat bastard’s Monte Carlo pull into the parking lot, then next to my Ninety-Eight where we’re all leaning against it. I notice he doesn’t switch off his engine.
Considering the situation I can’t bother with pleasantries. “Raleigh, you got our take?”
The twitchy bastard hands over a black Adidas gym bag from his passenger seat. “Yeah, it’s all there.”
I give the bag to Bert as he hops back into my car so he can do a quick visual. I bet no more than four seconds go by before he’s humming “mmhm” to himself, which isn’t good news. “Raleigh, Raleigh, you’re short, man,” Bert finally says with that incredulous disbelief that raises his voice an octave or two. “I see . . . ten . . . eleven . . . twelve grand here! Four ways, that’s only three grand, man.”
Tevin says, “Dude, that puts us out one k each.”
"I think somebody failed grade school math,” Percy says reaching for the piece that he keeps in his inside breast pocket, thankfully not pulling it.
The total take was twenty k with our cut being sixteen of that. Nice and even, Steven. The math is simple, short division. But with no honor among scumbags, that just ain’t the case, hombre. No, it’s not a huge amount in the grand scheme of things, but that’s not the point. Looking back at Raleigh, I tell him to turn his car off and stay awhile, but--
“That’s all right,” He says, now brandishing his Glock nine at us. “I got other plans.” And just like that the rat bastard peels off in his Monte Carlo, leaving us not only with our cocks in our hands but now with a severe case of blue balls. Naturally, the boys are livid.
Bert: “Mutha—”
Percy: “Lets chase his ass down!”
But I remain calm. “Bert, Percy, don’t worry about it.” They won’t believe it, but I’m actually prepared this time. “I took out a little insurance policy in case something like this happened.”
Acknowledgment paints Bert’s face. “Let me guess, dude don’t know you’re banging his girl?”
“That’s only the half of it.” I say, not able to hold back a hearty chuckle. “I got a text earlier from a little birdy that let me know one of the guys he ratted on a few years back unexpectedly made parole. Early.”
Tevin grumbles, “Zane, how the hell’s that benefit us?”
I look over at the fellas and give them my trademark grin. “I know this is me asking for too much, but ya gotta trust me on this.”
It’s only a matter of time before we’ll see Raleigh again. For that sweet little reunion we’ll be five deep. Odds are I won’t be able to keep him from going six feet deep.
Mulligan’s is closed now and we’re lucky we haven’t seen any cops sweeping the parking lot. I’m sure it’s just a matter time, though. After another five minutes we finally see the rat bastard’s Monte Carlo pull into the parking lot, then next to my Ninety-Eight where we’re all leaning against it. I notice he doesn’t switch off his engine.
Considering the situation I can’t bother with pleasantries. “Raleigh, you got our take?”
The twitchy bastard hands over a black Adidas gym bag from his passenger seat. “Yeah, it’s all there.”
I give the bag to Bert as he hops back into my car so he can do a quick visual. I bet no more than four seconds go by before he’s humming “mmhm” to himself, which isn’t good news. “Raleigh, Raleigh, you’re short, man,” Bert finally says with that incredulous disbelief that raises his voice an octave or two. “I see . . . ten . . . eleven . . . twelve grand here! Four ways, that’s only three grand, man.”
Tevin says, “Dude, that puts us out one k each.”
"I think somebody failed grade school math,” Percy says reaching for the piece that he keeps in his inside breast pocket, thankfully not pulling it.
The total take was twenty k with our cut being sixteen of that. Nice and even, Steven. The math is simple, short division. But with no honor among scumbags, that just ain’t the case, hombre. No, it’s not a huge amount in the grand scheme of things, but that’s not the point. Looking back at Raleigh, I tell him to turn his car off and stay awhile, but--
“That’s all right,” He says, now brandishing his Glock nine at us. “I got other plans.” And just like that the rat bastard peels off in his Monte Carlo, leaving us not only with our cocks in our hands but now with a severe case of blue balls. Naturally, the boys are livid.
Bert: “Mutha—”
Percy: “Lets chase his ass down!”
But I remain calm. “Bert, Percy, don’t worry about it.” They won’t believe it, but I’m actually prepared this time. “I took out a little insurance policy in case something like this happened.”
Acknowledgment paints Bert’s face. “Let me guess, dude don’t know you’re banging his girl?”
“That’s only the half of it.” I say, not able to hold back a hearty chuckle. “I got a text earlier from a little birdy that let me know one of the guys he ratted on a few years back unexpectedly made parole. Early.”
Tevin grumbles, “Zane, how the hell’s that benefit us?”
I look over at the fellas and give them my trademark grin. “I know this is me asking for too much, but ya gotta trust me on this.”
It’s only a matter of time before we’ll see Raleigh again. For that sweet little reunion we’ll be five deep. Odds are I won’t be able to keep him from going six feet deep.
END
© DEAD GUNS PRESS - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
© DEAD GUNS PRESS - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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Brandon L. Rucker has published a dozen short stories over the course of the last five years. Formerly an editor as well, he was the compiler/editor of the print anthology LOCAL HEROES. He’s back where he belongs now after an extended break from fiction to dabble more in journalism. He hails from Indiana where the summers are humid and the winters are increasingly unbearable. Cold weather and gray skies tend to make him rather grumpy. You wouldn’t like him when he’s grumpy.
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