Dead Boys
Chapter One
Fuzzyland
Big Mike insists I try on his ring. I tell him that's okay, but he's
a pushy bastard. He bought it in Reno or won it, which makes it
lucky or something. I wasn't listening; the guy's stories go
nowhere. He wears the ring on his pinky, but it slips easily over my
thumb. He laughs to see that and piles lox onto a bagel.
"You're going to miss me," he says to the waitress.
Upon his retirement next month, I'll inherit some of his accounts.
It's supposed to be an honor. This deli, for example. I'll be
stopping in once a month for the rest of my life, pushing flatware
and dishes and, say, did I mention our special on toothpicks? Unless
I screw up, that is. Which happens. Ask any salesman. Buy him a
drink. Greek tragedies, man. One word too many, one wayward glance,
and we are up shit creek.
The owner slides into our booth. My read is he's a little skittish
coming out of the box. His hand is soaking wet when Mike makes the
introduction. I'm cool, though. I don't grab a napkin or go for my
pant leg. He and Mike pick up where they left off last time, and I
put it on aut ... read full excerpt from: Dead Boys ebook
