THUGLIT Issue Seven Read Online Free
Author: Michael Sears, Edward Hagelstein, Ed Kurtz, Joe Clifford, Christopher E. Long, Marie S. Crosswell, Justin Ordonez, Benjamin Welton
about that.
*****
In the car—Poke's car, a station wagon older than Methuselah, since mine got repo-ed—I pulled the balaclava down over my face and Poke did the same. I didn't know that's what you called a robbery mask, but it's what Poke called them. Up 'til then I always went with pantyhose.
It was nighttime and the street was mostly empty. There were some cars parked , but there was always a car or two parked on Main. All the storefronts was closed up, shuttered, and only the streetlights gave off any glow. Poke killed the engine and we climbed out of that shitty old station wagon at the same time. He had his SIG tucked into his pants but I kept that .45 in my hand.
" Let's go 'round back," Poke said. So that's what we did.
There was this skinny alley between Nelda 's diner and the feed store, and we went down it single file until we was in the back. More cars were parked back there on the dirt, all at crazy angles because it wasn't really a parking lot, and the crabgrass grew up at least a foot behind that. Snake territory. I hated snakes worse than anything.
Poke counted the doors at the back of the buildings to find the one we wanted. Porky 's door. Most of them was wood doors you could kick in even if you was a little guy like me. Porky's was solid steel.
We walked up to it, our shoes crunching the pebbles and dirt, a nd tried to listen real careful-like. But we couldn't hear a thing other than the bugs making a racket back in the grass. Poke touched the butt of his gun and heaved a huge breath into his lungs. When he pushed it back out again I could smell all that vodka he'd been drinking back at the bar. I was starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn't have waited 'til we was sober enough to do this job clean, but by then Poke was pounding on the door with his fist.
I said, "Shit!" And then there was this big crunching sound like a warship listing at sea or something. It was just the bar coming off the door before it opened up. Poke got his gun all the way out and I tightened my grip on mine, even though my hands were sweating like crazy.
Cigar and marijuana sm oke spilled out into the night, and the second this black face came in between the crack and the jamb, Poke jammed his SIG right in the guy's nose.
" Don't be stupid," he said to the guy. "Just let us in, real nice and quiet."
The dude probably wasn 't older than twenty-five and looked like he wanted to piss his pants. His mouth hung open and his eyes crossed at the barrel of the gun. He swallowed loud and opened the door the rest of the way, keeping his hands where we could see them. Poke grabbed him by his shirt and spun him round, locked his left arm round the guy's throat, and put the gun to his temple. He pushed into the room and I came in behind.
There was a record player on top of a crate playing some of that Motown stuff and the lady singer was talking about love. She was the only one talking. In the middle of the room two other guys flanked their boss, staring us down with a mean hate in their eyes. The boss looked meaner still.
Porky was sitting at a card table and the whole thing looked just like I imagined it when Poke was telling Spaceman's story. Sure as shit there was a card game going on the table, and a little money, though no coke. It was just as well. We didn't come for no nose candy.
The big man 's face was dripping sweat and his shirt was stained in the pits right up to his chest. He had both hands on the table and a great big cigar smoking between two fingers of the right one. His bottom lip stuck out like when little kids pout, but his eyes were all man. A four hundred pound man who would drop us like cattle at the slaughterhouse and then forget he ever done it.
Since Poke 's gun was still on the guy from the door, I put mine on Porky. I had this queer feeling about it, like I was affronting God. But my hand didn't shake at all.
Then Porky stuck that cigar in his mouth, drew in a huge lungful of smoke, and blew
*****
In the car—Poke's car, a station wagon older than Methuselah, since mine got repo-ed—I pulled the balaclava down over my face and Poke did the same. I didn't know that's what you called a robbery mask, but it's what Poke called them. Up 'til then I always went with pantyhose.
It was nighttime and the street was mostly empty. There were some cars parked , but there was always a car or two parked on Main. All the storefronts was closed up, shuttered, and only the streetlights gave off any glow. Poke killed the engine and we climbed out of that shitty old station wagon at the same time. He had his SIG tucked into his pants but I kept that .45 in my hand.
" Let's go 'round back," Poke said. So that's what we did.
There was this skinny alley between Nelda 's diner and the feed store, and we went down it single file until we was in the back. More cars were parked back there on the dirt, all at crazy angles because it wasn't really a parking lot, and the crabgrass grew up at least a foot behind that. Snake territory. I hated snakes worse than anything.
Poke counted the doors at the back of the buildings to find the one we wanted. Porky 's door. Most of them was wood doors you could kick in even if you was a little guy like me. Porky's was solid steel.
We walked up to it, our shoes crunching the pebbles and dirt, a nd tried to listen real careful-like. But we couldn't hear a thing other than the bugs making a racket back in the grass. Poke touched the butt of his gun and heaved a huge breath into his lungs. When he pushed it back out again I could smell all that vodka he'd been drinking back at the bar. I was starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn't have waited 'til we was sober enough to do this job clean, but by then Poke was pounding on the door with his fist.
I said, "Shit!" And then there was this big crunching sound like a warship listing at sea or something. It was just the bar coming off the door before it opened up. Poke got his gun all the way out and I tightened my grip on mine, even though my hands were sweating like crazy.
Cigar and marijuana sm oke spilled out into the night, and the second this black face came in between the crack and the jamb, Poke jammed his SIG right in the guy's nose.
" Don't be stupid," he said to the guy. "Just let us in, real nice and quiet."
The dude probably wasn 't older than twenty-five and looked like he wanted to piss his pants. His mouth hung open and his eyes crossed at the barrel of the gun. He swallowed loud and opened the door the rest of the way, keeping his hands where we could see them. Poke grabbed him by his shirt and spun him round, locked his left arm round the guy's throat, and put the gun to his temple. He pushed into the room and I came in behind.
There was a record player on top of a crate playing some of that Motown stuff and the lady singer was talking about love. She was the only one talking. In the middle of the room two other guys flanked their boss, staring us down with a mean hate in their eyes. The boss looked meaner still.
Porky was sitting at a card table and the whole thing looked just like I imagined it when Poke was telling Spaceman's story. Sure as shit there was a card game going on the table, and a little money, though no coke. It was just as well. We didn't come for no nose candy.
The big man 's face was dripping sweat and his shirt was stained in the pits right up to his chest. He had both hands on the table and a great big cigar smoking between two fingers of the right one. His bottom lip stuck out like when little kids pout, but his eyes were all man. A four hundred pound man who would drop us like cattle at the slaughterhouse and then forget he ever done it.
Since Poke 's gun was still on the guy from the door, I put mine on Porky. I had this queer feeling about it, like I was affronting God. But my hand didn't shake at all.
Then Porky stuck that cigar in his mouth, drew in a huge lungful of smoke, and blew
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