Part 6 (1/2)
”Cut my f.u.c.kin' drinkin' to two six-packs a week. Gave up doughnuts and pizza. Stopped chuggin' Coffee-mate from the bottle at breakfast.”
”You drank Coffee-mate from the bottle?”
”It's f.u.c.kin' good, Mulligan. Oughta try it sometime.”
”Looks like you've been working out, too.”
”Most every day, yeah. Vinny Pazienza lets me use his private gym. Love pounding the heavy bag, man. Vinny says I got f.u.c.kin' talent. Started sooner and I mighta gone pro.”
You lost, what, fifty, sixty pounds?”
”Closer to a hundred.”
”Good for you, Joseph. So how long you been working here?”
”Since June. First time I had steady work in more'n three years.”
The bartender wandered over and tapped Joseph's swollen, pasty forearm. ”Friend of yours?” he asked.
”Yeah. Give us a couple of brews, Sonny.”
”Sure thing,” he said. He drew two Buds from the ice chest, popped the tops, and slid the bottles onto the bar. ”Take your time. It'll take me a half hour to clean up.”
I pulled a roll of Tums from my pocket, peeled off a couple, chewed them to calm my stomach, and chased them with beer.
”So whatcha doing here, Mulligan?” Joseph said. ”Guy like you oughta be able to get his p.u.s.s.y for free. Never figured you for a John.”
”I'm not. I'm workin.'”
”Saw you upstairs with Destiny on your lap. Nice work if you can get it.”
”The Dispatch doesn't pay much,” I said, ”but the job does have fringe benefits.”
”Mine, too. I watch out for the girls, make sure n.o.body gives 'em a hard time. And they take care of me.”
”Complimentary b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs?”
”Complimentary means free?”
”It does.”
”Then yeah, every f.u.c.kin' night.”
”Do customers give the girls a hard time often?”
”Nah. Most of 'em know better. But every now and then, one of them South Providence pimps comes bopping in and tries to squeeze the girls for a cut. Miss Maniella don't allow that. Says the girls got a right to keep what they make.”
”Good for her.”
”Last month King Felix came in. Heard of him?”
”We've met.” In fact, Felix and I went way back.
”Couple of the girls, Sacha and Karma, used to be in his stable. He seemed to think they still were.”
”What'd you do?”
”Told him he was mistaken.”
”How'd that work out?”
”a.s.shole went for a little silver pistol stuck in his waistband, so I took it away from him. Always heard he was a tough guy, but when I grabbed him by his f.u.c.kin' dreads and dragged him outside, he screamed like a little girl.”
”Knock him around a little, did you?”
”Nothin' major. Smashed his nose. Cracked a few ribs. When I was done, I told him to go back out on the street and spread the word. Then I tossed the f.u.c.ker in the Dumpster.”
Joseph picked up his Bud and drained half the bottle in a swallow. The bartender wandered back our way and mopped a wet spot with his bar rag.
”You ain't told me what you're workin' on,” Joseph said.
”I'm looking for Vanessa Maniella. Seen her around lately?”
He frowned, and his blue eyes turned to slits. ”I don't want to read my name in your f.u.c.kin' paper.”
”Okay.”
”'Cause if I do, I'll kick your a.s.s.”
”Understood.”
The bartender was still mopping that same spot. Maybe he was eavesdropping. Maybe he was just being thorough.
”Ain't seen Miss Maniella in weeks,” Joseph said. ”She's got people what run the place for her. She don't come in much.”
”How about her father?”
”Ain't never seen him in here.”
”Think he's dead?”
”All I know about that is what you put in your f.u.c.kin' paper.”
”No scuttleb.u.t.t about it around the club?”
”Scuttleb.u.t.t?”