Friday, November 05, 2004
NANOWRIMO Day 5: 1973 Words (5580 total)
I decided to call Karl first. As much as Joe’s message sounded urgent and began to give me a really bad feeling, this business with Karl and the mysterious chick was more on my mind at the moment. Maybe because it was more intriguing. Maybe because I didn’t want to know what Joe was freaking out about. Maybe because I had an inkling and I knew I didn’t want to know. Maybe because I knew if I did call I would be hurrying off back home for whatever was going on. And maybe because I had a feeling that the mysterious woman would be angry if I didn’t do what she said. She didn’t sound like the kind of person you want angry at you. So I called Karl.
“Yeah.”
“Karl, it’s Mickey.” I mentioned before that I told everyone to call me Mickey. There’s a reason for that. It’s my name. My parents were big fans of the Mickey Spillane, the great detective/mystery writer. Funny, considering my choice of a profession. My ma used to say we were related to him (cousins or some such), but I think she was lying. Hell, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe I am related to a famous wealthy writer. That did have its possibilities. Anyway, they were both big fans of his, and considering their last name, they decided it would be totally awesome and sweet to name me after him. So woo for my name. Anyway…
“Hey, hey! Glad you called Mickey. Knew I could count on you to settle your scores. You’re a real class act, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Call it the philanthropist in me. But that’s not entirely why I am calling. But maybe it is. Shit, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” I suspected my mysterious benefactor either found some way to look into the future or had a way of fixing a game that looked totally one sided. And she had told Karl it would be in his best interest to give high returns to any who bet against such a sure thing.
“Oh?” He had a funny sound to that word, as if he knew what was coming but was trying to sound surprised and maybe a bit offended at the possibility I might be skipping town. Convincing, for anyone else. But I’m a real good judge of people. I have to be, in my line of work. I can tell whenever someone isn’t being straight with me. Whether it’s from natural instinct or just way too much poker I don’t know.
“Yeah, I got this phone call, see? From a broad.”
“You get phone calls from broads all the time. Isn’t that your line of work, man?” Still being cagey. Meh, might as well come out with it. As much as I do enjoy this game of conversing when both know exactly what’s going on but make it look like they don’t, I really needed to call Joe.
“This was different. Broad told me I should talk to you, tell you about the call, and tell you I want to take her advice. Said you’d know what was going on.”
“Did she now? Well, that is interesting. Okay, so you’ve told me what she said. Do you?” Karl will come to the point, when you’re direct. He likes the game too, but gets down to business when it’s time. A little quick, even for him, though. I still wasn’t sure about this whole situation.
“I don’t know if I should, considering I don’t even know what the hell the ‘advice’ is.”
“Yeah, I can see how that would make it difficult for you.” That smug little bastard. There’s nothing I hate more than someone who knows that he has the information you need, and who flaunts that fact over you.
“Well, what can you tell me?” Might as well try the direct approach. Sometimes it works. It wouldn’t here, but it’s at least worth a shot.
“Not a whole lot, Mickey. You could almost say I’ve been ‘sworn to secrecy’.” Asshole. “Sworn to secrecy” my ass.
“Uh huh.” I was not impressed. “Alright. You’re ‘sworn to secrecy’, what ever the hell that means. I don’t need to know whatever they’re holding over you to get your cooperation.” Word on the street is Karl was even more in debt for gambling than any of his clients, and that he does what he does so he doesn’t get what he always threatens them with. And while I’m not really afraid of anything Karl could do to me, as he was a sorry sack of shit who is too trumped up on his perception of his own “power”, his patrons were another matter. The rumors on their identities are all more absurd than the last, and none realistic. But if even the least of the rumors were true, you did not want to tangle with them. Your fate would not be pleasant. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even Karl. “Can you at least give me your advice on what I should do? Not any specifics,” as Karl started to sputter about secrecy, “just your honest to God opinion on what I should do. No bullshit. Tell me straight up.” The one nice thing about Karl is that he wouldn’t bullshit you if you saw through his shit. And I always see through it.
Karl hesitated for a few moments, then spoke up. “Well, it’s a tough call. For my own sake, I’d tell you to take it without hesitation. But…” he hesitated again, shuffling for what he wanted to say. Or what he could say. “It is risky. Damn risky. If I were a gambling man, I wouldn’t come anywhere near this.” I snorted at that. If he was a gambling man. I heard he once bet somebody on how many times a pigeon in the park would shit on one of the benches in an hour. The man would bet on anything. “It’s too much of a sure thing.”
“She did sound rather confident over the phone.”
“That’s the thing. If I didn’t know the situation, I would bet on them being right. They’ve never been wrong. About anything.”
“And I don’t know the stakes,” I agreed. Hmmm. Maybe I could suck a little bit more out of him before I made my decision. Rather, before I cemented my decision. “She, or they, must be suggesting I wager on something pretty unlikely.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“You can’t tell me anything?”
“Man, it’s more than my hide is worth. I can tell you afterwards, though,” he offered enthusiastically.
“Well, that’s a comfort. This way I can watch my ass go down as it happens. Perfect.”
“They just want to see how much balls you have, and to earn your trust, really. That’s all.”
“Funny way to try and earn my trust. Making me trust them.” I didn’t like the situation. But if it’s one thing I have, it’s the potential to be enormously reckless. And this was taking far too long. I needed to call Joe. And get the pictures developed and delivered to the soon to be Miss Daniels, as well. “Alright, eff it. I will take her, or their, or whoever’s, advice. Let’s do it.”
“Alright. If you are right, you won’t be sorry. But if you are not, you will be.”
“So what did I bet on, K-man?”
“Red Sox win the World Series,” he prompted, with obvious glee at my situation. He likes it when people suffer.
“The Red Sox do WHAT? They’re god damn down by god damn three effing games to the god damn Yankees! They’re not going to win the World Series!! Never!” Jesus. I was expecting something unlikely, but this? Damn dude. Damn. I am so hosed. “How much?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Shit.” There really wasn’t anything else to say. “well, it was a real pain in the ass talking to you Karl.”
“Any time, Mickey!” Cheerful smug ass god damn bastard.
“Drop dead.”
I hung up the phone.
Shit.
I felt better. It had been fifteen minutes and four double bourbons since I had foolishly bet who knows how much on The Red Sox winning the World Series. The friggin Red Sox. Now, that in itself makes me the stupidest person alive. But the fact that they were currently down three games to none (god damn NONE!) to the damn Yankees of all teams, makes it even more ludicrous. And if, and this is a HUGE if, an if as bag as the swing of Tiger Woods, if the Red Sox somehow defy every thing the Red Sox have ever been and actually win the next four games in a row (if), then they still have to get past the Cardinals. Assuming the Cardinals get to the World Series. Which they will. This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever done. But I still felt better than I did fifteen minutes ago. Mostly because I was having a hard time feeling anything. The borubons were beginning their assault on my senses, and I was loving every minute of it.
Though, now that I think about it (which is a hard thing to do, given my pending condition of complete inebriation), it might not be that ludicrous. Okay, now I am being stupid. To find any possibility of sense or rationale in what I did was the alcohol talking. What the hell. Let's hear what it says to say!
So, it might not be that ludicrous. Really! What better way to get me to trust her, or them (I still haven't figured that out yet), then to rpove they could make the Red Sox win. Holy shit. It's brilliant. Brilliant!
The combination of the exhaustion from my activities last night, the alcohol, and my own stupidity finally got to me. I leaned back in my chair and fell asleep.
I decided to call Karl first. As much as Joe’s message sounded urgent and began to give me a really bad feeling, this business with Karl and the mysterious chick was more on my mind at the moment. Maybe because it was more intriguing. Maybe because I didn’t want to know what Joe was freaking out about. Maybe because I had an inkling and I knew I didn’t want to know. Maybe because I knew if I did call I would be hurrying off back home for whatever was going on. And maybe because I had a feeling that the mysterious woman would be angry if I didn’t do what she said. She didn’t sound like the kind of person you want angry at you. So I called Karl.
“Yeah.”
“Karl, it’s Mickey.” I mentioned before that I told everyone to call me Mickey. There’s a reason for that. It’s my name. My parents were big fans of the Mickey Spillane, the great detective/mystery writer. Funny, considering my choice of a profession. My ma used to say we were related to him (cousins or some such), but I think she was lying. Hell, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe I am related to a famous wealthy writer. That did have its possibilities. Anyway, they were both big fans of his, and considering their last name, they decided it would be totally awesome and sweet to name me after him. So woo for my name. Anyway…
“Hey, hey! Glad you called Mickey. Knew I could count on you to settle your scores. You’re a real class act, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Call it the philanthropist in me. But that’s not entirely why I am calling. But maybe it is. Shit, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” I suspected my mysterious benefactor either found some way to look into the future or had a way of fixing a game that looked totally one sided. And she had told Karl it would be in his best interest to give high returns to any who bet against such a sure thing.
“Oh?” He had a funny sound to that word, as if he knew what was coming but was trying to sound surprised and maybe a bit offended at the possibility I might be skipping town. Convincing, for anyone else. But I’m a real good judge of people. I have to be, in my line of work. I can tell whenever someone isn’t being straight with me. Whether it’s from natural instinct or just way too much poker I don’t know.
“Yeah, I got this phone call, see? From a broad.”
“You get phone calls from broads all the time. Isn’t that your line of work, man?” Still being cagey. Meh, might as well come out with it. As much as I do enjoy this game of conversing when both know exactly what’s going on but make it look like they don’t, I really needed to call Joe.
“This was different. Broad told me I should talk to you, tell you about the call, and tell you I want to take her advice. Said you’d know what was going on.”
“Did she now? Well, that is interesting. Okay, so you’ve told me what she said. Do you?” Karl will come to the point, when you’re direct. He likes the game too, but gets down to business when it’s time. A little quick, even for him, though. I still wasn’t sure about this whole situation.
“I don’t know if I should, considering I don’t even know what the hell the ‘advice’ is.”
“Yeah, I can see how that would make it difficult for you.” That smug little bastard. There’s nothing I hate more than someone who knows that he has the information you need, and who flaunts that fact over you.
“Well, what can you tell me?” Might as well try the direct approach. Sometimes it works. It wouldn’t here, but it’s at least worth a shot.
“Not a whole lot, Mickey. You could almost say I’ve been ‘sworn to secrecy’.” Asshole. “Sworn to secrecy” my ass.
“Uh huh.” I was not impressed. “Alright. You’re ‘sworn to secrecy’, what ever the hell that means. I don’t need to know whatever they’re holding over you to get your cooperation.” Word on the street is Karl was even more in debt for gambling than any of his clients, and that he does what he does so he doesn’t get what he always threatens them with. And while I’m not really afraid of anything Karl could do to me, as he was a sorry sack of shit who is too trumped up on his perception of his own “power”, his patrons were another matter. The rumors on their identities are all more absurd than the last, and none realistic. But if even the least of the rumors were true, you did not want to tangle with them. Your fate would not be pleasant. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even Karl. “Can you at least give me your advice on what I should do? Not any specifics,” as Karl started to sputter about secrecy, “just your honest to God opinion on what I should do. No bullshit. Tell me straight up.” The one nice thing about Karl is that he wouldn’t bullshit you if you saw through his shit. And I always see through it.
Karl hesitated for a few moments, then spoke up. “Well, it’s a tough call. For my own sake, I’d tell you to take it without hesitation. But…” he hesitated again, shuffling for what he wanted to say. Or what he could say. “It is risky. Damn risky. If I were a gambling man, I wouldn’t come anywhere near this.” I snorted at that. If he was a gambling man. I heard he once bet somebody on how many times a pigeon in the park would shit on one of the benches in an hour. The man would bet on anything. “It’s too much of a sure thing.”
“She did sound rather confident over the phone.”
“That’s the thing. If I didn’t know the situation, I would bet on them being right. They’ve never been wrong. About anything.”
“And I don’t know the stakes,” I agreed. Hmmm. Maybe I could suck a little bit more out of him before I made my decision. Rather, before I cemented my decision. “She, or they, must be suggesting I wager on something pretty unlikely.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“You can’t tell me anything?”
“Man, it’s more than my hide is worth. I can tell you afterwards, though,” he offered enthusiastically.
“Well, that’s a comfort. This way I can watch my ass go down as it happens. Perfect.”
“They just want to see how much balls you have, and to earn your trust, really. That’s all.”
“Funny way to try and earn my trust. Making me trust them.” I didn’t like the situation. But if it’s one thing I have, it’s the potential to be enormously reckless. And this was taking far too long. I needed to call Joe. And get the pictures developed and delivered to the soon to be Miss Daniels, as well. “Alright, eff it. I will take her, or their, or whoever’s, advice. Let’s do it.”
“Alright. If you are right, you won’t be sorry. But if you are not, you will be.”
“So what did I bet on, K-man?”
“Red Sox win the World Series,” he prompted, with obvious glee at my situation. He likes it when people suffer.
“The Red Sox do WHAT? They’re god damn down by god damn three effing games to the god damn Yankees! They’re not going to win the World Series!! Never!” Jesus. I was expecting something unlikely, but this? Damn dude. Damn. I am so hosed. “How much?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Shit.” There really wasn’t anything else to say. “well, it was a real pain in the ass talking to you Karl.”
“Any time, Mickey!” Cheerful smug ass god damn bastard.
“Drop dead.”
I hung up the phone.
Shit.
I felt better. It had been fifteen minutes and four double bourbons since I had foolishly bet who knows how much on The Red Sox winning the World Series. The friggin Red Sox. Now, that in itself makes me the stupidest person alive. But the fact that they were currently down three games to none (god damn NONE!) to the damn Yankees of all teams, makes it even more ludicrous. And if, and this is a HUGE if, an if as bag as the swing of Tiger Woods, if the Red Sox somehow defy every thing the Red Sox have ever been and actually win the next four games in a row (if), then they still have to get past the Cardinals. Assuming the Cardinals get to the World Series. Which they will. This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever done. But I still felt better than I did fifteen minutes ago. Mostly because I was having a hard time feeling anything. The borubons were beginning their assault on my senses, and I was loving every minute of it.
Though, now that I think about it (which is a hard thing to do, given my pending condition of complete inebriation), it might not be that ludicrous. Okay, now I am being stupid. To find any possibility of sense or rationale in what I did was the alcohol talking. What the hell. Let's hear what it says to say!
So, it might not be that ludicrous. Really! What better way to get me to trust her, or them (I still haven't figured that out yet), then to rpove they could make the Red Sox win. Holy shit. It's brilliant. Brilliant!
The combination of the exhaustion from my activities last night, the alcohol, and my own stupidity finally got to me. I leaned back in my chair and fell asleep.
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