Some folks will do anything to get what they want. Sell their mama in a heartbeat and not miss one note. Oh, they’ll smile; grin so big they show all their back molars. But don’t turn your back. Shoot, you better not blink. ‘Cause there’s those who’ll yank a bone from a starving dog’s jaw, or climb a tree just to peek at the stuff in your yard.
It was May, and L.A. was a bronze deep fried hot. 1997 was the worst ever heat wave on record. With all the windows gaped wide there was still no damn breeze. With his head in the freezer, Charles could not cool off. He looked at Flo’s scowled face and groaned. All he wanted, right now, was to get out the apartment. In his mind’s eye, he could already see Trudy on stage. It was the tragic way she swayed, singing with eyelids half closed, looking half sleep or strung out on dope. She was stacked. Had a break-your-neck-just-to-look kind of body. Men that already grabbed their car keys and stood up to pay; sat back down in their seats and ordered more whiskey, when Trudy came out on stage. When she sang, all the men would lean up in their seats, ’cause her hug-me-tight dresses showed off plenty of meat and sent waitresses back for more shots. Just watching her made Charles feel like he committed a crime but he took what he could like a crook.
And now he was in deep. There was no turning back. Charles stared at the intricate veins in his hand. It was dangerous but Trudy said they would go fifty fifty. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Charles bit his own fist. He wanted it so bad he could taste it.