Part Two - Chapter Nineteen - 'Cause You Got Me

John sat at a table in the rear of The Prankster nervously eyeing the door. His fingernails were nothing but nubs. Eventually, the huge Hawaiian, who everyone knew as Tiny, threw the door open and stepped inside like an actor making a grand entrance. Tiny spotted John sitting alone in the corner.

“So, what did he say?” John blurted out the instant Tiny sat down.

“Not so fast, brudda.” Tiny answered. “Don’t you know a little polite small talk is in order before we get down to business?”

“Oh, okay, so how’s it going?”

“Fuck you.” Tiny replied.

John sat in silence for a minute, unsure of how to proceed. Tiny scared him to death. He had a reputation for being a real hard ass, which is why John wanted to meet at The Prankster, especially after their last meeting. He figured that Tiny wasn’t likely to try anything in a crowded place like this.

Tiny waved the barmaid over and ordered a pitcher of Bud. Pete reluctantly filled the pitcher and set it on the bar for the barmaid without taking his eyes off John and Tiny.

“Well, you one lucky sombitch.” Tiny finally said. “My boss, he doan take kindly to people owing him money. See, they always got a scheme like yours. Never got da money but they always got a scam. But he says he needs more pansy-assed yuppie types like you dealing for him so he’s gonna take a chance.”

“Great.” John said, a definite tone of relief in his voice.

“We’ll see how great, brah.” Tiny interrupted. “See, here’s the thing.” Tiny paused long enough to chug a glass of beer. “When I said he was taking a chance on you, well, that ain’t exactly the way it is. He ain’t taking no chance, know what I mean?”

“Uh, no, I...”

“He ain’t taking no chance ‘cuz he always gets his money.”

The vinyl on his chair made a creaking sound as John squirmed in his seat. He dropped his hands below the table so that Tiny wouldn’t see them shake.

“You know why he always gets his money?” Tiny continued.

This time John shook his head but didn’t speak. His shoulders were tightening and he could feel a migraine coming on, starting with the tension pulling at the back of his head.

Tiny smiled at John’s silence. “You learning, asshole. My boss always gets his money cuz he got me. Personally, I hope you fuck up cuz I wanna hurt your sorry little ass. How’s your thumb?”

John didn’t answer for fear of saying the wrong thing.

“Hurt like a motha, didn’t it?” Tiny asked with a grin.

“Yeah, hurt like a mother.” John agreed.

“See, I can’t decide if I should break the same one next time or start on a new one. I think I’ll just break em both.” Tiny laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do; I’ll just break em both – for starters.”

“So, everything’s set then?” John asked, hoping to get back to the business at hand.

“Let me get this straight. You’re gonna have the fifty G’s you owe me from the Mexico deal, plus two hundred for the new stuff, that right?”

“Yeah, I’ll have it all.”

“And just how you plan to come up with all that bread? That’s a quarter mil, brudda. Why should I believe you can come up with that kinda scratch when you can’t even cough up the fifty you already owe me?”

“I told you I’m just waiting for some royalty checks to clear escrow. Publishers only pay twice a year, and then I’ll have it all.” John replied.

“Since when do royalty checks go into escrow? Maybe I got kicked out of college but I ain’t stupid.”

“This is kind of an unusual deal, that’s all I can really tell you. I’ll have the money, don’t worry.”

“I ain’t worried, but you oughta be, bitch. Like I said, you one lucky haole. If it was up to me I’d break both thumbs and every one of you fingers, till you came up with da fifty you already into us for. You lucky it ain’t up to me.”

John sat trembling in silence. Tiny scared the bejesus out of him because John knew that he wasn’t bluffing. Tiny seemed to enjoy hurting people.

“I’ll tell you what else, I ain’t carrying that kind of stuff over. You coming to get it on my turf this time, you understand? I nearly got popped in Mexico and that ain’t gonna happen again.”

“What ever you say, man.”

“Damn straight,” Tiny said. “Damn straight. You settle this escrow thing quick, you understand? If it takes too long, I’ll just break your other thumb for good measure and the deal’s off.

Tiny stood and headed for the door, then turned around, smiling again. “Or maybe I’ll just take it out in trade with that new girlfriend of yours.” With that, he was gone.

John sat at the table with his head in his trembling hands, trying to regain some composure. He took out a cigarette and tried to light it but his hands were shaking too bad to get the match lit.

Pete struck a match and lit John’s cigarette, then sat down. “What was Tiny doing here?” Pete asked. “You know he’s 86’d.”

“How should I know?” John said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I guess he wanted a beer.”

“Listen,” Pete said, “You want to piss your life away on that white powder, be my guest, but don’t be making your drug deals in here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can it, John. Don’t insult me like that, you shithead. I know a drug deal when I see one go down.” Pete was boiling and it was a struggle to keep his voice under control. “You ever bring that business in here again and you’re out on the street, right after I break every bone in your freakin’ body. Am I making myself clear?”

“Sure, Pete, no drug deals, got it. Now how about you get me another beer, barkeep?”

Pete was going to have a hard time finding any intact bones to break after Tiny got through with him, John was thinking.

“How about you hit the street?” Pete said, and returned to the bar.

Shit. John thought, this had better work or I’m dead meat.


Tiny dialed the familiar number from a payphone down the street from The Prankster.

“Yes?” came the voice on the other end.

“It’s set, boss, but he doan know when he’ll have the dough.”

“Okay…”

“I gotta tell ya, boss, I don’t like it. The guy’s an addict. We always had a rule about that, addicts can’t be trusted. This whole thing stinks, we don’t need it. Why chance it for that kinda chicken feed?”

“Tiny, you worry too much. It will work out fine, do you know why?”

“Yeah, I know, cuz you got me and I’ll make sure of it.”

“Precisely. Give him a month. If he hasn’t got it by then, pull the plug.”

“How about I just pull da plug right now?”

“One month.”

“Okay, you da boss.” Tiny said.

“Yes. Yes I am.”


Pete was in a foul mood the rest of the night. How dare that maggot bring his drug deals into The Prankster? John knew how Pete felt about it and he knew how he felt about Tiny and he still had the gall to make a deal here. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d insulted Pete’s intelligence by playing stupid about the whole thing.

Pete was steaming. He made up his mind that John was 86’d from now on.

“Why don’t you head on home, Ken?” Pete called to his bartender. “I’ll clean up.”

“If you insist.” Ken replied, pretending to be disappointed.

Pete locked the door behind him and sat alone in the dark. Like every other day in the fifteen years since her death, he thought of Beth. He wondered where they’d be today if the accident hadn’t twisted their fates. Maybe living in Europe somewhere? He’d do a little TV work, like the other Olympic Gold medalists, lying about which products he used and being handsomely paid for it.

He wouldn’t be running a joint of a bar where sleazy people made coke deals; that much was for sure.