EVICTED
Mike O’Malley paused from wiping down the bar at Archie’s to gaze at his reflection. His dark hair and eyes, and the shadows beneath them, gave away his dismay at this dead-end Manhattan job and the hopelessness of his financial condition. Not looking so deeply into the oak and polish revealed scars and scratches along the table top from rims of beer and cocktails long since past. The bell over the front door jingled and a lively voice bounced in. “Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike!”
Mike looked up to see his friend, Sullivan Del Veccio, fully wired with blood shot eyes. His ash blond hair was cropped, trendily spiked and freshly washed. The lanky twenty-three-year-old wore a pressed shirt with thin, blue pin stripes, and a pair of pressed khakis. Mike sighed. “Hey Sulli.”
Sullivan sat on a bar stool so quickly it spun. He smacked the counter top. “Guess what day it is.”
Mike tossed the rag over his broad shoulder and leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“The day we pops ovah’ta Belmont and snag that carry-over from yesta’day’s pick six.”
Mike hung his head and shook it. “Sorry, Sulli. I can’t today. I gotta close.”
“Aw, c’mon, Mikey. You love the ponies.”
“Nah, man. I’m in too deep this time. If I don’t pay up soon, I’m gonna be hurtin’.”
“Mike, Mike, Mike.” He spoke twenty miles per minute as he drummed the counter top. “It’s a hundred grand. We could solves y’problems with twenty bucks.”
“I ain’t got twenty bucks, Sul.”
“What’s’amatta wit’ you?” Sulli ran his hands through his hair. “I thought ba’tendahs made bank. All them tips.”
The sinews in Mike’s forearms flexed as he folded his hands. He shifted his weight behind the counter. “The only tip I been gettin’ lately is from Carmen.”
“Lucky basta’d.” Sulli sucked in a breath.
“What’s the matter, Sulli? Gettin’ tired of them Garden City girls?”
“Jersey girls got nothin’ on Ca’men. Dat girl’s hottah dan Gucci.”
Mike smirked. “You and Gucci.”
Sulli wiggled his eyebrows, flashed his custom watch, and tapped the face.
“Where you come up with that kinda dough anyway?” Mike asked.
Sulli spun on the barstool again. “D’ere’s dis guy. He knows a guy. Dat guy is a cousin to Dom Donavici. He owes him a favor.”
“Aw, Sul. Y’got in with the mob? You’re an idiot.”
Sullivan grinned with yellow teeth. “I got it undah control, Mikey. It’s not like you can talk. You’s just said Benny’s got it in f’you’s.”
“Yeah. I gotta pay him soon. He’s been showin’ up at the bar.”
“He threaten a good ol’fashion knee-cappin’ yet?”
Mike grimaced.
Sulli’s eyes widened. “Worse? God, Mike. How deep you in?”
“Plenty, no thanks to you.” He pulled the rag from his shoulder and began polishing the counter top again.
“Aw, Miiiikeeeyyy.” Sullivan rose.
“I can’t hide here forever.”
“Come wit’me to Belmont.”
“No.”
“I gotta tip from a guy.”
“No, Sulli.”
“Next weekend. We’ll go upstate. Coupla nice boys from Brooklyn at Saratoga. My treat.”
Mike pulled a beer from the tap and slid it down the bar to Sullivan. “You’re a bad influence, Sul.”
Sullivan grinned. “Shuddup. You love me.”
“Keep tellin’ you’self that.”
Sullivan chuckled and raised his glass. He drank deeply. Foam clustered on his upper lip. “Forgettaboudit.”
“Sure, Sul.” How could he not? Sullivan got him into plenty of trouble, but he never left him hanging. Mike didn’t have too many friends. Not after Sullivan. He couldn’t bring him around anyone, no matter how charming he came across in a crowd. He gave off that kind of vibe that kept decent folks away. You knew what kind of fella he was by looking at him. The kind that hung with the wrong people and did bad things to his own body.
Sullivan finished his beer and laid a pile of cash on the counter, far more than the cost of the pint. He winked at Mike. “You take care’a y’self.”
“Y’don’t haveta do that, Sulli.”
Sullivan reached across the counter and squeezed Mike’s wrist. He locked eyes with him. “You’re like my brothah, Mikey. I want to. I look out for my people.”
Mike couldn’t stifle his smile. “You’re a crazy sonoffa— “
“Yeah, yeah. Stop flirtin’ wit’ me. I geddit. You love me.”
“A little. Yeah.”
“Bro’s?”
Mike turned his hand and gripped Sulli’s wrist. “Bro’s.”
Sullivan reached to playfully slap Mike’s bristled cheek, then pointed at him. “Saratoga. Next weekend. Promise me.”
Mike sighed. “Sure, Sul.”
Sulli brightened. “Aw, dat’s m’boy!”
Mike smiled and cleaned up after his friend. “Take it easy, Sul.”
“You too, Mikey. You too.”
Mike watched the bell above the door jingle as Sullivan left. Sullivan stood outside a moment, eying a girl across the street. He began to cross and smacked the hood of a bright, yellow cab that nearly hit him. He yelled obscenities at the driver, then called a few choice words to the girl on the corner and received a dirty look. Mike chuckled and shook his head as Sullivan followed her. Sulli had a habit of inviting attractive people to the racetrack when Mike refused to join him. One way or another, he was always determined to have a good time.
If you've enjoyed this sneak preview of Moredread, but sure to check out the rest on Amazon! You won't want to miss the music, the hilarity, or the magic of MOREDREAD!
http://amzn.com/B00RFKIWDU
YOU ARE READING
Moredread
FantasyMike O'Malley, a Manhattan bartender down on his luck, finds himself evicted from his Bronx apartment. A walk to clear his head ends in a tragic incident. He wakes up at Fairy Tale Inn in the magical land of Crum where townsfolk burst into song, an...
