Thursday, April 12, 2012

Crocodile Tears

“Close your yap or I squirt metal,” he said, as he jammed the bean-shooter in my button.

I looked at my doll, crocodile tears streaming down her pale face. We were behind the eight-ball, alright.

“Don’t be a bunny. We got the ice, got a can-opener, can make a safe sing like a canary. Here dip the bill,” I said handing him some hooch, “you’ve gotta calm down or it’s back to the cooler.”

The stooge took a swig, a long one at that; I could only hope that he’d go over the edge with the rams.

“This plan’s all wet,” the goon shouted, pointing the heat on me. I grabbed air.

“Knock off me and lose the goods, friend. Give us the cabbage and get your diamonds, easy as apple pie.”

The goofy egg sprung like a tiger. A loud bang penetrated my ears.

There stood my dizzy dame, gat smoking.

“Let’s blow this joint, before the meat wagon gets here. How ‘bout a cup of joe?” she said casually as she stepped over the stiff.

Who knew I had such a keen babe?