Patton Lee Beaugus | November 30, 2010 12:45pm
Gang Bangered

There I was in Rudy's Bar on Christmas Eve sitting between a rock and a harder young lady, both of whom had put their weapons out of site, but not out of my mind.

"I don't know about this place," said the big dude. "I think you've fleeped up."

"I know what I'm doing. This is the place."

He looked around. "There ain't even any floozies in here."

"It's my favorite bar," I volunteered. Not volunteering that it was the only bar I could afford to drink in.

"Did you see the Pig guarding the door?" asked Molly.

"It was just some kind of a statue." replied HiTone. "It didn't say a word. It wasn't even checking IDs. "

"Are you doubting me? After I've got us this far?"

“Merry Christmas,” said a mellifluous voice.

I looked up. I didn’t have to look up very far, because our newest arrival was a short dapper citizen in some kind of tux too expensive and well cut to belong to a waiter. He was very short. Like up to the tall guy’s armpit.

I wondered if his 'Merry Christmas' meant he could read Molly's panties, too, or if he was just in a holiday mood.

“Have I missed anything?” he asked.

Not if you can read her panties, I thought, but didn’t say, trying as usual to act like a gentleman, even if I’m not.

“Molly here is pulling her piece and sharing stories with this old winehead.”

"I knew somebody was going to die," he replied.

“Beerhead,” I said over the top of him, defending myself automatically. I mean, anybody who’d drink the wine in Rudy’s has to be far goner than I am. And the beer is cheaper, anyway. The little dude raised an eyebrow at the blonde.

She nodded. “I was just using Paddy's Mac. I wanted to check if my rap was mixed.”

Geez, she remembered my name. That was really impressive since I rarely remember it, myownself, after 10pm.

"Did you scope out the dim?" asked the little dude.

The big dude shook his head. "A desert. No Toontown. No talking sponges. They don't even believe in the Easter Bunny here."

"I do," I said.

"Have you seen him?" asked Molly.

"Only on tv."

“How’d your rap come out?” asked the new guy, sliding next in to her, pushing her more into me, which seems to irritate the tall guy.

"Tell me what you think, Vin."

She played the rap. If any of you blogophiles missed it, you can hear it, too.

“Killer,” said the small dapper one. “Did they mix mine from the last session?”

“I don’t know. Let me check.”

"The mix probably sucks. Or they lost the tracks."

This was not a guy with most positive attitude I've ever encountered.

Molly took it for granted that she could continue to use my computer. And I had no objection. Even without the guns, this was the most exciting thing to happen to me since I got in a short fight with a fat biker who wasn't as drunk as he seemed. He caught me with a left that left a purple and black badge of courage and stupidity over my left eye. I hoped this turned out no worse.

We were in the biggest booth in the joint, but I felt a little boxed in, especially by the big pachuco. On the other hand, uh thigh, Molly was pressed up against me. You’d think an old guy like me would not get excited be a little elbow tit. Well, you’d be wrong.

Molly made the introductions. “Velvet Vinnie.”

We smiled at each other as I wondered if the short guy was packing some exotic weapon, but the slight bulge in his well-tailored suit made me guess he only had a small piece in a shoulder holster.

“HiTone.” She meant the big guy with the arsenal.

“This is Paddy. He’s letting us use his Mac.”

I noticed the “us” but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said HiTone.

“It is the whole idea,” Molly retorted.

“Don't make it a big deal. They’re just Christmas songs,” said Vinnie slowly, as he watched his download like an addict watches his horse cook, “fun to play on Christmas Eve, if we live that long.”

"Tonight is Christmas Eve, Vinnie."

“They ain’t just Christmas songs, and you know it,” said the big mean mutha.

“But he don’t.”

“He does now,” added Molly.

I must have looked confused. Probably because I was confused. I give good confused. After smart-ass, I’m best at confused.

Next: Most Wonderful Time For A Beer