Page 4 of Southpaw Slots

Jinx makes up for his idiotic antics earlier in the day and rolls one on his lap, using the board from my seat back, while I try to keep the wheel steady. In a few, he lights it for me before passing it between the seats, the thick smoke filling the cabin.

Am I sleepy?

Veering through center city, we make it to Panhead’s Motorcycle Shop in hours. Or what feels like it anyway. I don’t know, I’m high as fuck. Somebody else really should be driving.

As we pull up to the large white building, I’m shocked the place looks clean and new. It doesn’t fit in with my memories of the desolate wasteland that is East Side. A tall chain-linked fence surrounds the property with a wide gate, a large padlock hanging off the front. I stop the vehicle in front of it, waiting.

“What do we do now?” Cass asks, as his head swivels around the area, but the windows are all black, no city street lights able to make it through the summer trees.

“I could pick that lock,” Dave says.

Jinx yells, “Dude! You made me spill all the seeds. I was saving those!”

“Are we there? It’s really tight back here,” Hoss says, barely audible over Jinx’s whining.

Shrugging, my foot shoves down on the gas pedal and we barrel through the fence, the windshield fracturing into a million tiny pieces, blocking my view. All the guys shout various curse words, but I can hardlyhear them over the loud laughs erupting through my chest, which don’t even stop when I slam into the side of the concrete building.

“Damn, that was fun. Fuck, I think I ruined the Escalade. Oh well. Let’s take a couple bikes while we’re here.” I’ve never driven one before, but I bet it’s not that hard. Like a bicycle. But with a motor. Glancing around, the guys all take turns slowly chuckling like they’re unsure what I’m going to do next... That’s my favorite place to put people.

“You’re so fucked up, dude.”

“Holy shit, I thought you were trying to kill us all.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Ace. Stop.” Cass grabs my forearm so tight, his black knuckles turn white. “Reverse, reverse, reverse. Look, man, quick.” His dark eyes widen as he points out my side window.

A stocky guy with beady little eyes and a thick neck emerges from an open metal garage door, holding a machine gun and pointing it right at us.

“Oh fuck, Ace! Get the fuck out, bro! Go, go, go!”

Starting the engine, it barely cranks, but eventually turns over and gives enough so I can move. Just as I spin in reverse, the man fires, the back glass shattering while Hoss’s head disappears behind the seats. Bullets travel through the cabin and take out some front pieces of the windshield, which helps me to see better. With a squeal and burn of the tires, we peel out of the parking lot and back onto the main road.

Now sober, none of us say a damn word the entiretrip until I eventually make it all the way to Southside and my casino, White Wolf Lodge.

When we all tumble out of the trashed Escalade, the hood smoking and bent, the valet kids stand with their mouths agog, probably in awe of the destruction. I don’t know why they’re so surprised; I’m known to leave a warpath.

Each step toward the elevator up to my penthouse causes fury to set in. Fucker at the garage ruined my night. I could have gotten back at Cal, my brilliant plan interrupted by that piece of shit. Instead of good times, revenge, and ending with my balls drained, I’m home without burning anything down and no pussy.

Too wasted to do anything now that the adrenaline has worn off, I stagger out of the elevator and somehow make it up the stairs to my bed. Fresh linens greet my naked body once I strip off the sequined suit, now ruined from the night’s activities. Bless my maid. I’ll give her a raise…of money I don’t have.

In the morning, I’m greeted with another splitting headache and sticky sheets.Veronica.

“Good morning, Mister Donovan and happy Tuesday.”

I see the stains of my ejaculation on my lap as I bolt upright, but no triplets. What in the actual…

“Where’re my girls?”

Kline adjusts his glasses and stares me down like I’m an unruly child. “You’re married now, Mister Donovan. You signed a prenup, remember?”

Oooooooh. The fucking prenup. Oh, fuck. Maxi is a dirty, dirty bastard.

“No women other than your wife or he will cut off your new funds, which youneedin order to sign those checks. Remember now?”

Lying back against the pillows, I stare at the white ceiling. “Am I really married?”

“Yes, and the wedding’s on Friday.”

I’m in pain.

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