Frank Sinatra in a Blender by Matthew McBride Read Free Book Online Page B

Bargain Bin for $12.99.”
    “Son of a bitch that’s cheap.” Sid nodded quickly, raised an eyebrow in genuine approval for such a first-rate deal. He knew where he’d be getting his next hammer.
    Telly shook uncontrollably now. His feet were frozen chunks of ice. He was slouching and trying not to cry. Sid grabbed him under his arms to raise him up. He tugged hard and some of Telly’s ass skin ripped off and stuck to the frigid metal chair. The sound the skin made when it tore loose was clean and quick, like paper tearing.
    Telly didn’t like that, started screaming.
    “Sorry,” Sid told him, and he meant it.
    Then No Nuts shattered Telly’s right foot with the hammer and crushed his frozen toes.
    The twelve-dollar hammer connected with tremendous force and Sid felt shock waves reverberate from the concrete up into his boots. Telly went crazy. His lurching caused more of his ass skin to bond with the chair and rip free. He expelled high-pitched, soaring notes that gave voice to his unbearable pain.
    Then No Nuts raised the hammer.
    Sid could see Telly’s deformed pinkie toe stuck to the end of the hammer. They both laughed, and Sid told No Nuts to feed it to him.
    No Nuts arched his eyebrows sharply and said it was a hell of an idea.
    The look on Telly’s face was one of genuine terror.
    On impulse, Johnny pitched the toe into Telly’s mouth as he howled and it went right in, triggering new laughter.
    “Lucky shot,” Sid told him.
    Johnny said he knew it.
    Telly spit the toe out with a force greater than a guy in his situation should’ve been capable of and it hit No Nuts in the chin. Another round of laughter followed. They were having fun. For a moment they forget how cold it was down in the basement, forgot about being hungry. Torture was a lot like quail hunting or bass fishing. While most would hesitate to call it a sport, there was just something about torturing a man that brought out the competitive nature in the two of them.
    Sid took a step back from the situation, pulled a bottle of DeKuyper Blackberry brandy from the pocket of his coat and let the thick syrup run down his gullet. He embraced the slight heat it gave then offered a shot to No Nuts.
    Telly started cussing and yelling. He was pissed off about his toe but what he wanted more than another toe was another foily. His goal: live long enough to do more crank. He screamed at Sid and No Nuts. Told No Nuts to go fuck his mother.
    Sid chuckled and Telly told him to go fuck his father.
    Sid didn’t like that; he was tired of Telly’s mouth. He wanted to enjoy the precise second the brandy buzz found him and it was hard to fully appreciate the moment with Telly going on like he was. Sid grabbed the back of Telly’s chair and pulled it across the floor until it set perfectly over the drain. He removed the handgun from its holster.
    Telly’s eyes flared abruptly. He did what everybody did in his situation. He started to beg. Wanted to make a deal. He said he had the money after all.
    “Oh, now you have the money. If you had the money we wouldn’t be here, ya wanker.”
    Sid pointed the gun at Telly, pushed the steel barrel against his cold flesh. Telly started farting. Profound, commanding flatulence that ricocheted off the metal chair in thunderous rounds. He said he was gonna shit himself.
    “Okay,” Telly screamed. “Okay, okay. I got it!” Spit jumped from his mouth. “Okay, I swear, I got it. I’m sorry, Sid. Don’t fucking shoot me, I’ll give it to you. We can split it three ways.”
    Sid shook his head from side to side. He told Telly no with his eyes.
    Telly started crying. “Look at my toes, you cocksuckers!”
    Sid took a step back and blasted a hot round into Telly’s forehead. His body rocked back and forth, the chair balanced on two legs momentarily then fell on its side. Sid tried to keep the blood off his suit, but despite his slapdash precautions he still took considerable blood splatter.
    Sid looked down at his suit