Sick City by Tony O'Neill Read Free Book Online Page A

it?”
    â€œI took it. I’m not one for patron saints and shit like that. But the spics, that’s a different story. They’re a superstitious bunch.”
    Pat looked over to Carla, and then to Henry. Henry dropped his gaze.
    â€œNo offense,” he grinned, “I don’t mean to talk bad of all y’all. I’m sure there’s plenty of you who don’t believe in all of that shit. Just in my experience it seems that most of ya do.”
    Pat was thirty years the senior of anybody in the room. His weathered face exuded a quiet authority. The stench of cooking meth filled the room as the pipe went around. The others sat in rapt attention before him.
    â€œNow, the other day I had a bit of business around Westlake. I went there to meet a friend. I found out that my friend was having some . . . problems. There was some other motherfucker filling in for him. The prick was a real smart-mouthed little beaner. Mouth fulla gold, thought he was real fuckin’ smooth.”
    Listening, Henry felt his jaw tighten. He glanced at the girl he was here with. She was staring at Pat, rapt, oblivious to Henry’s discomfort. He began to feel anger rise in his chest but knew better than to talk back to the man with the drugs.
    â€œSo I tell this guy that I want five balloons. He tells me, no, eighty bucks only buys four balloons. I tell him I’ve been buying dope around here for a long time, and I want five. Eventually the little bastard relents and gives me the other balloon. I make a mental note to check the merchandise later. Sure enough, when I pull over the car and open it up, it’s bunk. The last balloon is a piece of gum, wrapped in wax paper. Not fucking cool. So I turn the car around, and go back to express my displeasure .”
    The pipe and lighter made their way to Pat. He paused long enough to heat the glass bulb with the butane flame and suck in the pungent chemical fumes. He passed the pipe on and exhaled a cloud of gray smoke.
    â€œSo that’s where I picked up Mr. Malverde, and also this. . . .” Pat had been digging around in his pocket as he spoke, and on the word “this” he produced something small and shiny. The others strained to look. It was a gold tooth, bent out of shape a little, but still recognizable, twinkling in the dim light.
    â€œThat’s the last time that goddamn spic’ll try an’ stiff me on a deal, I tellya. I dragged that motherfucker four city blocks by his goddamned head, before I let him go.”
    â€œHey, man!”
    All eyes turned to Henry. He glared at Pat.
    Â· · ·
    â€œProblem, kid?”
    â€œWhy don’t you quit it with all of that spic shit, man? It ain’t cool. My mom is Colombian. Carla’s dominicano . You got two spics sitting right here.”
    Pat stared at Henry with blank, insect eyes. Henry was a slight kid, pretty and young. Pat smirked. He took in the diamond earrings and the neatly trimmed goatee. He was pretty sure the kid was more naïve than ballsy. Bee tried to catch Henry’s gaze so he could motion for him to shut the fuck up. Pat leaned toward Henry, who remained oblivious to Bee’s warnings.
    â€œYou ever been to prison, kid? I don’t mean county jail. I mean prison.”
    Henry shook his head, slowly.
    â€œWell, I have. That’s where you really get to see people as they truly are. I watched the fucking spics hold down a white boy no older than you are now and fuck the shit outta him. Just because he wasn’t affiliated. Because he didn’t believe in choosing his friends carefully. So they took him for their lapdog. Seven or eight of them broke him in like that, knocked him around until he was about ready to do anything they asked. He was real screwy after that. They knocked something outta his head, and he never got it back. Inside, boy . . . that’s where you get to smell the STINK of humanity up close. A spell inside the