Posts
Bingo Boy - post 15
Ricky and Little Chrissie just stand there, drinking in the clean lined, contemporary opulence of the lobby, a new age exercise in smooth, cool glamour, decked out in every high end finish known to man, or at least that portion devoted to decor and design. The scale is ever so slightly exaggerated, like a Mussolini take on public space grandeur. Ain't no recession in here. Well heeled glossy people glide in and out of a phalanx of shops stocked with all manner of luxury. Little Chrissie says - Just a bracelet. Just sterling. Five 'Benjamins'. Just five. Just now. One time. Come on. Here, I'll take it from my envelope..... But he takes her elbow, as she fishes in her purse and steers her toward the elevators. Ricky flashes a card. Marty gave it to him. The attendant stands aside. They enter the car and go up, accompanied by a quiet instrumental version of 'A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes..... Then they exit and silently proceed down a thickly carpeted hallway. There's the door, number three twenty seven, like a portal to a residence in a high end Roman insula, flanked by tasteful columns traversed by a simple pediment.... Ricky knocks. They wait. The door opens. Jimmy stands there in his best Rat Pack for the New Millennium attire. He eyes them up and down and says - Who da hell sent for you?...... Ricky freezes up for a second. Little Chrissie sees. She jumps in and says - Marty had a go to the ER. He had chest pains. It was nothing, but they want him to rest, so we came. We'll take you back. Come on....... Jimmy exhales. He doesn't like it, but what can he do. Then he steps aside, motions toward a fine, leather valise on the floor and says - Pick it up...... Ricky obliges. They close the door, turn around and go back.
And dusk falls as they get in the car and drive off, keeping to back roads snaking through the Pine Barrens and away from casual detection. Jimmy sits sprawled in the back. He surveys his ride with disgust. A ten year old Ford Taurus is not his idea of an appropriate chariot, even though Ricky had it cleaned and detailed for the occasion. You know, the first time only happens once.
Jimmy kicks the back of the front seat and yells - Fifteen fifty! Put on fifteen fifty. A.M.! A.M!.... He's been guzzling Grey Goose from a bottle like Gator Aide. And they just want to keep him quiet at least til he's dead. After that let the bastard do whatever the hell he wants, so Little Chrissie finds the station, a special program devoted to Russian-Ukrainian music...... Jimmy yells - Turn it up! Turn it up! Come on, you 'Zhid' you! They not gonna charge you!..... Ricky just drives. But Little Chrissie cranks up the volume. And they go on like that for like ten minutes, tearing through the South Jersey woodlands, as Cossack anthems and rousing folk tunes rock the car. Jimmy sings along in a loud, hoarse voice. But Ricky's getting tense. He squeezes the wheel. Five seconds later they almost bottom out in a pot hole. Little Chrissie looks nervous. She doesn't say anything, but you can see. And Jimmy yells an obscene oath in his own tongue..... Ricky goes - Yo, Jimmy! Yo, Jimmy! Jimmy!...... Jimmy goes - What!? You God damn bestid?!..... Ricky goes - You think we can eighty six the lousy Boris and Natasha crap for a while and listen to something normal!?........ Jimmy goes - Like what!? That Jew face, Barbra Streisand, or that Jew face Celine Dion, or that Jew face Michael Buble!?!?....... Little Chrissie stifles a laugh. Ricky does too...... Little Chrissie whispers - He don't know his Jew face from his Goy face..... Jimmy (now hopelessly drunk) hears and goes - You shaddap! You shaddap! I tell who is Jew! I tell who is Jew! You dumb, Jew, fuck! You dumb, dumb, Jew, Jew, fuck, fuck!........ Ricky says - What's that, his college cheer?...... Little Chrissie laughs and goes - Rah! Rah! Rah!.....
And they continue like that, ferrying the drunken bigot to his grave, as the Cossack music fills the car with complex, baritone harmonies..... But after a bit Ricky reaches over and clicks off the Slavic Cavalcade. Jimmy wakes up and starts yelling - Jew! Yid!.. Jew! Yid! Hitler was right! Hitler was right!
Ricky slams on the breaks, swerves onto the shoulder, pulls a big, heavy flashlight out of the glove compartment and twists around, smashing Jimmy over the head as he yells - Hitler was right!? Hitler was right!?... Jimmy gags in pain, before slumping into semi-consciousness.
Little Chrissie goes - Not here. Not here. Not here. You want him to bleed all over the car?...... Ricky stops, looks around and goes - Jeez, where the hell are we?......... And they sit there in the dark by the side of a narrow 'access' road deep within the inky, black, pine forest.
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Ricky and Little Chrissie just stand there, drinking in the clean lined, contemporary opulence of the lobby, a new age exercise in smooth, cool glamour, decked out in every high end finish known to man, or at least that portion devoted to decor and design. The scale is ever so slightly exaggerated, like a Mussolini take on public space grandeur. Ain't no recession in here. Well heeled glossy people glide in and out of a phalanx of shops stocked with all manner of luxury. Little Chrissie says - Just a bracelet. Just sterling. Five 'Benjamins'. Just five. Just now. One time. Come on. Here, I'll take it from my envelope..... But he takes her elbow, as she fishes in her purse and steers her toward the elevators. Ricky flashes a card. Marty gave it to him. The attendant stands aside. They enter the car and go up, accompanied by a quiet instrumental version of 'A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes..... Then they exit and silently proceed down a thickly carpeted hallway. There's the door, number three twenty seven, like a portal to a residence in a high end Roman insula, flanked by tasteful columns traversed by a simple pediment.... Ricky knocks. They wait. The door opens. Jimmy stands there in his best Rat Pack for the New Millennium attire. He eyes them up and down and says - Who da hell sent for you?...... Ricky freezes up for a second. Little Chrissie sees. She jumps in and says - Marty had a go to the ER. He had chest pains. It was nothing, but they want him to rest, so we came. We'll take you back. Come on....... Jimmy exhales. He doesn't like it, but what can he do. Then he steps aside, motions toward a fine, leather valise on the floor and says - Pick it up...... Ricky obliges. They close the door, turn around and go back.
And dusk falls as they get in the car and drive off, keeping to back roads snaking through the Pine Barrens and away from casual detection. Jimmy sits sprawled in the back. He surveys his ride with disgust. A ten year old Ford Taurus is not his idea of an appropriate chariot, even though Ricky had it cleaned and detailed for the occasion. You know, the first time only happens once.
Jimmy kicks the back of the front seat and yells - Fifteen fifty! Put on fifteen fifty. A.M.! A.M!.... He's been guzzling Grey Goose from a bottle like Gator Aide. And they just want to keep him quiet at least til he's dead. After that let the bastard do whatever the hell he wants, so Little Chrissie finds the station, a special program devoted to Russian-Ukrainian music...... Jimmy yells - Turn it up! Turn it up! Come on, you 'Zhid' you! They not gonna charge you!..... Ricky just drives. But Little Chrissie cranks up the volume. And they go on like that for like ten minutes, tearing through the South Jersey woodlands, as Cossack anthems and rousing folk tunes rock the car. Jimmy sings along in a loud, hoarse voice. But Ricky's getting tense. He squeezes the wheel. Five seconds later they almost bottom out in a pot hole. Little Chrissie looks nervous. She doesn't say anything, but you can see. And Jimmy yells an obscene oath in his own tongue..... Ricky goes - Yo, Jimmy! Yo, Jimmy! Jimmy!...... Jimmy goes - What!? You God damn bestid?!..... Ricky goes - You think we can eighty six the lousy Boris and Natasha crap for a while and listen to something normal!?........ Jimmy goes - Like what!? That Jew face, Barbra Streisand, or that Jew face Celine Dion, or that Jew face Michael Buble!?!?....... Little Chrissie stifles a laugh. Ricky does too...... Little Chrissie whispers - He don't know his Jew face from his Goy face..... Jimmy (now hopelessly drunk) hears and goes - You shaddap! You shaddap! I tell who is Jew! I tell who is Jew! You dumb, Jew, fuck! You dumb, dumb, Jew, Jew, fuck, fuck!........ Ricky says - What's that, his college cheer?...... Little Chrissie laughs and goes - Rah! Rah! Rah!.....
And they continue like that, ferrying the drunken bigot to his grave, as the Cossack music fills the car with complex, baritone harmonies..... But after a bit Ricky reaches over and clicks off the Slavic Cavalcade. Jimmy wakes up and starts yelling - Jew! Yid!.. Jew! Yid! Hitler was right! Hitler was right!
Ricky slams on the breaks, swerves onto the shoulder, pulls a big, heavy flashlight out of the glove compartment and twists around, smashing Jimmy over the head as he yells - Hitler was right!? Hitler was right!?... Jimmy gags in pain, before slumping into semi-consciousness.
Little Chrissie goes - Not here. Not here. Not here. You want him to bleed all over the car?...... Ricky stops, looks around and goes - Jeez, where the hell are we?......... And they sit there in the dark by the side of a narrow 'access' road deep within the inky, black, pine forest.
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