(no subject)
The man in the sunglasses looks over at the bar and nods his head at the bartender; his bug eyes and his green skin start immediately to a bottle of tequila hidden in the freezer at his knees.
Pulling up his chair slowly, he unbuttons his coat before sitting himself to the table.
It’s a $100 buy in, but that’s change to all of the party present.
He drops a Benjamin in the pile at the center of the table and Bones places the money in a glass case.
Rick shuffles the card swiftly and with ease, they flow from hand to hand almost part of himself. Vegas has a finger knuckle deep in his ear, picking at wax and Bones returns to his bottle, drinking steady.
“The Three Stooges, The Three Wise Men, a tripod trifecta of torpid tools,” he says so smug that Martirio coughs a cackle staring at the pool table.
“Let me guess, you’ve been rehearsing all week to spit some half-dicked shit us.”
“All week long? No. Your mother’s been keeping me away from any extracurriculars.”
Rick’s eyes tighten angrily, “All talk, this old bastard.”
“Just deal the cards, boy. We’ll see if the week permitted you to grow a pair.”
“Good thing I’m driving home because I sure as hell can’t walk.”
“I bathe myself in your mother’s sweat and cum.”