The Syndicate Calls
Yes, that's right. They're back. They're drunk. And they're gambling. Sit back and enjoy the lunacy that divaelledriver, vanillahellsing, and myself worked to create. Because nothing says fun like the Dogs letting loose...
Part Four
Content with leaving Orange to the care of O-Ren, White made his way over to the pool table where Blonde and Elle seemed to be waging the World War III of billiards.
“So, how are we doing over here?” White asked. “Who’s kicking whose ass?”
Blonde looked at him and grinned like he was a cat with a canary behind his teeth. He then glanced over at Brown, who was tottering back from the bar with his Smirnoff Ice and drink parasols.
White shook his head. “That guy ain’t right.”
“Bunch of drunk fucks,” Blonde laughed.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Elle countered. “Your eyes are plenty glazed and if I’m not mistaken, I’d say your speech is slurring.”
“Well, you are mistaken, Girly,” Blonde replied, now making a conscious effort to not slur his words and prove her wrong. “And even if my eyes are glazed at least I’ve got two of them.”
White laughed.
“Shut the fuck up,” Elle snarled.
“But hey, with that poor depth perception of yours it’s no wonder that you’re losing the game. How much did you lose this round, $100? Pony up.”
She muttered various obscenities under her breath and pulled out a $100 that she folded and flicked at him.
Blonde laughed and ambled over to the bar for some more soda.
Elle shook her head and glared at White. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“You, you bitch,” White answered before walking off.
“Stupid old cocksucker…” She gripped her pool cue and curled her lip again.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? When that Mr. Brown idiot grabbed her hand she was ready to reach out with the other one and punch him right in the face. Nobody does that to Ms. Elle Driver. Nobody.
Of course, nobody beats Elle at billiards, either, and Mr. Blonde somehow managed to do that twice now. She couldn’t decide which was worse: losing the game to him or knowing that his cheating was better than her cheating.
I fucking hate this place. She shook her head and chugged back a little more vodka.
***
O-Ren looked at the tiny umbrella sticking out of Irish Creme bottle’s neck. She then looked at Brown, who was in a hysterical laughing fit to the point where his face was turning colors and he was gasping for air. From there her eyes traveled to Mr. Orange, who was giggling uncontrollably.
She searched the room and found Elle and Blonde were shooting each other dirty looks from across the pool table as they tried to prove for a third time in a row who the better player was.
Mr. White was taking his turn at the juke box, apparently not satisfied with Brown’s choice of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”
“You are all stark raving insane,” O-Ren declared quite calmly.
Orange grinned cheerfully and raised a finger for emphasis as he responded, “I prefer to think of us as being stark raving sane.”
She furrowed her brow. “That statement doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, it does, because a man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself.”
Brown gave an impressed whistle. “That’s deep, man. Real deep.”
Orange beamed. “Thanks.”
O-Ren nodded. “Mr. Orange, can I have some of your drink?”
Without even thinking about it, he handed her the bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
And then she casually placed it on the table behind her, out of his reach.
***
There was just something so refreshing about a tall glass of soda that Mr. Blonde didn’t even bother to add any rum to it. Nectar of the Gods, he so charmingly referred to it as. Adding liquor to the equation wasn’t necessary, it just made things a bit more fun.
Besides, if he had any more to drink then he’d be just as trashed as those guys and he wanted to keep his senses sharp. There was more mischief to be made and Blonde needed all his wits about him if things were going to pan out the way he wanted.
“Hey, Girly,” he said, “I’m getting bored with kicking your ass at billiards. What do you say we switch to a different game?”
“Like what?” Elle countered. “Darts?” She really hoped it was darts; any opportunity to throw sharp pointed objects was greatly appreciated.
Blonde shook his head, producing a pack of playing cards from out of nowhere and shuffling them expertly. He drew the Ace of Spades and tapped it with his finger as he held it up.
“Poker, Girly…that is, if you think you have what it takes.”
She narrowed her eye, shooting him the most evil look she could muster. Obviously he thought she was stupid and wanted to shake her down for as much money as possible. Well, was he going to be in for a surprise. Elle had been playing poker since before she could drive. She smiled at the chance to turn the tables on the son of a bitch.
“Bring it on, dickhead.”
***
White loaded up the juke box with songs that he wanted to hear. The others would just have to put up with his musical tastes for a little while. Johnny Cash, Boz Scaggs, Jimmy Buffet, and Frank Sinatra all found their way onto the music rotation. One more Madonna song and Brown’s head was going to be introduced to the wall.
He looked over at the back booth and was pleased to see that O-Ren was doing a good job of sneaking bottle after bottle away from Orange’s grasp. The kid was going to be feeling it in the morning. White felt somewhat guilty for reducing her to a babysitter and security guard, knowing full well the pedigree she had and what she was capable of. Still, it was a big weight off his shoulders knowing she was around and on top of things.
White then ambled over and picked up the Smirnoff Ice bottle on the table behind Brown and O-Ren. He regarded the beverage with a raised eyebrow. Now, normally he didn’t touch the shit, sticking with the good stuff: scotch, whisky, bourbon. But the bottle was already opened and he hated to see things go to waste. Oh well, what the hell? He slid into the booth beside Orange.
“What are you crackpots up to over here?” White inquired.
“There you are,” Orange exclaimed happily. He looked at the drink in White’s hand. “Hey, didn’t I have one of those?”
“You did,” O-Ren responded, “but you finished it already.”
“I did?” Orange looked slightly confused and saddened at this. “Did I like it?”
White nodded, patting Orange’s arm gently. “Of course you did.”
He then noticed that Blonde and Elle had settled at a nearby table with a deck of cards. A light bulb went off above his head. Being a veteran at the whole drinking thing, White’s senses were already going back to normal. He’d spent years hustling poker in his younger days and thought now might be a fun time to see if he still had it. Besides, he’s always promised Blonde an ass-whooping at cards one day.
“Hey Kid, come on, you and me are going to join in a little card game.” White looped an arm under Orange’s shoulders and helped him up. Before turning away, he asked O-Ren, “You going to be okay here with your present company?”
O-Ren was somewhat impressed that White had stopped to see if she was fine being left alone with Brown. She was, of course, but it was proper of him to check. “I think I can take care of myself,” she replied.
Beside her, Brown was playing with his little cocktail umbrellas and talking to himself in high-pitched tones.
White nodded. “Well, okay then.”
***
Blonde and Elle were cutting the cards and getting ready to deal when White came up to them with Orange in tow.
“Is this a closed game or can anybody join in?” White asked.
“Fuck off,” Elle spat.
Blonde completely ignored her and answered White, “Sure, you can pull up a chair but it’s $100 to play. Throw it down if you want to play, old man. Orange, too.”
White nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He pulled a collection of twenty dollar bills from his wallet. “That good enough for you?”
Blonde smirked. “Indeed it is. Have a seat, Mr. White, Mr. Orange.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “You’ve just made this more interesting.”
Elle glared at Blonde. I hate him…
Orange whispered into White’s ear, “What are we playing?”
“Cards,” White uttered back.
Orange blinked and smiled a little. “I like Go Fish.”
Blonde tapped his fingers on the deck. “So, let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”
***
At the same time, in the back booth, Brown was having an enthusiastic monologue with O-Ren about The Man from U.N.C.L.E. It was a monologue and not a dialogue because she wasn’t really responding beyond the occasional nod of her head or the utterance of a humoring, “Really?” She grinned and put her hand on his neck…and squeezed at just the right points. Brown smiled and slumped over the table, unconscious. In about an hour or so he would wake up with a headache, but for now he was out like a light.
O-Ren set the bottle of Bailey’s on the table - umbrella still stuck in its neck - and decided to watch the goings-on at the others’ table.
***
Orange watched as Blonde dealt the cards. He was too drunk to know it was poker instead of Go Fish, and the others were too entertained to tell him otherwise. White knew the kid would be furious with him the next day but for now it was cute and he let his inebriated companion go on with the misconception. It was funnier that way. Blonde glanced up at O-Ren as she approached their table.
“Sorry, china doll,” Blonde said, “it’s too late to join now.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me,” O-Ren responded. “Consider me a spectator.” She noted the small mound of bills between Blonde, Elle, White, and Orange. “I see the cash pile is already underway.”
“I know,” Orange said, “it’s the most expensive game of Go Fish I’ve ever seen.”
Blonde laughed quietly to himself. Easiest four hundred dollars ever, and that’s just the minimum.
White shook his head and murmured to O-Ren, “He’s going to hate me tomorrow.”
“I hate you today,” Elle growled.
“Mind on the game, people,” Blonde said. “You might learn something.” He spread his hand on the table. “Royal Flush, right out of the gate. Try to beat that, White.”
So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? White leaned back in his chair. “All right then, Blondie, we’ll see who fixes whose wagon.”
O-Ren glanced over her shoulder at Brown, who was sleeping like a baby. He’d sprawled himself out across the booth’s cushions and was snoring quite loudly. He certainly looks comfortable enough. She shrugged and turned back to the poker game, where White’s Full House had just beaten Blonde’s Straight.
Orange blinked and looked up. “Does anyone have any sevens?”
O-Ren looked around the table. “Has anyone explained to him that it’s not that kind of game?”
White pursed his lips.
Blonde laughed. “Mum’s the word on my end. I have no problem with the little bastard thinking it’s Go Fish.”
“That’s just because you want his $100,” White retorted.
“Exactly.”
“His $100, which is really my $100.”
“Hey, I don’t care where the money comes from as long as it ends up in my pocket.”
Ten minutes later they were all staring at Orange in shock as his Straight Flush beat all their hands.
“Fucking beginner’s luck,” Elle muttered.
Orange smiled and shrugged, saying, “Maybe if you Fished more often you might win a round.”
O-Ren chuckled as she watched Elle narrow her eye at Orange.
“Why you little…” Elle snarled, reaching into her coat pocket.
“Now, now, play nice,” O-Ren warned, casually but firmly taking up a position at Orange’s shoulder.
White nodded in approval that O-Ren took her job seriously. Thus far, she was an excellent Orange-sitter. White had no doubt in his mind that when the Syndicate finally opened - if it ever did - she would make the best Head of Security ever.
“What about Jacks?” Orange inquired. “Does anyone have any Jacks? Should I Go Fish?”
“I know what you should go do,” Elle grumbled.
White put a hand to his forehead and laughed. Just one more thing I’m going to Hell for…
Blonde ignored the lot of them. There way no way in hell White was going to beat him at his own game, even if the old man did have more experience at it. This was a matter of pride. Blonde played it cool.
“Four of a Kind,” he declared. “I win again.”
Elle folded her arms and stewed in her own juices. This just wasn’t her night. Not only had she lost miserably at pool but now she was in danger of being whipped in poker, too - poker, of all games! Elle Driver not winning at poker was unheard of.
That fool, Mr. Orange, thought the game was Go Fish and even he had managed to win a round. She wanted to tear him a new one just for that. When she finally put together a winning hand it was nothing more than a Three of a Kind.
Mr. White grinned as his Flush narrowly squeaked past Mr. Blonde’s Straight. “I’ve been doing this for about 15 years longer than you, buddy boy.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Blonde said with a smirk, and spread another Royal Flush out on the table.”
“Motherfucker!” Elle spat.
“Where the fuck do you keep getting those from?” White demanded.
Blonde winked. “I’m just good like that.”
Five minutes later, White produced a Straight Flush followed by another Full House.
O-Ren looked over her shoulder again and noticed that Brown was sitting up now, rubbing his head, still talking to himself. She frowned. How in the hell is he awake? She watched as he looked up, listening to the music.
“Oh hell yeah, ‘wasting away again in Margaritaville.’ Damn good tune in its own cheesy way,” Mr. Brown exclaimed.
“What a strange man,” O-Ren remarked to herself.
Brown picked up the empty Smirnoff bottles and attempted to juggle them. O-Ren debated with herself whether or not she should go over there and do something about it, but shifted her attention back to the game when everyone at the table stared at Mr. Orange in shock for the second time as his Four of a Kind beat their hands.
White frowned as his Two Pair was beaten out by Blonde’s Flush.
“Does anyone have any threes?” Orange inquired.
“Go Fish, Kid,” White said with a sigh and a laugh.
Blonde shook his head and smirked. Elle rolled her eye. O-Ren chuckled by was soon distracted by the loud noise that was Brown dropping and breaking two of the bottles, one on the floor and the other on his head. Apparently juggling was not his forte, especially when drunk and stoned.
“Somebody keep Mr. Shit from breaking everything,” Blonde grumbled. “And keep him away from my rum.”
O-Ren groaned and put a hand to her forehead. I might as well go help the poor bastard out before he gets himself killed.
Elle, meanwhile, stared at her cards and wondered where her luck had gone. How dare Blonde and White cheat better than her.
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate.
Part Four
Content with leaving Orange to the care of O-Ren, White made his way over to the pool table where Blonde and Elle seemed to be waging the World War III of billiards.
“So, how are we doing over here?” White asked. “Who’s kicking whose ass?”
Blonde looked at him and grinned like he was a cat with a canary behind his teeth. He then glanced over at Brown, who was tottering back from the bar with his Smirnoff Ice and drink parasols.
White shook his head. “That guy ain’t right.”
“Bunch of drunk fucks,” Blonde laughed.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Elle countered. “Your eyes are plenty glazed and if I’m not mistaken, I’d say your speech is slurring.”
“Well, you are mistaken, Girly,” Blonde replied, now making a conscious effort to not slur his words and prove her wrong. “And even if my eyes are glazed at least I’ve got two of them.”
White laughed.
“Shut the fuck up,” Elle snarled.
“But hey, with that poor depth perception of yours it’s no wonder that you’re losing the game. How much did you lose this round, $100? Pony up.”
She muttered various obscenities under her breath and pulled out a $100 that she folded and flicked at him.
Blonde laughed and ambled over to the bar for some more soda.
Elle shook her head and glared at White. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“You, you bitch,” White answered before walking off.
“Stupid old cocksucker…” She gripped her pool cue and curled her lip again.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? When that Mr. Brown idiot grabbed her hand she was ready to reach out with the other one and punch him right in the face. Nobody does that to Ms. Elle Driver. Nobody.
Of course, nobody beats Elle at billiards, either, and Mr. Blonde somehow managed to do that twice now. She couldn’t decide which was worse: losing the game to him or knowing that his cheating was better than her cheating.
I fucking hate this place. She shook her head and chugged back a little more vodka.
***
O-Ren looked at the tiny umbrella sticking out of Irish Creme bottle’s neck. She then looked at Brown, who was in a hysterical laughing fit to the point where his face was turning colors and he was gasping for air. From there her eyes traveled to Mr. Orange, who was giggling uncontrollably.
She searched the room and found Elle and Blonde were shooting each other dirty looks from across the pool table as they tried to prove for a third time in a row who the better player was.
Mr. White was taking his turn at the juke box, apparently not satisfied with Brown’s choice of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”
“You are all stark raving insane,” O-Ren declared quite calmly.
Orange grinned cheerfully and raised a finger for emphasis as he responded, “I prefer to think of us as being stark raving sane.”
She furrowed her brow. “That statement doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, it does, because a man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself.”
Brown gave an impressed whistle. “That’s deep, man. Real deep.”
Orange beamed. “Thanks.”
O-Ren nodded. “Mr. Orange, can I have some of your drink?”
Without even thinking about it, he handed her the bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
And then she casually placed it on the table behind her, out of his reach.
***
There was just something so refreshing about a tall glass of soda that Mr. Blonde didn’t even bother to add any rum to it. Nectar of the Gods, he so charmingly referred to it as. Adding liquor to the equation wasn’t necessary, it just made things a bit more fun.
Besides, if he had any more to drink then he’d be just as trashed as those guys and he wanted to keep his senses sharp. There was more mischief to be made and Blonde needed all his wits about him if things were going to pan out the way he wanted.
“Hey, Girly,” he said, “I’m getting bored with kicking your ass at billiards. What do you say we switch to a different game?”
“Like what?” Elle countered. “Darts?” She really hoped it was darts; any opportunity to throw sharp pointed objects was greatly appreciated.
Blonde shook his head, producing a pack of playing cards from out of nowhere and shuffling them expertly. He drew the Ace of Spades and tapped it with his finger as he held it up.
“Poker, Girly…that is, if you think you have what it takes.”
She narrowed her eye, shooting him the most evil look she could muster. Obviously he thought she was stupid and wanted to shake her down for as much money as possible. Well, was he going to be in for a surprise. Elle had been playing poker since before she could drive. She smiled at the chance to turn the tables on the son of a bitch.
“Bring it on, dickhead.”
***
White loaded up the juke box with songs that he wanted to hear. The others would just have to put up with his musical tastes for a little while. Johnny Cash, Boz Scaggs, Jimmy Buffet, and Frank Sinatra all found their way onto the music rotation. One more Madonna song and Brown’s head was going to be introduced to the wall.
He looked over at the back booth and was pleased to see that O-Ren was doing a good job of sneaking bottle after bottle away from Orange’s grasp. The kid was going to be feeling it in the morning. White felt somewhat guilty for reducing her to a babysitter and security guard, knowing full well the pedigree she had and what she was capable of. Still, it was a big weight off his shoulders knowing she was around and on top of things.
White then ambled over and picked up the Smirnoff Ice bottle on the table behind Brown and O-Ren. He regarded the beverage with a raised eyebrow. Now, normally he didn’t touch the shit, sticking with the good stuff: scotch, whisky, bourbon. But the bottle was already opened and he hated to see things go to waste. Oh well, what the hell? He slid into the booth beside Orange.
“What are you crackpots up to over here?” White inquired.
“There you are,” Orange exclaimed happily. He looked at the drink in White’s hand. “Hey, didn’t I have one of those?”
“You did,” O-Ren responded, “but you finished it already.”
“I did?” Orange looked slightly confused and saddened at this. “Did I like it?”
White nodded, patting Orange’s arm gently. “Of course you did.”
He then noticed that Blonde and Elle had settled at a nearby table with a deck of cards. A light bulb went off above his head. Being a veteran at the whole drinking thing, White’s senses were already going back to normal. He’d spent years hustling poker in his younger days and thought now might be a fun time to see if he still had it. Besides, he’s always promised Blonde an ass-whooping at cards one day.
“Hey Kid, come on, you and me are going to join in a little card game.” White looped an arm under Orange’s shoulders and helped him up. Before turning away, he asked O-Ren, “You going to be okay here with your present company?”
O-Ren was somewhat impressed that White had stopped to see if she was fine being left alone with Brown. She was, of course, but it was proper of him to check. “I think I can take care of myself,” she replied.
Beside her, Brown was playing with his little cocktail umbrellas and talking to himself in high-pitched tones.
White nodded. “Well, okay then.”
***
Blonde and Elle were cutting the cards and getting ready to deal when White came up to them with Orange in tow.
“Is this a closed game or can anybody join in?” White asked.
“Fuck off,” Elle spat.
Blonde completely ignored her and answered White, “Sure, you can pull up a chair but it’s $100 to play. Throw it down if you want to play, old man. Orange, too.”
White nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He pulled a collection of twenty dollar bills from his wallet. “That good enough for you?”
Blonde smirked. “Indeed it is. Have a seat, Mr. White, Mr. Orange.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “You’ve just made this more interesting.”
Elle glared at Blonde. I hate him…
Orange whispered into White’s ear, “What are we playing?”
“Cards,” White uttered back.
Orange blinked and smiled a little. “I like Go Fish.”
Blonde tapped his fingers on the deck. “So, let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”
***
At the same time, in the back booth, Brown was having an enthusiastic monologue with O-Ren about The Man from U.N.C.L.E. It was a monologue and not a dialogue because she wasn’t really responding beyond the occasional nod of her head or the utterance of a humoring, “Really?” She grinned and put her hand on his neck…and squeezed at just the right points. Brown smiled and slumped over the table, unconscious. In about an hour or so he would wake up with a headache, but for now he was out like a light.
O-Ren set the bottle of Bailey’s on the table - umbrella still stuck in its neck - and decided to watch the goings-on at the others’ table.
***
Orange watched as Blonde dealt the cards. He was too drunk to know it was poker instead of Go Fish, and the others were too entertained to tell him otherwise. White knew the kid would be furious with him the next day but for now it was cute and he let his inebriated companion go on with the misconception. It was funnier that way. Blonde glanced up at O-Ren as she approached their table.
“Sorry, china doll,” Blonde said, “it’s too late to join now.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me,” O-Ren responded. “Consider me a spectator.” She noted the small mound of bills between Blonde, Elle, White, and Orange. “I see the cash pile is already underway.”
“I know,” Orange said, “it’s the most expensive game of Go Fish I’ve ever seen.”
Blonde laughed quietly to himself. Easiest four hundred dollars ever, and that’s just the minimum.
White shook his head and murmured to O-Ren, “He’s going to hate me tomorrow.”
“I hate you today,” Elle growled.
“Mind on the game, people,” Blonde said. “You might learn something.” He spread his hand on the table. “Royal Flush, right out of the gate. Try to beat that, White.”
So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? White leaned back in his chair. “All right then, Blondie, we’ll see who fixes whose wagon.”
O-Ren glanced over her shoulder at Brown, who was sleeping like a baby. He’d sprawled himself out across the booth’s cushions and was snoring quite loudly. He certainly looks comfortable enough. She shrugged and turned back to the poker game, where White’s Full House had just beaten Blonde’s Straight.
Orange blinked and looked up. “Does anyone have any sevens?”
O-Ren looked around the table. “Has anyone explained to him that it’s not that kind of game?”
White pursed his lips.
Blonde laughed. “Mum’s the word on my end. I have no problem with the little bastard thinking it’s Go Fish.”
“That’s just because you want his $100,” White retorted.
“Exactly.”
“His $100, which is really my $100.”
“Hey, I don’t care where the money comes from as long as it ends up in my pocket.”
Ten minutes later they were all staring at Orange in shock as his Straight Flush beat all their hands.
“Fucking beginner’s luck,” Elle muttered.
Orange smiled and shrugged, saying, “Maybe if you Fished more often you might win a round.”
O-Ren chuckled as she watched Elle narrow her eye at Orange.
“Why you little…” Elle snarled, reaching into her coat pocket.
“Now, now, play nice,” O-Ren warned, casually but firmly taking up a position at Orange’s shoulder.
White nodded in approval that O-Ren took her job seriously. Thus far, she was an excellent Orange-sitter. White had no doubt in his mind that when the Syndicate finally opened - if it ever did - she would make the best Head of Security ever.
“What about Jacks?” Orange inquired. “Does anyone have any Jacks? Should I Go Fish?”
“I know what you should go do,” Elle grumbled.
White put a hand to his forehead and laughed. Just one more thing I’m going to Hell for…
Blonde ignored the lot of them. There way no way in hell White was going to beat him at his own game, even if the old man did have more experience at it. This was a matter of pride. Blonde played it cool.
“Four of a Kind,” he declared. “I win again.”
Elle folded her arms and stewed in her own juices. This just wasn’t her night. Not only had she lost miserably at pool but now she was in danger of being whipped in poker, too - poker, of all games! Elle Driver not winning at poker was unheard of.
That fool, Mr. Orange, thought the game was Go Fish and even he had managed to win a round. She wanted to tear him a new one just for that. When she finally put together a winning hand it was nothing more than a Three of a Kind.
Mr. White grinned as his Flush narrowly squeaked past Mr. Blonde’s Straight. “I’ve been doing this for about 15 years longer than you, buddy boy.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Blonde said with a smirk, and spread another Royal Flush out on the table.”
“Motherfucker!” Elle spat.
“Where the fuck do you keep getting those from?” White demanded.
Blonde winked. “I’m just good like that.”
Five minutes later, White produced a Straight Flush followed by another Full House.
O-Ren looked over her shoulder again and noticed that Brown was sitting up now, rubbing his head, still talking to himself. She frowned. How in the hell is he awake? She watched as he looked up, listening to the music.
“Oh hell yeah, ‘wasting away again in Margaritaville.’ Damn good tune in its own cheesy way,” Mr. Brown exclaimed.
“What a strange man,” O-Ren remarked to herself.
Brown picked up the empty Smirnoff bottles and attempted to juggle them. O-Ren debated with herself whether or not she should go over there and do something about it, but shifted her attention back to the game when everyone at the table stared at Mr. Orange in shock for the second time as his Four of a Kind beat their hands.
White frowned as his Two Pair was beaten out by Blonde’s Flush.
“Does anyone have any threes?” Orange inquired.
“Go Fish, Kid,” White said with a sigh and a laugh.
Blonde shook his head and smirked. Elle rolled her eye. O-Ren chuckled by was soon distracted by the loud noise that was Brown dropping and breaking two of the bottles, one on the floor and the other on his head. Apparently juggling was not his forte, especially when drunk and stoned.
“Somebody keep Mr. Shit from breaking everything,” Blonde grumbled. “And keep him away from my rum.”
O-Ren groaned and put a hand to her forehead. I might as well go help the poor bastard out before he gets himself killed.
Elle, meanwhile, stared at her cards and wondered where her luck had gone. How dare Blonde and White cheat better than her.
To be continued...
The story thus far:
Part One: Welcome to the Syndicate
Part Two: Hanging with the Syndicate
Part Three: Boozing with the Syndicate.