Charlie tossed his card in, knowing it couldn’t cover one shot much less a round. For him, it really was roulette. Cliff gathered the other cards and then stared upwards at Rob. “I need one from the big guy.”
“Like anyone would give me credit. Dude, I’ve got like two pairs of underwear to my name.”
Cliff looked at Rob with disgust. “Someone needs to cover for cheap-ass here and add another card.” Jim stepped up since he’d been paying for the loveable loser’s tab all night anyway.
Blake pulled out the first card. “Jim Evans.” He shuffled the cards in the hat and then pulled out one more. “What are the odds? Jim again, sucks to be you.”
“What the hell?”
“That’s the breaks,” Blake said. “Cindy is gonna flip out when she checks your bank statement.”
“She probably will.” Now resigned to dropping a bunch of cash, Jim wanted to have some fun with it. “Since it’s loser’s choice, you’re gonna have a cement mixer and a dead Nazi. Suck on that.”
Mike groaned. “God, I hate these stupid games.”
“Rules are rules,” Cliff said. “I’m surprised Jim picked those shots since he has to drink them too.”
Jim’s smile evaporated. “Scratch that order. Two rounds of cherry pucker it is.”
Cliff smiled. “What was that about prom night earlier?”
“Whatever, asshole. Let’s do this.” Jim flagged a waitress and they downed the fruity shots and went back to their conversations.
Charlie put his plan into action now that Vidu was looking thoroughly sauced. “Let’s see if we have any mail.” They didn’t, and with Left-Nut’s lines like, “You’re ugly, but you intrigue me,” it was no surprise.
But Vidu had apparently hit pay dirt, and his eyes lit up as he read the note. “I need to find this number seventy. She needs a hot Vidu injection, stat.”
They eagerly looked for Vidu’s pen pal and Blake spotted the beauty first. “Bullshit. No way she wants his lame ass.”
Of course, Vidu took offense to Blake’s statement and responded in kind. “Don’t be jealous. You’re engaged, why care if I can pull more ass than you?” It was rare the awkward foreigner got a chance to lord over his arrogant friend, but now he’d have to put up or shut up.
“Seal the deal, Casanova,” Blake said with a chuckle. He knew this wouldn’t end well and had always enjoyed his friend’s legendary meltdowns.
Normally Vidu would be petrified to approach any woman, much less a knockout like this, but tonight he’d been guzzling liquid courage in a can. He combed his greasy hair with his fingers and tucked in his shirt. “This is how it’s done, boys.”
“Twenty bucks says he blows it,” Blake said and waved a crisp bill. No takers.
“Hey, sexy mama,” Vidu said as he grabbed the alluring girl from behind and gave her a bear hug.
The vixen turned around and recoiled in disgust when she saw who held her ever so gently. “Get off me, you perverted fuckwad,” she said and followed with an open palmed bitch-slap to the Sri Lankan’s shocked face. As if that weren’t enough, Charlie’s phone was recording every glorious second, ensuring this payback would last forever.
Vidu clutched his jaw and asked with a whimper, “What was that for?”
The enraged girl ignored his question as she balled her fists and prepared to press the attack. But right before she thrashed him again, a tank-top-wearing bouncer stepped in and saved Vidu from further humiliation.
“All right, jackass, time to go.” He put one meaty hand on Vidu’s puny shoulder and pointed to the door.
Fearing deportation even more than another righteous ass whipping, Vidu ran out like quicksilver. “The rest of you need to go, too. We don’t cater to creeps here,” the meathead added, itching for an excuse to show off for the pretty girl.
Everyone was too busy gasping for air to notice how much of a prick the bouncer was, and they left without further incident. Charlie put his phone away and climbed into the waiting limo, still smiling about his dirty deed.
Chapter 5
Rock the Mic
The limo reeked of stale whiskey farts and fried food as it headed for the next stop. But the driver was forced to slam the brakes when a large number of bike riders streamed out from a side street. The biking group known as the “Happy Saturday Brigade” often snarled traffic and pissed off motorists.
Blake rolled down his window. “Out of the way, losers!”
A few riders casually flipped him off but most simply told him to have a happy Saturday.
“Society’s tampons,” Cliff said while staring at the motley crowd. It was an odd group, highlighted by buzz-cut lesbians in fishnets and a leather-clad gimp cruising by on custom-built Big Wheels, sparklers blazing. Even stranger, Santa Claus passed by on a monstrous ten-foot tall bike.
“That’s not something you see every day,” Jim said as a few more freaks pedaled past.
“Never been to Gay Mike’s neighborhood?” Left-Nut said and Mike answered with a healthy punch to the arm.
Blake opened an imported beer and walked towards the front of the limo. “Jugdish, step on it.”
“What do you want me to do?” the driver said with an accent even thicker than Vidu’s.
“Inch forward. They’ll move.”
The driver relented and slowly took his foot off the brakes. He got a third of the way through the mess before an onslaught of angry cyclists made him stop.
Smokey started up a chant and everyone joined in. “Go! Go! Go!”
The limo surged forward and narrowly avoided several riders, but the back end had almost cleared the crosswalk and soon enough they’d be on to the next bar.
That’s when an ice-cold Big Gulp soared through an open window and blasted Vidu square in the face, drenching him completely. He did not take it well.
“I kill you, motherfucker! I kill you!” Vidu clawed at the child-locked door. “How I open this fucking shit?” Outsmarted by the door, the Sri Lankan tried to dive out the window in order to throttle the anonymous drink launcher. Luckily, the driver saw an opening, slammed on the gas, and saved Vidu from his second beat down of the evening.
After ridiculing their hapless friend for a bit, the party moved on to guessing their next destination. Wild rumors began to circulate. Cliff hoped for “General Zhou’s tug-jobs” at an Asian massage parlor while Smokey believed they were en-route to a secretive, non-licensed bar that moved locations every month to avoid paying taxes.
The speculation ended abruptly when the limo stopped in front of The Study, an ordinary college bar frequented by DePaul co-eds. Left-Nut was underwhelmed. “Oh come on, we’re gonna be ten years older than everyone here.” His white hair didn’t help with the college girls, and his lack of common decency was an even bigger turnoff.
“Tough shit,” Blake said. “We leave in two hours for the last stop so get after it.”
The Study resembled a library, complete with book-lined shelves, card catalogues and naughty librarians serving drinks and spankings. It was jam packed with hipsters but Cliff had already arranged for tables in the VIP section.
Charlie glanced at the books by their table and noticed everything from War and Peace to You Might be a Redneck. However, it was a pink hardback titled The Fine Art of Giving Blowjobs that stood out from the rest. He flipped it open to the front. “What do you know? Gay Mike checked this out twice.”
“You guys really need to stop busting my balls,” Mike said defensively.
“See, he can’t stop talking about male genitalia,” Jim said. “It’s like he’s cock-crazy.”
A large-busted server in a sexy faux-geek outfit approached and momentarily put an end to the bash-fest. “I’m Lola and I’ll be your librarian tonight. For specials we have eight dollar pitchers of Pale Horse, twelve dollar fishbowl kamikazes and half off wings.” She adjusted her glasses and tapped a notebook with impeccably manicured nails. “You boys look like you’re gonna be fun tonight,” she added while batti
ng long lashes.
Charlie looked away and scanned the bar. He was buzzing hard and wanted to talk to real women for once, women that didn’t make their living by fleecing gullible morons.
“Oh I’m fun. You’ll see when you get off work,” the gullible moron named Vidu said with an off-putting stare.
“You’re bad. I might have to discipline you,” Lola said while twirling a ruler and wondering why Vidu was soaking wet and had a large handprint on his face.
Of course, Vidu would later claim she wanted to, “Tie him up and fuck his balls out,” whatever that meant.
Oblivious to the girl’s charms and massive rack, Big Rob focused on other priorities. “Cheap wings sound good,” he said and licked his chops.
Jim looked at his bulky friend with annoyance. “Why do you care if they’re half off? Your broke-ass ran out of money an hour ago.” Rob flashed the same jovial smile he always did and Jim caved as he always did. “I guess I’ll take twenty—” Big Rob cleared his throat loudly in protest, and Jim sighed. “Make that fifty mild wings and a pitcher of Pale Horse.” Rob nodded his approval.
Smokey’s phone boomed the theme song to the show Cops. “I bet Trent’s calling about the hookers, I mean strippers, for tonight.”
“You guys really are bad,” the waitress said and laughed nervously. Smokey rose from his seat with a flushed face and took the call outside while everyone finished ordering.
Charlie noticed plenty of women nearby but it didn’t matter much. He had gone from being a young stud to a middle-aged loser quite some time ago, and his confidence was beyond shot.
A lanky, red-haired friend of Blake’s named Bruce slammed a stack of National Geographics down on the table. “Next game is called Jungle Titties. Last person to find a pair buys a round of shots.”
Charlie spotted a cover featuring Masai lion hunters and knew it was money in the bank. “I’m in,” he said and tossed his useless credit card into the hat. Sure enough, he found some nude villagers in under a minute.
Cliff had less luck. “This game’s fucking dumb,” he said after losing handily.
“Pony up, and make it whiskey,” Blake said.
Cliff soon returned with a clinking tray of shots. However, some of the group balked at downing the harsh stuff and Big Rob graciously volunteered to put them away. He was hitting full throttle four shots later.
Someone began singing badly, and it became clear why Blake insisted on this bar. Charlie sighed. “You couldn’t find something better to do than karaoke?”
“The blowjob factory was booked,” Blake said with a chuckle. The truth was he worked for a South Korean firm and spent countless hours sucking up to his boss in karaoke joints. It didn’t translate to being good at it, though.
Annoyed, Charlie went back to searching the bar and spotted a cute woman a few tables over. He made eye contact and surprisingly, she smiled back. So Charlie steeled his nerves and rose to make a move. This was a big step for him.
“Oh shit, I forgot to tell you something,” Jim said and dragged Charlie back into his seat. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“What?” Charlie was clearly annoyed.
“My parents called and said Craig Baxter got busted for trying to suck off an undercover cop for some crack.”
“Serves him right, that guy was the biggest asshole in high school,” Charlie said as two guys with popped collars and heavily-gelled hair approached the comely woman.
“Yeah, he was a tool. Guy had everything handed to him and look where he is now. Karma’s a bitch.”
“Total silver spoon.” Charlie said, barely listening as he spied on the situation a few tables over. Sure enough, the pretty-boys flagged a librarian down for shots. Game over.
“It’s even worse than when he was bench pressing at soccer practice and shit his pants. Remember that?”
Charlie turned back to his friend, resigned at blowing another chance. “No, that was Left-Nut. I was the one spotting him.”
At that point an emcee spoke into his microphone. “Set down those books and put your hands together for our next singer, Blake! He’s hung like Bigfoot and celebrating his bachelor party tonight, so single ladies take note. This is your last chance to sample this prime beefcake.”
“You paid that guy twenty bucks, didn’t you?” Charlie asked and chuckled.
“Sure as hell did,” Blake said with a wink as he stood up and raised his fists in glory. “Watch the panties fly,” he added while sauntering towards the stage like an 80’s rock star.
The pompous investor grabbed the mic as the music kicked in. Da da da, da da da da, da da da, da da da da. Blake nodded to the beat for a moment and then jumped into the song full tilt, giving one of the worst renditions of “Ice Ice Baby” ever known to man. His improvised dance moves were even worse.
“He looks like Frankenstein with cerebral palsy and a broom up his ass,” Smokey said, stoned out of his mind. Even Blake’s brown-nosing work friends couldn’t take it, and several catcalls came in from the audience.
Blake finished the song a few painful minutes later and came back with his head held high and a huge smile plastered on his face. “Nailed it.”
“Actually, that was shit,” Left-Nut said. “And for the record, no panties reached the stage.”
“Oh, come on. I saw a lot of people cheering out there.”
“Those were boos.”
Blake ignored reality and ordered his lackey Cliff to buy yet another round of shots. Big Rob took charge of the surplus once again.
Meanwhile, Charlie was broke and hadn’t even talked to a female yet. Guessing the last stop would be a strip club, the night appeared to be a failure. “I might as well go on auto-pilot and see what happens,” he said and snagged the last shot before Rob could pour it down his cavern of a mouth.
Left-Nut raised his beer in a toast. “That’s the spirit. You can go pig-fishing with me.”
Charlie wasn’t about to start looking for fat chicks, so he settled back in with Jim and started mooching beer. As though he were experiencing drunken time travel, the night seemed to speed up and soon it was time for the next bar.
When Charlie stood, someone began to sing an Elvis song in a way that he could only describe as perfect. The voice that rang out over the speakers was as thick and velvety as the King of Rock himself. Charlie turned to see who was putting on such a solid performance.
The homeless-looking man swaying with the melody was dressed in tattered jean shorts and sported a long, brown beard. It was Big Rob.
“What the shit?” Vidu said.
The three-hundred pound fighter finished the song to raucous cheers. Then he bowed low for a standing ovation and promptly fell face first off the stage onto a table, smashing it in half and sending drinks flying. It was time to leave.
Chapter 6
The Sugar Shack
“Brains… brains!”
Big Rob opened his eyes to see a scrotum dangling dangerously close to his forehead. He was conscious just long enough to shove Blake halfway across the limo. This set up a chain reaction where Blake fell into Smokey’s lit cigarette while crashing to the floor, tipping over two full beer cans on the way.
The driver pounded on the steering wheel. “You’re going to clean that up.”
Not one of the drunks paid any attention, and Blake rubbed the burn on his arm while pulling his pants up. “How many shots did Rob have anyways?”
“I lost track after ten,” Jim said. “And that’s on top of the two pitchers that I bought, and the beer he was stealing when people weren’t paying attention.”
“I thought my beer was going down smooth,” Charlie said. Big Rob had learned to fish for drinks on a trip to Panama City years ago and apparently still had the skill.
“He’s too drunk to go in,” Bruce said while eying the sleeping giant.
“Are you gonna stop him?” Charlie replied. Rob was shit-faced, but after seeing him flick Blake across the limo like a stale booger, it was c
lear he was still dangerous.
Left-Nut grew impatient. “All I know is I need to see some tits and I need to see ‘em now.”
“I swear you’re just a dick with legs,” Mike said.
Jim smiled. “Sounds like Gay Mike’s talking about dicks once again.”
They finally arrived at their last destination, a seedy strip club called The Sugar Shack. The driver had reached the end of his patience. “Get the hell out!”
They had no choice but to bring Rob in, so they woke him up and left the trashed vehicle amidst the sound of half-empty beer bottles clanking onto the pavement. The driver flipped them off and peeled away into the night. Now they’d have to cab it home later, but their thoughts were elsewhere as they lurched towards the sleaziest spot in Chi-town.
Charlie helped his unsteady friend across the parking lot. “When we get in, sit down, drink some water and shut up.”
The club itself featured a cheesy laser show, black lights and a sleazy deejay screaming while stark-naked women sold lap dances. It was a place where you could get anything for the right price, which, according to Left-Nut, was around fifty dollars. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” he said while finally entering his element.
Cliff and Bruce started flashing money around by ordering thirty-dollar shots of tequila and a bottle of Dom for the bachelor. Cash was king, and within minutes, they were swarmed by a handful of teenage strippers.
With a skinny eighteen year old on his lap, Cliff decided it was time to put the peasants in their place. He looked at Vidu with a sneer. “So, Osama, how’s the jihad going?”
Vidu’s eyes glazed over. “Fuck your mother, you little son of a…”
Charlie put himself between them. “Why are you being such a dickhole? We’re just trying to have fun.” Vidu was a turd, but he was their turd.
Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time Page 3