Mardi Gras Madness. Ken Mask

Mardi Gras Madness - Ken Mask


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Jake. Huh my ass! I got a call, attacked, dealt wit! Mutherfoucker’s said ‘got news on Jake, outta the blue, out the clear freeakkin blue sky.”

      Luke turned to find the guards motioning wrap it up with circling fingers. In a matter of a few seconds the door of the holding area had opened, someone in a business suit had walked in and whispered to the guards. They glanced at the two with increasingly rapid fingers swipes.

      “That’s it.” Luke raised his eyebrows.

      “What. What’s it?”

      Jake-Luke stood/sat see-saw, they rotated back-forth toward the guards. Their eyes met midstream and lowered to the grey cold counter tops, then again locked unfocused between thick wired glass. A symphony of strained emotion. Standing there, in the raggedy prison uniform, disheveled, unshaven, Jake blew through puffed cheeks. As always, in one setting, the prisoner went through emotional extremes: puppy joy to hyena anger.

      Luke starred into space behind Jake, then into his face.

      “Out-of-the-clear-blue SKY.”

      “What. Dealt wit?” Jake asked.

      “Ah yeah. Ah. Ah. Henchman heavies, down by the pier.”

      “Henchmen? The waterfront pier?”

      Luke’s tone was tamed, low thinkingly: “Yeah, gotta call. Said they had something on you. Asked me to come down to the wharf. Out of the clear-blue-sky.”

      “That’s some movie bullshit Luke.”

      “I know, I fuoken’ know.” Luke’s answers, responses were tamed, muffled, indifferent.

      “What cha thinkin’ bout?” Jake frowned. “ What is it, man? Damn! After all this time? I’m the da one in the rat den.”

      Luke snapped back to the conversation. He breathed, now he yelled- “What the fuck were you workin on Jake?”

      “What?”

      “Down there. In Venice.”

      “Just some estate planning. For a client.”

      “Anything else? Here, there, anywhere?”

      “Nuttin’, nuttin. Naugh. Standard case load. Nuttin special.” Matos sighed, clumsily moved, held his cuffed hands-wrists on the table, glancing at ‘em, the floor, then back to Luke. The clinking of the metal echoed throughout the rooms. Cold metal on metal noises.

      “I gotta know man. S’time Jake. S’time!”

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