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The Lost Decades of Uncle Chow Tung
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Yard Dog

Yard Dog

also available: Paperback
tagged : crime, noir, urban life
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What does a man do when he gets out of jail? Gets drunk and gets laid, not necessarily in that order. Tommy picked me up in one of his dad’s limos, screeching up to the front of the Don Jail with the sound system blasting, guards on the steps looking like they’ve been sucking lemons. The limo door swung open and there was Tommy in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt cov¬ered in orange flowers, grinning at me over the top of his sunglasses.
“Come on in. The water’s fine.”
Did this guy have a Jacuzzi back there? I slid into the limo, feeling the guards’ eyes boring a smouldering hole into the back of my neck. I knew what they were thinking. Who says crime doesn’t pay?
Tommy, grinning like a sultan, leaned back into the limo’s plush seats. “Tiffany, Amber … I want you to meet a friend of mine. Amber, go over there and intro¬duce yourself.”
Now, I like to think I’m a pretty stoic bastard, but going from a tiny jail cell to the back seat of a limousine with two beautiful bikini-clad women in the space of five minutes is a bit of a mindfuck. Still, when Amber brushed her breasts against my arm I wasn’t about to push her away.
“Jack, you want a martini? Tiffany, get my friend a martini.”
“You got any beer?”
“Sure, we got beer! Tiffany, get me a martini and get my friend a beer.”
How many nights had I laid awake in the clatter and gloom of jail dreaming of The Perfect Beer? The kind you see in the commercials, bits of ice and moisture roll¬ing down the sides, ice-cold and delicious.
I savoured the first sip, letting it roll gently across my tongue. The taste of freedom.
I drank the rest of the beer in about three seconds. Amber laughed. “You were thirsty!”
“Take off your top,” Tommy told her, and she did.

At the club, the music was so loud it shook my molars. A dark-haired waitress with impossibly long tanned legs swept away the third round of empty bottles. Fresh bottles appeared like magic. Tommy was swigging Grey Goose straight from the bottle because he was classy like that. Amber and Tiffany, now in party dresses, banged their heads together and laughed, white powder dusting their nostrils. Tommy did a line off the top of Tiffany’s left breast and the ladies laughed louder. I glanced around uneasily. Then it hit me: there were no guards, cops, snitches, stoolies, or parole officers here. This was Tommy’s place, and if he wanted to do a line off a strip¬per’s fake tits, it was his fucking business.
“You sure you don’t want some, Jack? This is good fucking shit!”
“You know why Mormons don’t drink or do drugs? It’s because they believe God gave them Free Will.” I held up a bottle of beer, green glass glinting in the disco light. “Me, I like beer.”
I downed the bottle as Tommy and the ladies laughed. “Doesn’t he talk funny? I love this guy! Jack, you’re a funny fucking guy!”
I grinned as Amber nestled closer. She smelled like vanilla. Goddamn, it was good to be free.

Tiffany and Amber were naked now, gyrating together in Tommy’s V.I.P. lounge. Amber wriggled out of her lit¬tle black party dress so sexily I almost asked her to put it back on and do it again. Tiffany ran her wet pink tongue along Amber’s neck, both girls swaying to the soul music pouring from the speakers like molasses. Next to me in the darkness Tommy twitched and groaned. Tiffany’s manicured hand rubbed Amber’s tits and dropped lower, her finger dipping into Amber’s folds before pulling away, teasing. Amber moaned and fell to her knees. Tiffany grabbed the back of Amber’s head and pushed her face between her legs. They moaned together, swaying. They seemed to be genuinely enjoy¬ing themselves and that turned me on. Amber lay back on the stage with her legs spread, giving us an eyeful. I had just enough time to savour the view before Tiffany crawled over on her hands and knees and dove between Amber’s thighs.
After five minutes Tommy couldn’t stand it. He leapt up, charged toward the girls, and seized Tiffany’s hand. “There’s bedrooms on the third floor,” he shouted back at me as he pulled Tiffany from the room. “See you in the morning. We’ll talk business!”
I knocked back the last of my beer. The room wob¬bled. I must have been drunk because the idea of doing business with Tommy didn’t bother me a bit.
Let’s get one thing straight right now. I’m not a criminal. I believe in truth and justice and all that good shit. It’s just that sometimes truth and justice and the law don’t match up. Sometimes the path of the righteous man leads directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
Amber stood over me, naked. “Are we going upstairs?”
I grinned. “Just try and stop me.”

At some point in the night I woke up to Amber shaking me. She looked freaked the fuck out.
“Jack! Jack!”
My heart galloped as I fumbled for my knife. It took me a few seconds to realize the knife was long gone, sit¬ting tagged and bagged in some police evidence locker. “What? What is it?”
“You were screaming in your sleep. Are you okay?”
My grey undershirt was soaked with cold sweat. “Yeah,” I lied, “I’m fine.”

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A Robin MacFarland Mystery
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Poughkeepsie Shuffle

Poughkeepsie Shuffle

A Crime Novel
also available: eBook
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