Page 133 of Parrish
Chapter Forty-one
Jack Parrish
Riggs came through with getting a hit on Schwartz and much to no one’s surprise the hotshot attorney was living it up at the Playboy Club in Manhattan. Wolf, Pipe and I hightailed it over to the west side only to be turned away at the door for not adhering to the dress code. Apparently, Hugh Hefner wasn’t a fan of leather back in the day—go figure. Even if we were dressed accordingly, they were booked solid and without a membership, which, by the way, ran thousands of dollars in case you were wondering, we were out of luck.
Not willing to delay this shit any longer, Wolf put in a call to Bianci and had him meet us in the city with a couple of suits that fell off the back of a truck. When the former gangster wasn’t shaping our youth into professional boxers, he was working with Rocco Spinelli, knocking off truckers and selling designer suits out of his boxing gym.
An hour and a half later we were changing in the bathroom of a McDonalds , donning silk suits and leather fucking loafers.
“Holy fuck,” Bianci says as I step out of the bathroom stall. “I wish Victor was alive to see this shit,” he comments as I shrug the suit jacket on.
“Who you kidding,” I growl. “The poor fuck is probably rolling in his grave right now because I ain’t putting a tie on.”
“The tie really does make the suit though,” Pipe argues as he fingers the one dangling from his neck.
This just ain’t right.
“We look like three chumps,” I hiss, slicing my eyes to Wolf. Surprisingly, he don’t look half bad. The suit fits him like a glove and with the beard…well, the bum looks sophisticated as fuck.
“My mother ever see you dressed like this?” Bianci asks.
“Nah, and if you tell her about this, I’ll fucking kill you,” he warns before turning his gaze to me. “Let’s get this shit over with,” he growls, pulling at the cuff of his dress shirt. “Riggs hacked into the system and we’re officially fucking members of the Playboy Club. Let these fucks deny us access now.”
“The Playboy Club,” Pipe scoffs. “Where was this place twenty fucking years ago?”
“For all we know, it could’ve been here but we never would’ve been caught dead in a club of this kind twenty years ago,” I retort.
“This is true,” he agrees, tugging the noose around his neck. “After this shit is over with you better set this fool straight. Especially if we’re going to be using him in the future. This is the last time I fucking tie a rope around my neck.”
Once this is over, I’m not going to need a fucking lawyer. I’m going to take a page out of Wolf’s book and start growing tomatoes. Maybe I’ll put the house on the market and move to sticks. I’ll trade my Harley in for a fucking minivan and become a church usher.
Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?
This shit is in my blood.
I’ll start off with a tomato plant and before they turn red, I’ll have a fucking greenhouse of marijuana in the front yard.
Shaking the ridiculous notion from my fucked head, I follow Wolf and Pipe out of the bathroom. Wolf stops off at the counter and orders a Big Mac.
I suppose we all have our vices. Wolf’s just happens to be any artery clogging food he can shove in his mouth. He devours the burger before we can cross Forty Second Street. Then we make our way up to the club. Wolf gives the cunt at the door the details of the membership and ten seconds later we enter the dimly lit upscale club. Cutting through the crowd of rich fucks and scantily clad bitches all dressed as Playboy bunnies, we search for Schwartz.
“How much did Blackie give this fuck?” Pipe questions.
“Who knows,” I reply. “He probably offered a kidney as a retainer.”
“Might not want to tell Blackie his viable organs are being pissed away here,” Pipe says, pointing a finger across the room. “There’s your hotshot lawyer, Parrish.”
Following the direction of his finger, my eyes land on Schwartz. Nestled deep in a corner booth, flocked by three girls, the prick seems to be having the time of his life. It’s a shame I’m about to spoil all his fun.
Swiping a drink off the tray of a waitress passing me by, I down the liquor and make my way towards him. As I get closer, I notice he’s not the only one vying for a piece of ass. He’s with three other men, all who appear twice his age and none of which look capable of getting their dicks wet.
“Schwartz,” I greet, coming to a stop before his table. “Glad to see you recovering after getting the clap,” I continue in a nonchalant tone as I slide into the booth.
“You have the clap?” Asks one of the faux playboy bunnies. A smile ticks the corner of my lips as I lean over the table and grab the bottle of chilled vodka from the ice bucket.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s crazy,” Schwartz spats, pushing the girl in question off his lap. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Right now? I’m helping myself to your booze,” I reply, lifting my glass. “Here’s to you and your dick, may it not fall off.”
