Quiet ©

Ah yes, a quiet weekend.
No friends
No women
No witches
Just me and my NFL football.
I would like to thank Inner Voices of “What Do The Voices Mean” for linking my last post.
Now there are more people out there who know I am a sick fucker.

I like to thank you for your comments and emails.
Sorry Paul, I don’t do warlocks; I draw the line at witches.
Live is already a shitty pain in the ass without having to walk like John Wayne too.

Ex is out of town again with the SIL but her sister has been banging on my door I have been told probably looking to get me to move her daughter.

My mother threw a BBQ for my uncles, aunts and any other old people they could find and I was the only one allowed to attend.
They had no choice, they needed someone who could move faster that food could rot and who doesn’t snap limbs in half when they make any sudden movement.

Half of them are deaf.
My mother asked her brother to pass the potatoes and he told her the doctor told him it would clear up in a week or two.
No one asked him to pass anything again.
Her other brother laughed at him and passed my mother the bread.
My mother looked at them shaking her head.

My parents had this planned for a couple of weeks.
They had three steaks for each person with two pork chops and half a chicken each.
That along with Spanakopites, a platter of pasta and other finger foods.

At 4pm my phone rang, it was mo mother asking me to step outside and helping my father with the bbq.
It seems it was broken and wouldn’t start.
I go outside and down to where my father was by the bbq and asked him what the problem was?
He said it wouldn’t start.

I turned on the knobs to full and bent down to listen for the families HISSSSSSSSSSS of the gas but I didn’t here anything.
I opened the door under the bbq which houses that propane tank and noticed the valve was barely open so I turned it all the way.
This is where my father started protesting that what I was doing was dangerous.

My father is terrified about the tank exploding.
Ever since the stories where tanks used to explode at people houses back in Greece.
You see in Greece you carry the tank in the house and sometimes the idiots close the pilot light but leave the knobs on filling the place with gas and the next thing you know.
BOOM!!!
Pop goes the Greek.
I think that’s how the term “OPA!!!” came into existence.

My father is so terrified of the gas bbq he doesn’t use the auto start because he has to stand in front of the bbq to press the button so he used to turn the gas on then stand ten feet away and toss lit matches at it to start up.
But since we got the new stainless steel bbq we don’t let him throw matches at it so now he hides behind the car with a long bamboo pole that he uses to reach out and press the ignite button.

He wasn’t always like this.
Once after years of wearing him down I got him to trust the gas bbq and for a while it was like a love affair.
He would run out there and polish the chrome like the day it was first made.
He would take people out back to show it to them and how it worked but then one day, tragedy strike.
He got an idea.

It was a windy day one autumn when he went outside with his pan of chopped up meat destined for the bbq.
He opened the lid and turned the knobs on full then hit the ignite switch over and over but it wouldn’t start, it was too windy.
Luckily he is Greek and Greeks are geniuses you know.
They mathematically deduce everything and then make a well thought out decision on how to deal with a problem.

It’s windy so then we have to remove the wind so lets close the lid on the bbq and let the gas build up under it for ten minutes then hit the ignite switch.
No one heard a sound
No one smell anything
Not even a singed eyes brow
But we all saw the flash
Then came a big bang
A little bang
Lots of swearing
Then he came inside the kitchen and said the bbq exploded and he wasn’t going to touch it again.
The thing ignited shooting the lid open until it reached back as far as it could go and then came slamming back down shut.
The “big bang”

My mother asked him where the steaks were and he said that the explosion knocked them off the side table on the bbq and they fell to the ground.
“Little bang”

My mother told me to go outside and see if they were salvageable.
I went out to look at the scene and my brothers German Shepard who was tied up in the yard was bent over the pile of meat wolfing down all the oregano covered meat he could before he was caught.

I went back inside and told my mother the dog was having a good dinner.
My father wanted to go out there and shoot the dog then cook it on bbq to get his steaks back.
They ended up ordering pizza that night but since that day, even though it was my father’s fault he hates this bbq.
Even more so when he had to clean up the piles of oregano filled diarrhea the dog left him the next day from eating raw meat.

So after I turned the valve wide open the bbq lit up with one push of the switch.
My father cooked all the food then brought it inside just as their guests were walking through the door.

As the guests filed in to get their meat most of them took half a steak, NOT three and one or two took some chicken.
No one touched the pork chops.
My parents still think that you have to over stuff people.
When I was a kid they used to give us so much food we couldn’t eat it and if we didn’t we got a beating.
Lunch was 6 hot dogs and fried.
I can’t eat six fucken hot dogs today.
Then after about twenty years of being stuffed like a harvest zucchini they look at you one day and tell you you’re fat.
FUCK OFF!!!!!!

You tell them it their fault but they say, “No, you didn’t have to eat it”.
No you’re right, I could have said no and taken the beating.

That wasn’t all that happen this weekend.
I got a collect call from the detention center, AKA local prison.
One of the guys got sentenced to a year in jail.
It’s the best thing that could happen to him as far as everyone is concerned.
All the guy does is smoke crack from sun up to sun up then bugs the fuck out of us all the time for money.
I am the only one left that still talks to him so he calls me when he needs help.
The way I see it is that for the next year he will clean up before he is released to dive back into that shit.

He calls me to say he needs money for his canteen and if I could call a person for him so he could go down there to deposit some money for him.
Sounds simple enough right?
Well it isn’t.
This person and I have never really formally met in person but we know of each other through reputation.
The person he wants me to call is a generation older than me and one of the first mob bosses I ever heard of as a kid and over the years I heard about some of the things he done.

For the most part he conducted his business and left everyone else alone but every now and then climates change storms appear, shit happens.
A lot of the people who used to do business with me knew him but I never met or tried to meet up with him for many reasons one being I was pushing into his territory and the last bunch that did that had accidents and I’m kind of allergic to accidents.

Personally I liked him and I liked his style.
He makes his money illegally, mostly gambling and I know he gives to the local charities and helps bums like my friend in jail.
To him business is business and the rest is what you do with you money, illegally or legally gotten.
That’s what defines who you are.
Given the fact that he never went to jail and is well known says a lot.
He never gave reason to be hunted down by the law

Just the same I don’t like hooking up with people who are probably being watched by the fucken cops.
I preferred staying under the radar as much as possible after the mid 80s when all hell broke loose in this town.

Our paths did cross some times though.
Once about 25 years ago one of my guys said they had a customer who wanted a large amount of hash and wanted me to front it to him then he’d come back to pay me when the deal was done.
There was no way I was letting that amount get out of my sight especially since most of it wasn’t paid for yet so I told him that I will bring it to the place the deal will go down and that I will decide where that will happen but he will still do the deal.

There was a big tavern less than a mile from my place that was owned and run by the Boss.
There were two large rooms with the washrooms in the middle.
It had been built when women were not allowed to go into taverns alone and could only enter through the Escorts entrance where they could come in with their husbands or boyfriends.
The other entrance was only for men.

I called buddy and told him to set up the deal and to tell the customer where it will take place and in public so there wouldn’t be any hassles.
Then he was to come to my place and talk about what was going to happen.
In turn I called my supplier and told him what I needed and when.
There was no reason to have a pile of shit around my house if I didn’t need it and much safer for someone else to have it.
He came by and we sat around drinking beer and planning the whole transaction.

Friday came around and I met Buddy outside of the tavern and passed him the backpack filled with what he wanted and walked away without saying a word.
There was nothing to say, the plan was in place.

Buddy walked in and sat at a table until the customer came in.
They sat there and talked for a little while drinking a beer each as to not be suspicious then they both got up one at a time and went to the washroom.

Buddy passed over the backpack and the customer looked inside to make sure he wasn’t being ripped off then gave Buddy and envelope filled with money.
The customer left first and Buddy stay in the washroom five minutes before leaving it himself; then walked straight out the back door and into the arms of the cops.
The customer was an undercover cop.

They searched Buddy but didn’t find the money and all he said to them was “What money”?
The cops then all piled into the tavern and went straight to the washroom to look inside.
All they found was an envelope swirling around the hole inside the toilet in one of the stalls not able to go down the drain.
I stepped out of the toilet stall after the customer left and used the other exit, the Escort side of the tavern and left out the front door then into a waiting cab.

Boss was pissed and more so because he didn’t get a piece of the action and when they release Buddy he had him washing dishes in the tavern for six months as punishment.
This is the same guy who called me the other day to call the Boss and tell him he needed money.

So, I am sitting here today getting ready to call the Boss for Buddy.
I hope he doesn’t want me to wash dishes.

Have a nice day.

Walker