Free Slide by Jason Starr Ken Bruen

M.A.X. If they can’t meet you, they won’t do the deal.”
    Max let out an angry breath, shook his head, said, “If those cocksuckers think I’m going down to Alabama they’re out of their minds.”
    Yeah, that was the way—put the peons in their place. Peons —he liked that, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. Did it mean people you pee on? Yeah, probably.
    Kyle was saying, “They said they want me to bring them up to New York. Somethin’ about how they want to see you on your own turf or somethin’, see what you’re all about.”
    “I hope you realize how insulting this is,” Max said. “But if you think I’m letting them walk into my apartment you’re out of your mind. I’m not letting any scummy Colombians into FisherLand. Dis be my crib, homey. You all wan’ in, you waits like for the in-vite.”
    Felicia was still on the couch next to Max. He didn’t want her listening in on his important business and said to Kyle, “Wait a second,” then went to Felicia, “Baby, do me a favor, and chill in the bedroom, okay?”
    She got up slowly and Max watched her walk away. There was no question she had all-star knockers, but her ass was on the big side; you might even call it fat. He’d have to have a little talk with her about that at some point. Maybe she’d have to cut down on the desserts, start using Splenda.
    When Felicia was gone Max said to Kyle, “Okay, here’s the way we’re gonna work it. They can come to my town. That’s right, New York is my town, I fuckin’ own it. But we do it on my terms. I pick the time and the spot and I’ll let them know what the time and the spot is when I want to tell them what the time and the spot is. You got that?”
    Yeah, this was the old wheeler and dealer talking. Nobody could pull a power play on The M.A.X.
    “I’ll let them know all that,” Kyle said. “But there’s just one other thing.”
    “Yeah, what is it? Come on, talk, I don’t have all day.”
    “You think, maybe, when I come up to New York you might have the girls there ready for me?”
    Max didn’t know what Kyle was talking about, said, “What the hell’re you talking about?”
    “You know,” Kyle said, “the girls from the Internet—the ones on the Porsche and the sister too. Bambi? Cause you said you were gonna bring ’em down here, but you never did and—”
    “Have you ever heard the word chill, Kyle?”
    “Yes, sir, but—”
    “I have the girls all primed up, ready to meet you. Bambi was just saying to me the other day, ‘Why can’t I meet Kyle already? I really want to meet him.’ And I went to her, ‘Easy, baby. Chill.’ And now I’m telling you the same thing.”
    Long dead silence then Kyle went, “I don’t get it. So the girls’ll be waitin’ for me up in New York City?”
    “Only if you stay chill,” Max said, and clicked off.
    Max got up. Whoa, nelly. He felt a little unsteady but, hey, you’re doing major, like, biz with Colombians, you’re gonna be a tad unsteady. Shit, there was that tad again, his inner Brit coming out.
    Then it suddenly hit him and he screeched, “Fucking Colombians!”
    Was he in the big time now or what? Colombians, fucking drug lords, were coming up to the city to meet with him. This was his moment, his time. Like Pacino, he’d eat the savages for fucking breakfast. Didn’t Pacino take all these dudes mano a mano ? Wait, that was Cubans, not Colombians. Eh, same shit.
    Yeah, everything was going The M.A.X.’s way now. Keep Kyle happy, get him some sleazy hookers, let them fuck him stupid. Well, could he be more stupid? Now he was sounding like Chandler from Friends . How talented could one man be? Voices, business acumen, well hung, and he was a good man too, promoting diversity in his work force. Christ, he wanted to hug himself.
    He shouted, “Yo, bee-atch! Git yo’ sweet ass in here, de man need his pipes blown!”
    Maybe he’d let the ho sit on his face, she liked that, and she sure had enough on there to cover