Sweat

This is a short crime piece I wrote, which is a departure from my usual suspense!

————

The steam was especially thick. It was the kind of steam that made you wish that you had gills instead of lungs. It was the perfect steam to melt the toxins out of large, subcutaneous bodies. One such beluga sat, piled on the tile bench leaning his Grecian mane against the dripping wet wall behind him, a thick gold chain draped across his chest, a white towel loosely covering his less-than-impressive unmentionables that were pasted by sweat onto the cool tiles of the sauna.

The “flip flap” of bare feet reverberated on the porcelain floor, revealing another porcine presence seconds before he emerged from the mists. Every bit as bulging, but noticeably older, with deep stretches of flesh hanging loosely where domineering muscles once resided. Nearly obscene breasts, ornamented by impressive gold chains, and a boxy torso hinted at the distant memory of this man as a force to be reckoned with. The flabby silverback flopped onto the bench beside the first figure and began perspiring immediately.

“Sal,” said the beluga.

“Guido,” said the silverback.

“What’s new uptown?”

“The usual. Six new cops on the payroll bought us some breathing room with the massage parlors. Donny’s been working some new angles with the pimps on 41st street. Soon, they’ll be out of town or out of commission. Either way, we’re expanding into their territory and will need a few new storefronts. Shouldn’t be anything my boys can’t manage, though.

“Speaking of managing things, Guido, there’s a management issue that I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

The beluga stiffened on the tile, “What’s that, Sal?”

“The way you handled Viccarone last week. It was not managed very well on your part. I expected more from a man of your caliber.”

“Sal… things got out of hand. I only meant to deliver a message. He started fighting back. I didn’t mean to take it that far. It won’t happen again, Sal. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Good. When my niece’s boyfriend ends up in traction for a month because he welched on a game of craps, it doesn’t look good for the family. We need to use a little more restraint in the future. You need to take care of yourself, Guido. You’re in your prime.”

He slumped back down on the cool tile, a long sigh of relief escaping his thick lips. “I been trying, Sal. I been following doctor’s orders.”

“Ya don’t say?”

“Yeah, the doc told me to lay off the red meat and fatty foods and cut down on sugar. I don’t remember the last time I had any of ma’s lasagna, and I haven’t had a cannoli since Marguerite’s christening. It’s killing me.

“And it turns out my heart isn’t doing too good, either, so I stopped using blow and banging hookers.”

“You were doing dope and our hookers, Guido? That wasn’t very smart, was it?”

Guido’s pulse rose and his body began pouring out more sweat than the sauna was squeezing out of him. “It’s not like that, Sal…. I was doing it all on my own time and on my own dime.”

“Oh. I see,” Sal spoke with his eyes loosely shut. “Go on with this new regimen from the doctor.”

“Well,” he slid back down and fumbled with the chain around his moist neck. “The doc, he told me to start going to the sauna and sweating out the toxins, so I’ve been knocking off a little early—er, just on the weekends and after church—to come here and sweat.”

“You’ve been skipping church, Guido? I’d be sweating if I was you, too.”

“Heh, heh…. I still go to confession. And the doc says that I needed to go on a juice diet, so I got a juicer from our department store and started using that a few days a week. You know, just to give it a try. And he’s got me on a bunch of these supplements. They turn your pee a funny color. Doc says that if I keep this up, I could add five, maybe ten years to my life.”

“Is that so, Guido?” Sal opened his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned down. He snapped his fingers once and the clop, clop, clop of rubber soles on the tile floor could be heard. A suited figure emerged from the mist and Guido straightened and began clawing into the tiled bench under him, “The fu-“ two cracks rang out from a silenced .380. Guido slumped onto the bench, with currents of red sweating out of his forehead and chest.

“I told you to take care of yourself, Guido.” The silverback stood up and disappeared into the mist.

By a stump

From: United States

Website: http://astump.com