Quite Large Ronnie looked worried as he ordered his fifth slug of Bourbon. He eyed the other deadbeats at the bar. This was not his usual place, and he began to feel uneasy among strangers.
He started to sweat. "How could it have gone so wrong!" he shouted silently in his tangled brain. "When Every So Slightly Small Colin gave me the tip, he told me it was a cert!!"
And so sure had Quite Large been about the tip, he didn't think twice when he put the loot from yesterday's numbers racket on the 1-2-3 rollover at Fumbling Filmboy's Juke Joint and Gambling Cafe. (B.O.G.O.F on hot pastrami all this week)
"Jeez, I even bought that Lulu broad a Teddy Bear with my last ten bucks!" he mumbled through the whisky blur...."I was so sure!"
But this morning, Ronnie's world had hit the buffers.......the worst thing that could happen to a betting guy had happened.
There was some kinda thing going down regarding third place! The stewards were doing some sorta recount or something.
Quite Large Ronnie began to realise that his neck was on the line. If Ever So Strong Bazz didn't get the numbers cash rakeoff by noon, things could turn nasty!
As he sat in that sleazy boozejoint, surrounded by lowlifes, he knew it was just a question of time......
He ordered another slug, threw it down his neck, gasping as the small paper cocktail umbrella lodged in his throat.
All he could do was wait. It was gonna be a long morning............