The Greatest Game episode: All That Cash missiondevelopment/2013/07/all-that-cash/ Continued from Turquoise Brooch… Dani Bright (Mobile) yea roris got it goin on Tom Lasky (Mobile) so whats happenin Dani Bright (Mobile) she used her womanly wiles on him…hes like a starving dog what she sez…shes sooo good Tom Lasky (Mobile) roflmao Dani Bright (Mobile) guess she takes him to a lawyers office with a briefcase fulla cash Tom Lasky (Mobile) he leaves the cash at the lawyers? Dani Bright (Mobile) thats what rori sez…thousands like lotsa thousands Tom Lasky (Mobile) must be nice Dani Bright (Mobile) ya think Tom Lasky (Mobile) hey gotta go break times over Dani Bright (Mobile) k…game sat nite? Tom Lasky (Mobile) ya all good…get back to u with time Dani Bright (Mobile) sayanara (sp???) Tom Lasky (Mobile) lol ***** Turning down the radio, Tom Lasky thought, “John Mayer’s OK, but I Want Candy? Too damn fluffy.” He punched the pre-sets and ended up at KLOS. “Old, but I’ll live through it.” Lincoln Boulevard was jammed. Over a hundred vehicles in each pack racing away from a stoplight, only to brake for the next one. It was late Friday afternoon. Tom was beat up from work, from the callers who wanted a piece of him all day. The tops of his ears were still sore and a headache was lodged like a boulder near the back of his skull. It took ten minutes to find a parking space. He hiked down the walkway to his little back house in Venice. Fighting through a pile of junk mail wedging the door shut, he stumbled on the throw rug and almost slammed his head into a doorframe. Catching himself at the last second, he swore at his ex-wife, Katie. He had yielded their Pacific Palisades ranch home in the divorce. She also retained custody of their daughter, leaving him with a sizable monthly support bill. He encouraged her to remarry and find happiness so he could lose the obligation. But she was perfectly satisfied with a string of well-off boyfriends. Not that he was bitter. “My fault,” he thought. “I wanted freedom. Well now I have it.” The phone was blinking, signaling voicemail. A couple of loan offers, three hang-ups, and finally, the message he wanted to hear. “Hey baby,” cooed the young female voice. “Didn’t want to call your cell ‘cause I wanted, well, I wanted you to pay attention to me. Too early, huh? Call me back.” The time stamp announced 6:12. He glanced at the clock on the counter. 6:17—just missed her. Damn traffic. Walking into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face, combed his thinning hair and looked at himself in the mirror. “Not so good,” he muttered. He studied the paunch above his belt. “Way too much sitting down. Gotta hit the boardwalk again.” The problem wasn’t whether to walk, or where to walk, it was the same problem everyone had: Starting. And continuing. It was too daunting to think about, so he went back to the living room and grabbed his cell phone. “Ooo, I knew you’d call back quick, baby.” “Hey Sim, long day, lotsa traffic.” He tried to put a smile behind it. “Sure, sure. Hey wanna swing by and take us over to Rambler’s?” “Hmm, how ‘bout an hour? I want to shower and take it easy. Kinda decompress. It’s Friday, we got time.” He exhaled. “Yeah sure, no worries. Want me to make a few things to nibble on?” “Nibble on you, hottie.” “Love you, Tom.” He couldn’t say “love” back, so he settled for “Me too.” “OK, see ya ‘bout an hour.” “Later, baby.” When he finally walked through her front door, he felt much better. Clean and relaxed, alert from the shower. Simone ‘Sim’ Levin was a handful. Five foot four, long brown hair and blue eyes. Born of a Jewish father and Mexican mother, no one knew where the blue eyes came from. With enough curves she constantly had to watch her weight, Sim appealed to her girlfriends with self-deprecating humor and an eager-to-please attitude. To men, she lacked common sense, standing at a cashier with a long line backing up behind her, joshing and chatting, a last-minute “Just a quick question,” and a brilliant smile. As they dallied over some wraps she’d thrown together, they chatted like the long-time lovers they were. Tom had left Katie for Sim, who had been grateful, up to a point. She wanted Tom to support her, but he made it clear that with the checks he wrote to Katie, he was tapped. “This going over to Rambler’s on Friday night is getting to be a habit,” he said. “Yeah, I know. But firstly, he does have da kine and we have so much fun. You and me, y’know.” She giggled. Rambler was a marijuana dealer. Every Friday night he hosted a small get-together where select customers could mingle, sample his goods and make purchases. Tom and Simone were the kind of bland, employed, friendly smokers he calculated were safe. They had an open invitation. Two hours after they arrived, kicking back in front of a massive HD screen with a glass of wine, Tom, Simone and four other couples were ignoring a movie and chatting. He pasted a vacant grin on his face, thinking about his plan. Everyone in the room laughed at something, but his mental wheels were spinning. When Bee Simpson had called Thursday and Dani texted him that afternoon, he considered it to be an omen. All that cash. It was time to make a move. When he turned his attention to the party, he noticed Sim was acting goofy. Time to ease out of there and get her while she was ripped. She loved screwing while high. On the way home, she said, “I wish I could stop working, you know?” It seemed like the hundredth time she’d said it in the last year. “Sorry baby, I wish I could…” “No, no, Tom, it’s not about you. I was just thinking about Rambler’s setup. Must be nice.” “Yeah,” he said. And he thought, “I’ve been working my ass off for nothing. Now I’ve got a chance.” Continued…
Posted on: Sun, 21 Jul 2013 11:26:08 +0000
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