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Original stories by Shmolnick that humorously explore the dark side of humanity.

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Blacktop and Redbone

Redbone was sitting in the corner as usual, gnawing on some unidentified piece of meat when the doorbell rang.

“Unghh,” growled Redbone.

“Heh heh, don’ you worry none, Redbone, ah’ll git that do’,” said Redbone’s fast-talking skinny little roommate, Rufus “Blacktop” McAdam. Blacktop always answered the door; there was no telling what Redbone would do if his snacking was interrupted.

“Gurk,” muttered Redbone, who went back to noisily chewing on his meat.

Blacktop opened the door and there stood those two crazy white men, Bubble and Shmolnick. Two crazy white men with money, he corrected himself.

Grinning broadly, the smooth-talking little drug dealer showed his best customers in. He saw them eye Redbone warily as they stood near the door. “Aw, don’ pay no neva mind to ol’ Redbone. He jes’ habbin’ a snack,” said Blacktop. “Now, what you boys am be wantin’ on dis fahn day?” Blacktop was grinning broadly. White men liked it when their black drug dealers smiled a lot, it seemed to put them at ease.

Shmolnick, the more confident and outspoken of the two, spoke first. “Blacktop, my main man, we need our usual, plus we’re looking for a little something extra this week. We got a double-date tonight!”

“Ooh,” exclaimed Blacktop, “white boys gwine git ova t’NIGHT, yo!” The drug dealer moved about the room, puttering with this, moving that, always moving. Blacktop had a lot of energy.

“Let’s hope so,” muttered the sullen and wary Bubble. He glanced at the noisily slobbering Redbone. Bubble was afraid of Redbone.

He disliked having to come all the way to Blacktop’s place. Shmolnick had to convince him with his usual sales pitch: “Come on man, he always has good stuff, it’s the only game in town, it’s a known quantity” and so on. It was a game the two friends played often.

And so here they were making another purchase for their double-date later on. Two freaky young babes, both turned on by the smell of free coke and money.

Blacktop disappeared into a back room momentarily, chattering away as usual, then returned carrying a faded cigar box with the fancy red logo “El Grande.” The drug dealer plopped down on the torn blue-and-gray checked sofa and gently placed the box on the filthy plain coffee table.

“Now, le’s see what mah homey El Grande gots fo’ mah bes’ customers to-DAY!” he said happily. Shmolnick and Bubble gathered round the table eagerly.

Redbone was oblivious to them all, preferring to gnaw on his precious meat.

Blacktop pulled out a large baggie stuffed with sparkling greenish-brown marijuana buds. “Now den,” he said, placing the baggie on the table, “da usual be da first thang fo’ you high rollin’ gentlemens, three an’ a half as always.”

Bubble looked at Shmolnick, who understood his friend’s worried look as the cue to withdraw a roll of bills from the pocket of his tanned pants. “Three and half as always,” said Shmolnick, handing the roll to Blacktop.

“Yeah, always do like doin’ bidniz wif mah white bros,” Blacktop said as he deftly picked up the roll of bills and counted them before stuffing them in the pocket of his shiny print silk shirt. “An’ you just gots to hab some of Blacktop’s special FAHN blow,” he said proudly, pulling a tiny envelope out of El Grande. “Dis shit be da FLAVA yo, it be some FAHN blow fo’ Blacktop’s bes’ customers.”

Bubble reached out tentatively toward the envelope. “Mind if we try some, man?”
Blacktop quickly snatched the envelope to his body away from the white man’s reach. “Eh eh eh, you wants to play, den foist y’all gots to PAY, yo,” he said with a mock frown.

Redbone looked up and grunted.

Blacktop muttered something unintelligible to his hulking associate in hip hop slang, to which Redbone replied with a glare.

Shmolnick sighed. “Come on Blacktop, just a taste, so we know what we’re getting.”

“Yeah man, just a taste,” agreed Bubble.

The remains of Redbone’s meat snack came flying across the room, narrowly missing Bubble’s head.

“What the fuck – “ exclaimed the startled Bubble.

Blacktop immediately sprang up from the sofa swiping bits of meat and gristle off his shirt. “Yo Re’bone, what yo’ dumbass be doin’ frowin’ dat piece of meat ‘round like a basketball? I be doin’ BIDniz here foo’.”

Redbone rose to his full rumpled six-foot eight-inches and growled. Meat-colored spittle formed a crooked line from the man’s wide mouth to his stubbled chin. His denim coveralls were smeared with the stains of past meals.

Shmolnick and Bubble exchanged worried looks. “Hey Blacktop man, let’s finish this deal up,” said Shmolnick, trying to hurry things along before the unpredictable Redbone could cause trouble.

Blacktop smiled at his customers and tried to put them at ease. “Naw, don’t y’all fret on ol’ Redbone, he jes’ fuckn’ wif y’all,” he said. He looked over at Redbone and grinned. “Ain’t yo’ jes’ fuckin’ wif dese ol’ white boys Redbone?” The talkative dealer sat back down on the sofa to complete his business.

“Ah’m still hungry,” growled Redbone in a deep menacing voice.

Bubble hurriedly pulled a roll of hundred-dollar bills from his pants pocket. In his worried state, however, he fumbled with the money and several bills fluttered to the floor. Blacktop pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t help but see that the white men were loaded with cash.

“Yo Redbone,” he called, “you still be hungry?”

“Still hungry,” growled the big black man.

“We gots some mo’ meat ‘round dis dump somewhere’s, yo,” said Blacktop.

“We’re kind of in a hurry Blacktop, can we get wrap this up?” asked Shmolnick. Bubble had moved to the other side of his friend, closer to the door, one eye on the slowly moving Redbone.

Blacktop smiled his broadest friendliest black man smile. “Don’ y’all worry none, Blacktop be takin’ GOOD care of y’all wif did shit, yo,” he said, re-opening El Grande.

Redbone’s narrow black eyes caught sight of Shmolnick, and the black man’s cavernous nostrils flared. “Jew meat,” he thought.

Bubble’s shaking hand went for the doorknob as he nervously watched the giant Redbone eyeball his friend. “Dude, let’s get outta here,” he said quietly to Shmolnick.

“Hey man, we gotta do the deal first,” answered his friend.

Suddenly, Redbone lurched across the room and wrapped his giant paw around Bubble’s reddening neck. Blacktop leaped off the couch and quickly pulled the tattered browned mini-blinds and locked the deadbolt on the front door.

“Hey man, what’s going on-“ Shmolnick started to say, but Redbone’s other huge hand had grasped the back of the surprised white man’s head and slammed it into his friend’s head with an ugly SPLAT.

“Unngghh,” said the two white men in unison, the only sound their cracked skulls would allow them to utter.

Blacktop peered out through the mini-blinds and said, “Take dese suckas in da back, Redbone. Make sho’ you be leavin’ da cash f’ol Blacktop.”

Redbone dragged the two nearly unconscious white men back across the room, one big hand on each of their heads, blood flowing copiously from their injured scalps over each giant hand onto the floor.

“Yo man, watch da muthafuckin’ stains on de’ floor!” yelled Blacktop. He hated cleaning up after his lumbering friend.

Redbone reached the small back room, which at one time had served as a pantry but was now empty save a single creaky folding chair. The big man dropped the Shmolnick and Bubble onto the floor and took his seat on the chair. He cracked his knuckles, the noise filling his ears with wonderful music.

As Redbone busied himself in the back room and filled the drab apartment with crunching and snapping noises, rolls of money would occasionally come flying out into the living room. Blacktop dutifully picked up the money as it appeared, counted it, and replaced it in El Grande. Then the smiling drug dealer went to the closet and pulled out a horrid-smelling bucket and a mop.

Cursing, he swabbed the wooden floor until it was spotless, then threw a box of heavy-duty garbage bags into the back room. “Clean up after yo’sef dis tahm, yo,” he called.

“Grunt,” replied Redbone.

Redbone was sitting in the corner as usual, gnawing on some unidentified piece of meat when the police showed up to inquire about the car that had been parked out front for two days and its missing occupants.

The two officers suspected Blacktop and his monstrous roommate knew something, but they had no proof. Forensics could find only Shmolnick and Bubble’s fingerprints in the car.

“Well officers,” said Blacktop, smiling as usual, “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout dat ol’ car out dere. It jes’ show up couple-three days ago. Surprise it didn’t git all stripped an’ shit by now.”

“Unghh,” growled Redbone.

The officers sighed and looked at each other. They questioned Blacktop for a few more minutes, hoping to at least turn up some drugs or illegal weapons to make their trip to this hell-hole worthwhile, but the place was clean.

“Likes ah sez, officers, ah neva’ seen no two white boys ‘round here. Ah’z been busy studyin’ fo’ mah high school equivokency exam so’sn ah can git me a good job.” Blacktop chattered away happily.

The police officers finally turned to leave. “You better watch yourself, Blacktop,” they warned, then left.

Blacktop grinned and slid down onto the sofa. He pulled a large wad of bills out of his pants pocket and began counting it. “Yeah, heh-heh, dey be mah BES’ customers, yo.”


© 2006 Michael S. Cohen

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The material in this section is intended for adults only, and even then, not for the faint-hearted. You can expect extreme weirdness, excessive sex, violence, and a host of horrors, albeit presented for humorous effect.

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