Sandman Slim with Bonus Content Read Free

I was nineteen when I went Downtown. I’m practically an old man now.
    “You have any coffee back there?”
    He nods. “That’s how you missed Christmas. A lost weekend. I’ve had a few of those.”
    The coffee is beautiful. Hot. A little bitter, like it’s been brewing for a while. I pour the last of the Jack Daniel’s into it and drink. My first perfect moment in eleven years.
    “You from around here?”
    “I was born here, but I’ve been away.”
    “Business or pleasure?”
    “Incarceration.”
    He smiles again. A normal one this time. “In my reckless youth, I did six months for boosting cars. What were you inside for?”
    “I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. Mostly wrong place, wrong time.”
    “That’ll put a smile on your face.” He refills my coffee cup and pours me another shot of JD. This bartender might be the finest human being I’ve ever met.
    “So, why’d you come back?”
    “I’m going to kill some people,” I tell him. I pour the Jack into the coffee. “Probably a lot of people.”
    The bartender picks up a rag and starts wiping glasses. “Guess someone’s got to.”
    “Thanks for understanding.”
    “I figure that at any given time, there’s probably three to five percent of the population that are such unrepentant rat-fuck pendejos that they deserve whatever they get.”
    He’s still wiping the same glass. It looks pretty clean to me. “Besides, I get the feeling you might have your reasons.”
    “That I do, Carlos.”
    He stops wiping. “How did you know my name was Carlos?”
    “You must’ve said it.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    I look over his shoulder, at the wall behind the bar. “That trophy on top of the cash register. ‘Carlos, World’s Greatest Boss.’ ”
    “You can read that from here?”
    “Apparently.” The thing with his name popping into my head? That was weird. Time to go. “What do I owe you?”
    “On the house.”
    “You this nice to every aspiring assassin who wanders in here?”
    “Only the ones who look like they just crawled out of a burning building and didn’t even get their jacket dirty. And I like repeat business. Maybe now you’ll come back sometime.”
    “You want someone who, like you said, just fell out of the devil’s asshole as a regular?”
    “I’d love it.” He looks away, like he’s trying to think of the next thing to say. “There are these guys. White boys. All tattooed, like Aryan Nation or some shit. They’re coming around, wanting money for protection. A lot more money than I can afford with a little bar like this.”
    “And you think I can do something about them.”
    “You look like someone who might know what to do in a situation like this. Who wouldn’t be . . .” That look again, groping for words. “You know . . . afraid.”
    I could tell it was really hard for him to say that. Is this why the Veritas sent me here? I’m back a couple of hours and already I’m into karmic payback? And with the carnage I have planned, but haven’t even started? No, that didn’t make any sense.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help you.”
    “How about this? Free drinks. Free food at night, too. Good burgers, ribs, tamales. You eat and drink free until the end of time.”
    “That’s a really nice offer, but I don’t think I can help you.”
    He looks away and starts wiping glasses again. “If you change your mind, they come on Thursdays, in the afternoon, when we’re getting deliveries.”
    I get up and head for the door. When I’m halfway there he says, “Hey,” and slides something down the bar at me. It’s a pack of American Spirit browns, the nonfiltered kind. There’s a pack of matches tucked under the cellophane wrap.
    “Take them,” he says. “I can’t smoke in here, either.”
    Slipping on Brad Pitt’s shades, I ask, “You have anymore of these back there?”
    “No.”
    “You’re a hell of a first date, Carlos.” Damn. When someone gives you his last cigarette, you owe