Boystown 7: Bloodlines (21 page)

“You want me to say ‘fuck you’ to the most powerful gossip columnist in Chicago.” His eyes glinted for a moment. “Sure, why not? For you, anything.”
 

He handed the camera to Bobby who was already in a snit. “Hello!” Bobby said since he’d barely been acknowledged.

“Hello. I love you. Shut up and take the picture,” Phil said in rapid fire. Bobby frowned but complied while the two Sugars posed. After the flash went off, Sugar Pills turned to Sugar Pilson and said, “Now, make me a happy woman and tell me you know the lyrics to ‘Sisters’ from
White Christmas
.”

“I wouldn’t say I
know
the lyrics. But I have seen the movie three or four times.”

“Oh my God, we have to. There’s another show in an hour. You have to do that number with me. We’ll lip sync it, don’t worry.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Of course you could.”

“She said she didn’t want to,” Franklin said.

“A lady just wants to be coaxed,” Sugar Pills said. “Oh my God, we should put together an act and go on the road. Pills and Pilson.”
 

“Pilson and Pills,” volleyed the real Sugar.

The negotiations continued. Someone tapped me on the shoulder I turned around and looked at a guy I hadn’t noticed before. He was kind of cute.

“I’m Mickey Troccoli. You’re looking for me?”

Chapter Eighteen

Mickey Troccoli was not what I was expecting. He was about five foot eight, with a thick chest and a narrow waist, dark brown hair, absolutely straight and parted in the middle, while his eyes were the color of rich, fertile soil and rimmed by thick eyelashes. A mustache gave him a ’70s clone look, one that most guys were now trying to avoid, but Mickey was embracing it in a way that almost made it cool. He wore a very tight black T-shirt, Levi’s, a jean jacket and motorcycle boots.

“Yes, I am looking for you,” I said, leading him away from our group. I had no idea how this was going to go down.

“Why the fuck are you looking for me? I don’t know you.”

“I’m working for Jimmy English,” I told him. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Who are you?”

“Nick Nowak.”

“I work for Jimmy but I never heard of you.”

“I’m a private investigator. I work with Jimmy’s attorneys.”

He chewed that over. I doubted he even knew the names of Jimmy’s attorneys. I decided to start asking my questions. “There’s a task force trying to take Jimmy down. Have you heard anything about that?”

“Of course I have. Who hasn’t?”

“Have they tried to talk to you?” If they had it wasn’t in the files I was given. But then, unproductive interviews might not be.

“Yeah, they picked me up. Tried to push me around.”

“Push you around how?”

“They kept asking me about this Perelli guy who got murdered. I never heard of him but they kept saying I knew him, that I knew what happened to him, that I was there. That was the best, that I was there.” Alcohol was clogging my brain so I didn’t really know what he meant. Fortunately, he kept talking. “Finally, I said, ‘Tell me about this guy Perelli. Where was he murdered? When was he murdered?’ Come to find out he was murdered in nineteen seventy-two. Fuck them. In nineteen seventy-two I was seventeen years old. I was trying to pass fucking algebra. I mean, what do they think? That I skipped out on my homework to go whack some guy I never heard of?”

“They probably do think that. Catching a high school assassin would make their day.”

“Thing is, I’m nobody, and I want to stay nobody. I work part-time for Jimmy, that’s all. I pick up money at this bar, at that restaurant. Yeah, somebody doesn’t want to pay I make a few threats, mostly that I’m gonna call Jimmy. They still don’t pay; I go ahead and call Jimmy. He sends someone else to take care of it. I don’t know from nothing.”

“So you don’t have any ambitions in the Outfit?”

“Shit. I didn’t even know I was in the Outfit until the Feds told me. I run my uncle’s video store. He’s got three of them. Drive-In Video. We got drive through windows like you’re at the bank. You heard of them?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you will. I’m saving up to open up one of my own.” He gave me a long, simmering look. “You got more questions?”

“No, I think that covers it. Thanks.”

I started to walk back to my friends. Quickly, he said, “I got a question.”

“Okay. What is it?”

He looked from side to side like he was going to tell me a secret. “You wanna fuck?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, quickly. The mental arithmetic was easy. I could fuck this sexy little mobster or I could fuck Bobby Martin who probably wouldn’t even bother to stop talking while I was doing it.

“You’re not too drunk are you?” Mickey asked.

“No. I’m fine.” Okay, I had no idea if I was too drunk. But I wasn’t going to say, “Yeah, never mind.”

We left the bar. I didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t bother to tell Bobby there’d been a change of plans. Out on the street, I asked, “You have a car?”

“Of course, I have a car. What kind of a mook do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”

He frowned at me and led me over to a brand new Camaro. It was white, with two red stripes down the hood, and a T-bar roof. Mickey noticed me looking the car over. “It’s a little loud, but I like it.”

I chuckled. “You should see my car.”

“Yeah? What you got?”

“It’s a Nova. Lime green. Black stripes. Mag Wheels.”

He nodded approvingly. “All right.”

When we got settled in the low-slung bucket seats, Mickey said, “We gotta go to your place.”

“Why? Do you live with your parents?”

“What’s it to you? It saves me a lot of money, okay?”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. Lots of guys live with their parents.” That wasn’t exactly true in my experience, but it seemed like a good thing to say.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” he said, suddenly sullen. His pride was wounded and I liked him better for it.

“I live on Lake Shore Drive just above Belmont.”

“Ritzy,” he said as he did a U-turn on Wells and got us headed north.
 

“I think it’s actually one of the cheapest buildings south of Evanston.”

“Okay, not ritzy.”

“I just moved in.”

The drive was about twenty blocks. I tried to figure out how many miles that might be, but alcohol and math don’t mix. Parking on Lake Shore Drive is crazy tight, so we drove around the block a couple of times.
 

Mickey told me to, “Pray to Parkella”

“Who?”

“Parkella the Goddess of parking.”

“Oh. Sure.” I tried to look like I might be praying which is about as close to praying as I came anymore. “You’re not Catholic?”
 

“Of course I’m Catholic.”

“Then you should be praying to Mother Cabrini.”

“Who’s that? She live in the projects?”

To be honest, I only remembered her because of Cabrini-Green. “No, she’s dead. She’s the saint who finds you parking spaces.”
 

“Not if Parkella finds me one first.” A minute or so later, he said, “Here we go.” And began to parallel park. “It never fails. Parkella always come through.”
 

Quickly, we walked up to my building. It was still a new experience to pull out my keys and open the door from the outer lobby to the inner lobby. I wondered how often I’d be doing it with a virtual stranger in tow, then thought,
If they’re all as sexy as Mickey, hopefully often
. In the elevator, I turned to give him a smile and he pulled me down for a kiss. It was sweet and wet. As soon as we got into the apartment he looked around. “There’s no bed?”

“It was worn out. I’m going to use my sofa bed for a while.”

“Yeah. Where’s the sofa bed?”

“It’s not here yet.”

“No kidding.”

“I just moved in yesterday.”

“So we’re going to fuck on the floor?” He seemed a little offended by the idea.

“Is that a first for you?”

“I’m not a whore.”

That made me laugh.

“What the fuck is funny?”

“Talking to you is like adding two and two and getting five.”

He eyed me for a long time. I’m not so sure he wasn’t doing some math in his head to figure out if two and two did really make five. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” he finally said.

“It’s more an observation.”

“This is the kind of situation where compliments help.”

“Turn around,” I told him.

He did. He was facing the lake so it was natural to say, “Nice view.”

“Drop your pants.”

He looked over his shoulder at me and then undid his belt. His jeans dropped to the floor. Underneath, he wore a pair of red Jockey shorts with a white waistband.
 

“And the underwear, too.”

Bending over, he pulled his underwear down. When he stood back up his T-shirt partly covered his ass.
 

“Lift up your shirt.”

His ass was ample and round, sitting on thick thighs. “That’s what I thought,” I said.
 

“What did you think?”

“That you have a nice ass.”

“I know I have a nice ass.”

“You wanted compliments. That’s a compliment. You have a nice ass. You have a very nice ass.”

“Yeah, what about the rest of me?”

“The rest of you goes well with your ass.”

He broke out laughing. “So it’s like that, huh?”

“Like what?”

“Like, you wanna fuck me.”

“Isn’t that why you came here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought I’d fuck you.”

I stepped over to him and pushed my hips up to his naked ass. And said, “Yeah. Maybe not.” My dick was getting hard and through my jeans I pushed it between the firm cheeks of his ass. I hoped this wasn’t going to be an issue. Then he arched his back and ground into me. I figured I could relax.

I nuzzled his neck, as he reached his arms behind him and undid my belt, then awkwardly unzipped my pants. While he did that, I reached around and grabbed him by the cock. He was hard, straining. It was a nice handful, longer than I’d expected. I liked it. My jeans slipped down my hips and my cock popped out. I’d skipped underwear that day. It was somewhere around, I just hadn’t felt like digging for it. Besides, it was sexy to go without sometimes. Mickey rubbed my prick up and down the crack of his ass while I pumped his. I chewed on his neck and managed to elicit a nice long moan.
 

A few minutes later we were crawling onto the makeshift bed I’d created on the floor. Our clothes had come off while traversing the few feet between the window and my temporary bedroom. Mickey was even better looking without his clothes. His belly was tight and his chest wide. He was muscled but not overly. I thought we might roll around for a bit first, but he got on his stomach and lifted his ass in the air. That was my cue.
 

“I’ll be right back,” I said and went to get the condom and lube out of the bathroom. Mickey kept his ass in the air and his face in the pillow. “Hurry,” he said. I did the best I could, given my unfamiliarity with condoms. I got the package open and rolled it down my cock, then lubed up my swathed dick and his ass. I aimed my cock and pushed into him.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” he moaned. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I pumped him slowly a few times to see if he’d kick me out. When he didn’t, I held him by the hips and began to drive into him hard and fast. I ran my hands down his back to his shoulders and grabbed onto them to leverage myself each time I pounded into him.
 

“I like way your hands feel on me,” he whispered.

I tried to comply by running my hands across his wide back, slipping around and tweaking his nipples. Placing my big hands on his narrow waist.

“That’s it, just like that. Make me happy,” he said. Making him happy seemed like a tall order, but if he meant for the next few minutes I might be able to pull it off.

Aside from the making of dubious choices, drinking has two very common effects on fucking. One is that it can make an erection impossible. Two, is that it can make coming a challenge. Usually you got one or the other. As I was fucking Mickey, I began to realize the second effect was taking hold. Which might have been fine, except I wanted to come. I really wanted to come. I rammed into him as hard as I could. Then I told him to squeeze his ass, tight. I closed my eyes and tried thinking about Joseph, that I was fucking Joseph, that it was Joseph’s ass squeezing my dick. It seemed like forever but it was probably just a minute later that I came. I shivered. Gave Mickey’s ass a few final pumps and than rolled off him to lie on the bedding. I pulled the condom off and dropped it onto the carpet next to the bedding. I’d deal with it later.

Almost immediately, Mickey was up and looking for his clothes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Fucking gives me energy. I could go for a three mile run.”

Sometimes fucking gave me energy, too. But not that much.
 

I stretched out to pull my coat closer so I could get to my cigarettes. When I did, I rolled into a puddle of Mickey’s cum. “Oh, I didn’t know you came.”

“Of course I came. You think I’d have let you stop if I hadn’t?”

“We just met. I don’t know what you’d do.”

“Okay. For future reference, you’re not done unless I come.”

“Got it.”

He noticed the condom on the floor. He bent over and picked it up daintily between two fingers. “What’s this?”

 
“It’s a condom.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You just fucked me with a condom?”

“Yes. I did.”

“What do you think? I’m gonna get pregnant? It don’t work that way.”

“The condom prevents disease. You know, AIDS.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, only fags get AIDS.”

I was momentarily stunned. “And what are you and I?”

“We’re men. You don’t think you’re a fag, do you? Come on. Fags are little flitty things who talk with a lisp and like to play with girl’s hair. I’m not like that. Neither are you.”

I didn’t think my lack of a lisp would save me from AIDS. I didn’t think it would save Mickey either. He was dressed. I was relieved that he’d be leaving soon. He must have misread my look though, because he said, “I’d stay but I don’t sleep on the fucking floor.”