Curtains by Scott Nicholson

agreement, and
you’re obliged to follow it, to the letter.”
    “I’m good for
it.”
    Hutson borrowed
another five hundred and asked for the cards to be shown.
    Little Louie
had four sevens. That beat a full house.
    Hutson threw up
on the table.
    “I take it I
won,” grinned Little Louie, his cheeks brightening like a maniacal
elf.
    Hutson wiped
his mouth and stared off to the left of the room, avoiding Little
Louie’s gaze.
    “I’ll get the
money,” Hutson mumbled, knowing full well that he couldn’t.
    “Go ahead and
make your call.” Little Louie stood up, stretched. “Rocko, bring
this man a phone.”
    Rocko lifted
his snoring head in a moment of confusion. “What boss?”
    “Bring this guy
a phone, so he can get the money he owes me.”
    Rocko heaved
himself out of his chair and went to the kitchen counter, grabbing
Little Louie’s cellular and bringing it to Hutson.
    Hutson looked
over at Little Louie, then at Rocko, then at Little Louie
again.
    “What do you
mean?” he finally asked.
    “What do you
mean?” mimicked Little Louie in a high, whiny voice. Both Rocko and
the other thug broke up at this, giggling like school girls. “You
don’t think I’m going to let you walk out of here, do you?”
    “You
said...”
    “I said you
have an hour to get the money. I didn’t say you could leave to get
it. I’m still following the agreement to the letter. So call
somebody up and get them to bring it here.”
    Hutson felt
sick again.
    “You don’t look
so good.” Little Louie furrowed his brow in mock-concern. “Want an
antacid?”
    The thugs
giggled again.
    “I...I don’t
have anyone I can call,” Hutson stammered.
    “Call your
buddy, Ray. Or maybe your mommy can bring the money.”
    “Mommy.” Rocko
snickered. “You ought to be a comedian, boss. You’d kill ‘em.”
    Little Louie
puffed out his fat little chest and belched.
    “Better get to
it, Mr. Hutson. You only have fifty-five minutes left.”
    Hutson took the
phone in a trembling hand, and called Ray. It rang fifteen times,
twenty, twenty-five.
    Little Louie
walked over, patted Hutson’s shoulder. “I don’t think they’re home.
Maybe you should try someone else.”
    Hutson fought
nausea, wiped the sweat off of his neck, and dialled another
number. His ex-girlfriend, Dolores. They broke up last month.
Badly.
    A man
answered.
    “Can I speak to
Dolores?”
    “Who the hell
is this?”
    “It’s
Hutson.”
    “What the hell
do you want?”
    “Please let me
speak to Dolores, it’s real important.”
    Little Louie
watched, apparently drinking in the scene. Hutson had a feeling the
mobster didn’t care about the money, that he’d rather watch his men
inflict some major pain.
    “Dolores, this
is Hutson.”
    “What do you
want?”
    “I need some
money. I owe a gambling debt and...”
    She hung up on
him before he got any farther.
    Hutson squeezed
his eyes shut. Thirty thousand dollars worth of pain. What would
they start with? His knees? His teeth? Jesus, his eyes?
    Hutson tried
his parents. They picked up on the sixth ring.
    “Mom?” This
brought uncontrollable laughter from the trio. “I need some money,
fast. A gambling debt. They’re going to hurt me.”
    “How much
money?”
    “Thirty grand.
And it need it in forty-five minutes.”
    There was a
lengthy pause.
    “When are you
going to grow up, Bernard?”
    “Mom...”
    “You can’t keep
expecting me and your father to pick up after you all the time.
You’re a grown man Bernard.”
    Hutson mopped
his forehead with his sleeve.
    “Mom, I’ll pay
you back, I swear to God. I’ll never gamble again.”
    An eternity of
silence passed.
    “Maybe you’ll
learn a lesson from this, son. A lesson your father and I obviously
never taught you.”
    “Mom, for God’s
sake! They’re going to hurt me!”
    “I’m sorry. You
got yourself into this, you’ll have to get yourself out.”
    “Mom!
Please!”
    The phone went
dead.
    “Yeah, parents
can be tough.” Little Louie