Before I knew it, I had slammed into the chest of the one with the red polo shirt, sending him stumbling back. I was caught off balance and fell on my ****, my nose full of the smell of the guy's Axe douchebag scented bodywash.
"Hey!" Scarf practically squealed, "that was so not cool, man!(he pronounced it "myan")
"What the **** did you say, maggot?" Terry's tone had completely changed from tired goon to angry football jock (are they actually that much different?). "Are you tryin to mess with my little buddy over there?"
Maggot? Little Buddy? **** me, this was high school again, I thought as I stood back up.
"Look, man," Scarf started, "I don't think you want to do this. Let's just cool off, and go our own ways. Besides, we do like 2 hours of cardio a day. You like, totally have no chance against us."
"Is that right?" No sooner had the words left Terry's mouth that Scarf's face was full of his fist. Damn, this guy was quick! No wonder I didn't even see where those punches came from back in the limo! The guy was defintiely out. Red Polo (I had completely forgotten these guys' names by now) saw his friend on the floor and rushed at us. Terry didn't budge a muscle, waiting for the right moment. As soon as the guy came close enough Terry threw up his foot and connected with the guy's stomach. He let out a big OOOMPH as he fell to the floor, clutching his sides. It was over.
"Hey, you'd better do something too," Terry said, nudging me in the shoulder, "those chicks are watching."
I had completely forgotten why we had gotten in this "fight" in the first place, "Huh? Yeah, alright." I said, picking up the the pool stick. I slammed it down over Red Polo's back, breaking it in half.
We walked back to the bar and sat down at our stools. "You did pretty good back there," Terry said, patting me on the shoulder.
"If you say so," I replied. Then, turning to the bartender, "sorry about the cue."
"No worries, sir," he said in his usual accent, "it was a dashing good show."
"Anyway, what's supposed to happen now?" I said, "I mean with the ladies?"
"Just wait," Terry said smugly, and ordered us another round of beers.
"You really should get to thinking about killing Simmons," Terry said after taking his first sip, "I'm gonna have to do some really bad things to you if you don't."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, taking a sip of my own, "I'll get to it."
"No, you won't," said Terry, "you're too much of a bitch. But, you know what? I like you, so I think I'll help you out." He got a pen and paper from the bartender, wrote something and passed it to me. There was an address written there.
"What's this?" I asked.
"It's help," he said, "the guy that lives there can help you. He's good at this sort of thing."
"He's good at killing cops?"
"Don't be a wise-****," he said.
"Alright, I'll check it out," I said, "does this guy have a name?"
"Yeah," Terry said, "he's called the Gorilla."
"Oh, come on!" I said.
"No, I'm for real," Terry said with a straight face, "when you meet him, make sure to bring a banana. He won't talk to you unless you do. It's kind of like his password."
"Just trust me," Terry said.
I wanted to ask more, but at that point one of the three women in business suits came up and tapped Terry on the shoulder. "Excuse me for interrupting," she said. Terry gave me a quick smile, "but I couldn't help noticing that little tussle you gentlemen had earlier. And, well, it's a bit embarrassing to admit, but I just love a man that can beat some ****."