offered several hearty toasts and hoorahs for more live porpoises and drowned dagos. The old fishermanâs estate went into receivership and a legal battle ensued which tied up his assets.
Meanwhile, the Moroni brothers were getting sick and tired of finding stinking fish in their mailbox. It got so the bank robbers even hated to reach in the box for their welfare checks. And the fact is, they were just plain bored anyway. So they robbed a savings and loan office and cruised south with the migratory gray whales. All the way to Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of the Baja peninsula, in the country of Mexico.
One day Sal and Tony Moroni were lollygagging in the Mexican sunshine, drinking tequila and watching two drunken whores frolic in the surf. They saw a white motor cruiser on the horizon. The chartered cruiser powered ever closer to the beach, anchored some distance back of the surf line and lowered a rubber dinghy into the water. The dinghy had a big outboard engine and the guy in the boat made good time skimming over the swells to the beach.
When he got closer, the brothers saw he was wearing a red knitted cap pulled down almost to his eyes, and a red scarf tied across the lower part of his face. The dumb shit. It was seventy-two degrees on the beach. Then he got even closer. His hands and arms were dark. He was a nigger. A stupid nigger coming from the cool ocean to a warm beach in a red knitted hat and scarf. He looked so goddamn silly the whores joined the Moroni brothers and they all laughed like hell. Then he cut his engine and drifted in through the gentle surf right up to the beach. Dumb nigger probably coming ashore to buy some tequila for his boss on the yacht. He wasnât even looking at the naked whores, but it didnât matter. He looked so silly with his face all wrapped up that they laughed like hell.
And wept when the Moroni brothers, blindfolded and chained together with two sets of handcuffs, were sailing away at gunpoint in the little rubber dinghy.
They were blindfolded all the way, even after leaving the boat. They couldnât identify the boat, the skipper, or the nigger gunman. When they had to eat or use a toilet during the two-day voyage he would take off the handcuffs, but make them do it blindfolded. All they could say about him was that if they yelled or complained heâd put those two big magnums right in their ears and ask them if they saw the movie Jaws.
The police were given an anonymous phone tip and found the fugitives, minus handcuffs, gags, and blindfolds, locked in the trunk of an abandoned junkyard car near the Los Angeles County Jail parking lot.
The A.C.L.U. said that if their story were true their civil liberties had been horribly violated. The Mexican consulate said that if their story were true it was an international act of piracy. The L.A.P.D. bank squad said it was all bullshit, made up by the Moroni brothers who had always been poor sports anyway.
Actually, nobody really believed the outrageous tale. In fact the Moroni brothers got kidded so much in the slammer about the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Crimson Pirate that they stopped telling the story about the big nigger in the red mask. After a while even Sal Moroni stopped believing it really happened, and Tony had to kick the shit out of him to get his head straight.
And a few months later, No-Show Weems bought himself a 53-foot yacht much like the one the Moronis had seen on the horizon that day, and Clarence Cromwell got to use it just as much as he wanted.
Natalie Zimmerman knew part of the story of the motor yacht, but not all of it. Captain Hooker knew all he cared to know.
âNatalie,â Hooker smiled unctuously. âClarence here can tell you what a good policeman Valnikov was, all those years they worked together.â
âI worked robbery, the bank detail,â Clarence said, melodramatically closing his arm on the twin magnums. âVal was a heavyweight homicide dick, âcept maybe
Meanwhile, the Moroni brothers were getting sick and tired of finding stinking fish in their mailbox. It got so the bank robbers even hated to reach in the box for their welfare checks. And the fact is, they were just plain bored anyway. So they robbed a savings and loan office and cruised south with the migratory gray whales. All the way to Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of the Baja peninsula, in the country of Mexico.
One day Sal and Tony Moroni were lollygagging in the Mexican sunshine, drinking tequila and watching two drunken whores frolic in the surf. They saw a white motor cruiser on the horizon. The chartered cruiser powered ever closer to the beach, anchored some distance back of the surf line and lowered a rubber dinghy into the water. The dinghy had a big outboard engine and the guy in the boat made good time skimming over the swells to the beach.
When he got closer, the brothers saw he was wearing a red knitted cap pulled down almost to his eyes, and a red scarf tied across the lower part of his face. The dumb shit. It was seventy-two degrees on the beach. Then he got even closer. His hands and arms were dark. He was a nigger. A stupid nigger coming from the cool ocean to a warm beach in a red knitted hat and scarf. He looked so goddamn silly the whores joined the Moroni brothers and they all laughed like hell. Then he cut his engine and drifted in through the gentle surf right up to the beach. Dumb nigger probably coming ashore to buy some tequila for his boss on the yacht. He wasnât even looking at the naked whores, but it didnât matter. He looked so silly with his face all wrapped up that they laughed like hell.
And wept when the Moroni brothers, blindfolded and chained together with two sets of handcuffs, were sailing away at gunpoint in the little rubber dinghy.
They were blindfolded all the way, even after leaving the boat. They couldnât identify the boat, the skipper, or the nigger gunman. When they had to eat or use a toilet during the two-day voyage he would take off the handcuffs, but make them do it blindfolded. All they could say about him was that if they yelled or complained heâd put those two big magnums right in their ears and ask them if they saw the movie Jaws.
The police were given an anonymous phone tip and found the fugitives, minus handcuffs, gags, and blindfolds, locked in the trunk of an abandoned junkyard car near the Los Angeles County Jail parking lot.
The A.C.L.U. said that if their story were true their civil liberties had been horribly violated. The Mexican consulate said that if their story were true it was an international act of piracy. The L.A.P.D. bank squad said it was all bullshit, made up by the Moroni brothers who had always been poor sports anyway.
Actually, nobody really believed the outrageous tale. In fact the Moroni brothers got kidded so much in the slammer about the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Crimson Pirate that they stopped telling the story about the big nigger in the red mask. After a while even Sal Moroni stopped believing it really happened, and Tony had to kick the shit out of him to get his head straight.
And a few months later, No-Show Weems bought himself a 53-foot yacht much like the one the Moronis had seen on the horizon that day, and Clarence Cromwell got to use it just as much as he wanted.
Natalie Zimmerman knew part of the story of the motor yacht, but not all of it. Captain Hooker knew all he cared to know.
âNatalie,â Hooker smiled unctuously. âClarence here can tell you what a good policeman Valnikov was, all those years they worked together.â
âI worked robbery, the bank detail,â Clarence said, melodramatically closing his arm on the twin magnums. âVal was a heavyweight homicide dick, âcept maybe
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