Vishous looked up from his bank of computers. Butch O’Neal was standing in the Pit’s living room with a pair of leathers on his thighs and a whole lot of you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me on his puss. “They don’t fit you?” V asked his roommate. “Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People.” Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. “I mean, come on.” “They’re for fighting, not fashion.” “So are kilts, but you don’t see me rocking the tartan.” “And thank God for that. You’re too bowlegged to pull that shit off.” Butch assumed a bored expression. “You can bite me.” p. 10 As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or sixth? He wasn’t sure. “Man, good thing we ain’t fighting tonight,” Butch said. “You’re drinking that shit like water.” “I’m thirsty.” “Guess so.” The cop stretched in the booth. “How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?”
What do You think about The Black Dagger Brotherhood?
