Kyle Slocum & Marshall Hyde

“Did you get the money!”
    “Yeah, I got it.”
    “No, shut up.  Shut up, Luscious.  You’re not listening to me.  Did you get the money?”
    “Yeah, I got the money.”
    Chuck slapped Luscious so hard his dark flowing locks covered his face.
    “Hey, man..”  Luscious moped, rubbing his cheek.
    “No.  Shh.  Just shush.”
    “You hit me.”
    “Shut up, Luscious.  Just shut your hairy face for one second.”  Chuck massaged his chin.  “So you got the money.”
    “Jesus, I got the money!”
    Chuck slapped Luscious across the face again.  He grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him close.
    “But the vig!  What about the vig, Luscious?  Did you even think about the vig?”
    “Oh sh -- ”
    “Of course you didn’t!”  Chuck let him loose, turned, and slammed his hands down on the poker pinball machine when a little ditty started to play and lights turned on circling around the word JACKPOT.  “I knew I couldn’t trust you.  I knew you’d just go and screw this up for me.”
    “You didn’t tell me about any vig.”
    Chuck spun around, poking Luscious in the chest and knocking him back.
    “I didn’t think I needed to, Luscious!  It’s pretty common sense you need to account for the friggin’ vig!  Everybody knows that.  And now we’ve got to make amends.  Now I’ve gotta go the extra mile, which is something I didn’t want to have to do, but, because of you and your stupidity, now I have to.  All because you don’t have any common sense.  So...”  Chuck reached around Luscious and grabbed a pair of scissors off the table, “Now this is happening.  Give me your hair.”
    “What?  No!”
    “Give me your hair, Luscious.”
    “Wh-Why?”
    “I’m going to sell it.”
    “Nobody’s going to buy my hair.”
    “Luscious, you’re hair is amazing.  It’s practically glowing.  It’s like the mane of stallion if the stallion was birthed by a unicorn.  And I know about hair.  I never told you this, but I used to be a hair merchant.  Hair hawkers they called us.  And, Luscious, I was good.  Real good.  With me and your hair, I can get us what we need.  Probably a little extra.”
    Luscious took a step back.  “You’re not cutting off my hair!”
    “Well, then Petey Pablo will.  Along with the rest of your body.”
    “Petey Pablo?  Isn’t he a rapper?”
    “Not anymore, Luscious, now he’s a bookie and he’s the worst of all the bookies.  Of all the bookies that’s ever existed, he’s the worst.  He takes the cake.  And you better believe he knows what a friggin’ vig is, Luscious.  So, not to oversimplify it, but, you know, I think cutting your hair is, like, the least you could do for putting us in this situation.  Besides, it’s not like your modeling career is ever going to take off.”
    “Well if you’re so good at this thing then how come you left it all to me, huh?  You’re so knowledgable about all this stuff, how come you left me, a rookie, to take care of all this?  I think you need to take some of the blame for this too, Chuck.  Not be such a goon.”
    “I left it to you, Luscious, because you were the one that wanted to make a little money, pay off your debt from this poophouse.”
    “It’s not a poophouse!”
    “Look at this place!  The floors a mess.  The walls are dated.  I mean, you’ve got dishrags hanging over your damn windows.  Hell, you’ve only got one table.  One table, Luscious!  How the hell did you ever think you’d make any money with only one friggin’ table!  Maybe stop worrying about your hair and start thinking about how terrible you are as a business owner.”
    “You know what, fine!  Cut my hair.  Sell it or whatever it is you gotta do with it.  I don’t care!  Let’s just pay him off and get this over with so I don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
    “Sounds good to me,” Chuck said, pulling Luscious’ hair back and hacking it off in the most ridiculous manner, one couldn’t even fathom to describe through prose, all while whistling.  “All right.”
    Luscious grabbed the hair out of Chuck’s hand and darted through the door.  “Let’s get this over with.”

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illustration by Marshall Hyde