The Big Fix

JAKE

Jake awoke when Arno shook him. It was always hard for Jake to leave sleep. Now, he sat up and thought how old Arno looked, the bloodshot eyes and nose, wrinkles in the doughy face. Then he glanced at his wrist watch, snapped, “What's the matter with you, it's only seven o'clock?”

“Get Tommy on the road. Run the hell out of him. I had him good and crocked last night. He'll want to sleep but talk him into running. He's in bad shape.” Arno yawned. “I'm beat myself. Come on, get going.”

Jake stepped out of bed, shivered with the early morning cold. As he dressed, he watched Arno slip back into the comfort of his bed. On the dresser he saw several pictures of Arno and Tommy drinking in the night spots. “You had a rough night.”

“What?” Arno mumbled, watching him through half-closed eyes.

Jake waved the pictures at him. “You're beat, huh? I bet!”

“Come on, we're on the last lap now,” Arno said, turning his back, but watching Jake in the dressing mirror, “so stop being a dummy. Those photos are a little insurance, in case anything goes wrong, just in case, they're proof of what great pals Tommy and I were. Get going!”