Oh yes, my last conversation, from a week a go, with Guido. He's a trip, that's for sure. He also offered me his new 4WD Mercedes, "you know, just to keep the battery charged," which I politely declined. (I know, you don't want to owe Guido)
“Ya gonna have to stock up, my man,” said Guido. “Any last requests before I head off into the blue yonder, for parts unknown. Return date pending until fuck knows when.”
“You going away?” I wasn't sure if that was quite the right expression to use with Guido.
“Yeah yeah, Chriso, going away, even a dog gets some time off, you know? And this fucken dog is fucking off.”
“Going any where special?“
“Yeah, yeah. Bahamas... with Junior. Just got to lay on the beach, for a couple of months and stop. Stop! Stop! Stop! FUCKING STOP!” he screamed. “All business and no play and all that... Shame Anna-Nicole won’t be around.“
“Junior?”
“Junior? Haven't you met him?”
I wasn't really sure how I would have met him, however. “No.”
“Oh, just the cutest grammar school boy you've ever laid your eyes on.”
“Grammar School?”
“Parents are flakes, lost every thing in the dot.com crash, or something? Get a real fucken job, that’s what I say. They can't look after their kids now, so I pay the school fees and take a little, um, shall I say, cream off the top for my trouble, if ya get what I mean?” He did an uncanny mimic of Hannibal Lecter’s and a nice Chianti.
“Is that legal?”
“Yes, yes, perfectly. I said high school not prep, you fucker,” he laughed his throaty laugh. “Well, legal in most countries. I guess, I'd have to be careful in Perth and some states in the US.” He laughed again.
“Jesus, Guido!”
“You should see the snatch on him,” he said, in that breathy, fast talking way he has of talking. “All day fucken sucker! I can taste his liver from back there.”
“How old?” I had to ask.
“Old a nuff to fucken bleed that’s how fucken old!”
“So he’s up for it…” I wanted to say with you, but I thought the incredulousness in my voice may have been too evident. I wondered if the kid had been indentured into Guido’s entourage.
“He likes the bling... and I like his thing.” He laughed again. “All of him, actually. Every bit. Genetically gifted, football captain, big feet, legs up to here, big chest, tiny hips, you get the picture.”
“I’m beginning to.”
“I might put him in a few movies, yet.”
I guessed I knew what sort of movies Guido was talking about.
“So what do you want? Speak now…”
“No thanks Guides, I’m cool.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all fucken say. Suit yourself…just don’t turn into Mr fucken Whiny Pants when your out, because there will be no Mr Guido to run to your candy arse beck and fucken call. See ya when I fucken see ya.”
Dial tone.
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