The Shaft Read Online Free PDF

Goddamnit!' One more slap, more a cuffing, an admonishment. 'Why for fuck's sake did you tell Chiqui to jump when you knew she was stupid enough to do it?'
        'Didn't tell her.' Cruz's slur betrayed his brain's impaired ability to track. 'Dared her.'
        'Wonderful. I'm sure Emilio will appreciate that.' He backed off and rubbed his face, winding up with his hands in a prayerlike attitude as he doped out a plan. Cruz could see Rosie prioritizing.
        Any second now would come the sound of sirens.
        ' Olcay . Five minutes for them to come unglued about the meat pie all over the terrace. Ten minutes for them to guess which balcony, unless somebody up here has already bitched about the party noise.' He assumed yes. He rummaged inside his Verri Uomo double breasted jacket - two large, retail, easy - and emptied his leather billfold. Into Cruz's trouser pocket he wedged a fat wad of Franklin notes, bent double. Then he fished up a cloth-covered ampule, holding it beneath Cruz's nose and crushing it with thumb and forefinger.
        'Oh… fuck!' Cruz convulsed sharply and held his nose as if his sinuses had just snapped aflame. His skull was on the verge of explosive decompression.
        Rosie stepped back. Vomit on his Guccis would be too uncool.
        While Cruz fell to his knees to hock and gag, Rosie continued. 'Cops will turn over the whole building. It's not them you have to fret. It's Emilio. Know what will happen if Emilio rolls in and you're still here?'
        Bap on the side of the head. Cruz looked up. He was hurting but his senses were home. He nodded, sickly, his black brush cut bobbing. Lucidity had met him like a hit and run wreck. 'One of those dial-tone dickheads in the next room will tell Emilio I told Chiqui - dared Chiqui to jump. And then I'll go off the balcony.'
        'And, my boy, if you are stupid enough to still be here when Emilio shows, I will fucking help him toss you. You know how things are. How they have to be.'
        Cruz knew, and nodded. Affirmative.
        When he found his Numero Uno squiff spread all over the deck on Cruz's dare, Emilio would be torqued. He hated interruptions in his sex life. Cruz could envision Emilio storming in. Catching him with a warm tit in one hand and a cold Chivas in the other, sucking up the complimentary blow and watching Star Wars. Playing nonchalant. Yeah, Emilio would have his bones broken in alphabetical order for appetizers. The party would crank. Cruz would bounce out the window and join Chiquita the way peanut butter joins jelly when you squish the bread together.
        'You've gotta tear ass outta here, pronto.' Rosie was not making a funny. 'Wipe off your face. Hail a cab downstairs. Get the fuck to Miami International. Call me.' He fast-drew one of his cards. Cruz knew it read Ross M. Westervelt - Business Investments Counselor. He scribbled a number on the obverse. Cruz felt absurdly honored. At last he was privy to one of Rosie's top-secret emergency numbers.
        Rosie spot-checked his Rolex Presidential. 'Call at exactly five o'clock. You're catching a plane.'
        Time seemed to be accelerating now, and Cruz had no mouth for this new taste. 'Rosie - listen to me, man. She was on the rail before I could get ahold of her… and… I didn't mean she should jump, seriously, but she was on god knows how many mikes of that shit Telstar brought in from -'
        'Cruz.'
        '- that shit was not stepped on, Rosie… and she was way over her ceiling for chemical input, if you know what I mean, and -'
        'Cruz.'
        'I wasn't fucking serious, Rosie!'
        Rosie hit him again, not so hard. Cruz copied and understood.
        'Cruz. We have no time for this. And I don't have time for a speech. I like you. You're a primo runner and I don't want to see you become hotpatch for the Don Schula Expressway. I know a fellow in Chi. You can hole up there.'
        Rosie was the only person Cruz