Tumblin' Dice Read Online Free PDF

red and yellow and purple neon, give me people, shit, give me cars.
    Now he was saying, “We should get more,” and Angie said, what, more Cantopop?, and Frank said, what the fuck is Cantopop?, and Angie said, “Cantonese pop. Chinese.”
    â€œYeah, more Chinese. Get that circus again, they were good, and those two sexy chicks.” He sat on the edge of his desk looking right at Angie. “I hate that fucking shrieking they call singing, but for Asian chicks they’re stacked. You think those tits are real?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Angie said, “because they don’t move at all and the nipples are always hard?”
    â€œYeah, who cares, they’re sexy. And get more tribute bands.”
    â€œMore?”
    Frank got up and walked around. “Sure, they’re cheaper, they don’t have rock star egos, and people like ’em.”
    Angie said, “The Pink Floyd act isn’t all that cheap, and they’ve got some egos,” but she knew Frank didn’t give a shit about that, he wasn’t interested in the Showroom anymore. She’d seen that develop, him getting more involved in the running of the casino, always trying to impress his bosses, and he sure didn’t mean the Indians who owned the land they were on or the government stooges that thought they were in charge. No, he meant Felix Alfano and the Pennsylvania Accommodation and Gaming Company that had the management contract to run the place. Back when Angie first started, Frank was making fun of them, saying, what, did central casting send these guys over — get me two wiseguys and half a dozen thugs, but the more he hung out with them, the more he started to become one of them.
    Or, from what Angie could see, the more he wanted to be one of them.
    Now he was saying, “I know why you’re so pissed, your old pals are coming. The High, they sell out?”
    â€œOn a bill with Cheap Trick.”
    â€œThose dream police,” Frank said, “they live inside your head. C’mon, cheer up, you get a chance to see your old squeeze Ritchie boy.”
    Angie said yeah, thinking, old squeeze, if you had any idea we were fucking like rabbits behind your back all that time, thinking, not that you’d give a shit now, but you never know, the whole gangster image, it’s a lot more possessive than the wild rock’n’roller image. And Frank was all about the image.
    He said, “I can’t believe they’re out on the road again. Shit, they haven’t talked to each other in twenty years.”
    Angie said, “Twenty years,” but she didn’t want to take a trip down memory lane with Frank, couldn’t believe he’d want to, either. She said, “Anyway, after them we’ve got nothing selling tickets. Country all-stars, maybe. That’s it.”
    Frank stopped pacing, nodded, had a serious look like he was really thinking about it, which Angie couldn’t believe, but then he said, “I’ve got an idea,” and she thought, oh shit, no.
    She said, “Yeah?”
    â€œWhy don’t we do a rock all-stars, but with tribute bands?”
    â€œI don’t know, maybe because it would suck?”
    â€œIt’d be like seeing stadium bands in a small club. There must be some decent Stones tribute bands. Hell, remember the Blushing Brides? It’d be great to see the Stones in the Showroom. Intimate.” He was walking again, looking out the window at the trees and the lake. Angie knew anybody else’d say how beautiful it was.
    She said, “Sure, Stones cover band. Why don’t we get that guy who does Jimi Hendrix to open for them? Or the Who? Why not the Beatles?”
    Frank turned around and said, “I know you’re trying to be a smartass, but that’s not a bad idea.”
    â€œOh come on, Frank.”
    â€œNo really, call it something like A Night of Stars, or The Greatest Show That Never Was. Or