Hey, Jude!
Whassup, Jude?
Simon figures I’m flush but I’m singin dumb'. I got it,
thirty big ones hidden about my person; he don't need to know that.
'So', he says, 'Jaycee’s dead. You nailed him good.'
'He had it comin.'
'So, whassup, Jude?'
‘Nothin''.
'C'mon Jude, ya needed us to finger him for the hit.
Ya owe us, man.'
I figure, splits equals less for me; I'm sittin'
pretty with the dough hid in my pants. Ok, they was all in on it, but I takes
the rap, potentially. This hit has my dabs all over it; I gotta be compensated.
'Rocky' Pete's actin' tough, but rumour says he's
gonna set up his own show; he's already talking to the Italians. Screw Pete.
Screw hairy John and his three hippy mates, ditto. I
hear they got a book deal; they don't need a split of my freakin' dosh. I ain't
got their education, just my wits.
Andy's actin friendly. 'Cmon, Jude, we had a deal,
man. Pay up!'
'No joy’, I says. 'He didn't come across.'
Big Phil's getting angry.
'You tryin' to cut us out, hah?.'
'No way,' I says. 'When I gets it, you'll get it. But not
a straight split. I takes the rap if this goes bad; nobody can pin nothin' on
you guys.'
Pete puts a hand on Phil's arm.
'I got no problem with him getting extra. But he ain't
cutting us out.'
I figures there's no future for me around here no
more. I gets up from the table.
'Excuse me, I’m goin’ to the bathroom.'
I'm out the side door and down the street real quick, runnin'
like a centurion. I ain't goin' back, never.
With this much dough I can get away, get lost, start
my own business or somethin', or my name ain't Judas Iscariot.
