"Hey, Jack, you gotta light?" I heard next to me. My partner, Dexter Thomas had this weird thing with his voice. Sounded like he was from New York or something. I didn't want to make it worse on his throat by giving him my lighter either, but... the guy helped me out now and then. Gave me and the kids some extra cash when he could afford it. I owed him a lot, even if he did get kinda annoying now and then. Especially with his constant "Fuck dis JAHB" talk.
"Yeah, gimme a sec," I told 'im. I reached into the right breast pocket of my uniform and pulled out my lighter. I loved that lighter. I could say it was because it was the last thing my Dad ever gave me or some bullshit like that, but I'd be lying. It was just the only Lighter I'd ever had. My lucky charm, too. The thing actually saved my life once. Don't know how the hell it managed to do it, but somehow, by the grace of God, the thing set some douchebag with a Glock on fire a few years ago. Poor guy must've had some oil on 'im or something, 'cause boy did he ever light up!
"Here," I handed him the black and white Zippo. "Just don't lose it, alright? Thing saved my-"
"Saved ya ass, I know Jack, ya told me tha fuckin' story a hundred times!"
"It's a good fuckin' story, you lousy son of a bitch! And you know it!"
We shared a laugh together before Dex flicked the flame on. What, you want me to give you a technical rundown of how the sparks lit the gas? Fuck that, I ain't no engineer. I didn't build the damn thing! No matter, 'cause he put the fire up to the end of his cigar and drew a few breathes to get it going. I don't know why, but I've always liked the smell of cigar smoke. Me? I prefer cigarettes, but the smell of cigars are beautiful, y'know? Kinda like that smell you get when a match burns only with some extra kick! Some oomph that you don't get anywhere else!
Dex nodded his thanks, flicking his wrist and closing the lid. I heard the small little noise that flames make when they die out, and knew that it didn't have to check twice to make sure it'd gone out. Not many people can hear the sound of the flame blowing out, but I can. Only on my lighter, though. Kinda weird, but me and that lighter've been through hell and back together. I know every little detail like the back of my hand. The small spade emblem in the center, engraved, felt perfect on my thumb while I put the lighter back in it's proper spot behind my carton of menthols. With Dex smoking his cigar - I swear those babies were Cuban - I didn't dare ruin the smell with my menthols.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment