Page 46 of Sticky Fingers
Chapter Fifteen
Malcolm
Sonia makesa fucking adorable face as she bites into each piece of sushi. I can’t help laughing each time she tries to make a roll of sushi into two bites.
“I’m pretty sure they don’t make the sushi to be eaten like that. It’s supposed to be one bite—not two.”
The crumbled pieces are still in her hand as she rolls her eyes, still chewing.
I demonstrate with exaggerated movements as I pop a piece into my mouth and chew slowly.
“I know that.” She pauses to swallow the last bit of her first bite. “It’s just that they’re too big! How can I savor them if it’s such a big bite? I can barely chew it, let alone taste it. I have to swallow half of it before I can taste it.”
Fuck me, now that’s a dilemma that I’ve never heard of before.
All day today the only thing I could think about was taking Sonia out to Rue 57 on Central Park South.
With the mild weather this year, I didn’t want to miss it. I might not be capable of appreciating all the fucking nuances in a Picasso, but I sure as fuck enjoy good food and good wine.
I’m not too big on dates—why bother getting to know a chick when I can just fuck her brains out and leave her (see why I said I was kind of an asshole at the beginning of this book?)—but, somehow, it’s different with Sonia.
I want to spend time with her, even if that means Malcolm Push going out on a fucking date.
As she loads the rest of her sushi roll into her mouth, I take a bite of my own after carefully covering it with a bit of wasabi.
I don’t know, but I still haven’t grown tired of her. Usually, after I fuck a girl, I’m through.
I don’t like going through the motions, you know? For me, it’s one and fucking done.
Jesus Christ. I just now realize that talking to you, I sound like some sort of savage animal. Just eating and shitting and fucking whatever I want whenever I want it.
I can’t believe you’ve held on this long. Don’t worry, because there’s hope for me. It’s because of Sonia and her amazing ability to…fuck, I don’t know, but she’s a captivating one.
“So, I still want to understand why you aren’t like the other degenerate mob bosses who sell drugs and guns and kill people. There must be tons of money in it, so why not?”
Sonia’s direct approach to everything is part of what captivates me. She doesn’t beat around the fucking bush or mince words. Just like when she stole that painting in front of me—she doesn’t hesitate.
It makes me fucking hard just thinking about it.
“Sure, there’s tons of money in drugs and guns, but I already had enough of that when I was just a kid.”
Spreading wasabi on the next sushi piece, I set aside my chop stick to finish.
“I lived in the Marcy Avenue Housing Projects in Brooklyn. To say it was a rough neighborhood is an understatement. My old man left my mom when I was born. Money was tight. We never had enough money to pay for both food and rent at the same time.
“I remember always being hungry as each month ended. My mom couldn’t hold down a job and take care of two kids—so she relied on my brother to be the man of the house. He was nine years older than me and by the time he was twelve, he was already selling drugs and carrying a gun.”
Sonia leans over and puts her hand in mine as I continue.
“He began to provide for us at first. I remember having turkey for the first time during Thanksgiving. We couldn’t afford it before. But he was getting more and more wrapped up in the drug game. For days and days, he’d be gone, and then he’d come back with presents. My mom started to worry. They fought a lot about what he was doing with his life.
“He got arrested twice. The second time he did six months in Rikers Island for misdemeanor intent to distribute illicit substances. My mom wanted him to go to college and said she’d get a second and even third job, but Billy couldn’t get out of the game. It was too glamorous for him. Till he pissed off the wrong people.”
Sonia’s eyes begin to water, and I look away.
“Whoever he made enemies of, they got their friends and came into our house on a Saturday morning. I was watching cartoons. Then, there was a banging at the door and Billy told my mother to run and hide,” I say before pausing, forcing myself to keep going.
“There was only a small cupboard space and my mom stuck me in there and told me to keep the door closed. Within minutes, angry men burst in. I peeked through a crack in the cupboard. That’s when I saw that my brother was shot, along with my mother.”
