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Where the Blood Mixes. Kevin LoringЧитать онлайн книгу.

Where the Blood Mixes - Kevin Loring


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his name … he’s dead now … anyways, you got licked, remember?

      FLOYD

      No.

      MOOCH

      C’mon, you remember.

      FLOYD

      I’m supposed remember some time I got licked by some dead guy while I was drunk, sometime in the long-ago past. What the hell kind of a question is that?

      MOOCH

      You know! That time we were on a bender and you passed out on the table there, all bloodied up.

       GEORGE brings the pitcher over.

      GEORGE

      Oh, well that narrows it down.

      MOOCH

      Remember?

      FLOYD

      No.

      MOOCH

      Well I guess not. You were passed out on the bar.

      FLOYD

      Jeez-us Mooch, what’s your point?

      MOOCH

      Who took care of you? Who?

      FLOYD

      Ah Christ, here we go.

      MOOCH

      I did. You know why? Because we’re partners! I drug you outside so George could clean up the mess you made. In-it, George?! I even put you in a safe place so no one would roll you.

      FLOYD

      Where?

      MOOCH

      Anything for my buddies …

      FLOYD

      Where did you put me?

      MOOCH

      I was looking out for you.

      FLOYD

      Oh, you were looking out for me?

      MOOCH

      Uh-huh.

      FLOYD

      While you were looking out for me, where did you put me?

      MOOCH

      Out back, between them garbage bins out back there.

      FLOYD

      You put me in between some fucking garbage bins?

      MOOCH

      Yeah, they’re covered over so you wouldn’t get wet if it rained.

      FLOYD

      Asshole. Gimme that jug—you don’t get nothing!

      MOOCH

      What did I do?

      GEORGE

      Just settle down.

      MOOCH

      What did I do?

      GEORGE

      Don’t provoke him, Mooch. He looks like he’s having a bad day.

      FLOYD

      Why don’t you two mind your own goddamn business for once! A guy can’t even have a drink without everybody climbing up his ass.

      GEORGE

      Alright, alright.

      FLOYD

      I’m sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of you … you … bumming off me. For once, just once, I’d like you to buy me a beer, without me even having to ask.

      MOOCH

      What for?

      FLOYD

      Just because.

      MOOCH

      I’m chipping in—

      FLOYD

      Sure, you’re chipping in with June’s money. And when I order another one you’ll say, “Oh, I’ll get the next one.” Maybe. That woman works hard to look after you and all you do is steal from her. No wonder she’s always lumping you out.

      MOOCH

      That’s none of your goddamn business.

      FLOYD

      Oh, is that right, eh. None of my goddamn business … See? You don’t like it, do you. Don’t like it when someone looks at you, sees your shit and tells you it stinks. Do you?

      MOOCH

      I’s just being friendly.

      FLOYD

      Friendly?! You’re not my goddamn friend, you’re my goddamn Mooch!

      MOOCH

      Yeah, I’m your Mooch! We’re partners.

      FLOYD

      Well then, partner, how about you buy ME a beer.

       Pause.

      MOOCH

      I’ll chip in for the next one.

      FLOYD

      (howls) Hah! That’s what I thought.

       FLOYD goes back to his drink while MOOCH sits and sulks. Trying to change the subject, GEORGE indicates a newspaper article he’s been reading.

      GEORGE

      Hey, did you hear this thing about people getting compensated?

       Pause.

      MOOCH

      Prune juice works good.

      GEORGE

      No. People are getting compensated. I guess the government and the church are finally going to compensate people for what happened at those Residential Schools.

      FLOYD

      Yeah, yeah … it depends on how bad it was, eh. Most people are getting about fifteen grand. If it was real bad, you get lots more.

      MOOCH

      Goddamn Shum’mas.

      GEORGE

      Hey, I’m a Shum’ma.

      MOOCH

      So?

      GEORGE

      I never did nothing to you. Don’t blame me for what happened.

      MOOCH

      Are you the church?

      GEORGE

      No.

      MOOCH

      Are you the government?

      GEORGE

      No.

      MOOCH

      Then shut up. I don’t blame you. You’re a good Shum’ma.

      FLOYD

      You know why I blame the Shum’mas? Because the Shum’mas run everything! The Indians, the fishing, the country, the whole world! And every year the whole world gets worse.

      GEORGE

      Oh, piss off. Don’t blame me.

      FLOYD

      The whole world goes to shit and the Shum’ma says, “Don’t blame me!”

      GEORGE

      Hey, I’m in the same hole as you. I just pour the beers.

      FLOYD

      Uh-huh. You might pour our beers, and this jackass might take you hunting, but you’re


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