Author: MNManmacker

Cue (Stein) Ruckwin

Stein Ruckwin goes by “Cue”. He is a Jagged Right biker.

He was Cue, according to the name-tag on his suit. He was tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. He was squat and barrel-chested, no-neck, though what little neck he had was tattooed — Ben couldn’t quite make out what was there, but he saw flashes of it. He was a square-jawed white man who looked like he dressed like a biker outside of work. Ben also wouldn’t have been surprised at all to see an iron cross tattoo on his chest or back.

From Deadbeats Take It Deep

Graham Tannerly

That was when he saw the willowy muchacho with a shaggy mess of brown hair wandering around the pier. He had sensitive eyes that seemed on the verge of either tears or jubilation. He was clearly an out-of-towner, but he looked too disheveled and sober to be a tourist.
No one stayed sober for long in Key West, so this man must be a recent arrival.

From Max the Beach Bum

Haykh Gregarian

Haykh and his cousins walked in at last. They wore black suits and colorful shirts, no tie, and they had ear pieces in as though they had lots of people to talk to — they only ever hung out with each other. Who were they talking to all the time?
Sports bookies, probably. They gambled a lot.
“Get outta here, Ernie!” Haykh snapped. He had evidently reached the end of his tolerance for a man staring at the beautiful women he stuffed into beautiful clothes and paraded around for men to stare at. “Quit eye-fuckin’ the candy, you fuckin’ loser!” Actually he said yu foikin’ loozer, like he was pretending to be a New Yawker. All he knew of New York came from Woody Allen movies he had only seen comedic impressions of.
Haykh was a cool and calm straightlane upper-crust pinkie-ring of a man, and he wore a designer suit that he musta gone to Miami to buy. His hookish nose wrinkled at sight of Graham.

From Max the Beach Bum

Haykh Gregarian was tall and lean, with a nose like a broken fist. He wasn’t as tall as Poahi, but he was a long slab of a straight-lane white man with gym-toned muscles and a permanent sneer on his idiot face. Poahi disliked him. He had a couple art-filled tats on his bicep, vaguely tribal symbols, a chain-link fence and Armenian writing. He sometimes affected an Armenian accent, even though he was born in Glendale. He was always in a hurry to get to the next place he was going, even though all he did there was pretend he had someplace better to be.

From Poahi the Lackey

The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations

That was the whole point of filling a cantina with beautiful women in skimpy clothes, after all. They were here to tantalize and tease. Ernie was a deadbeat not because he stared but because he did not hide it. The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations.

The other men in the bar snuck leers at the women too. That was the whole point of filling a cantina with beautiful women in skimpy clothes, after all. They were here to tantalize and tease. Ernie was a deadbeat not because he stared but because he did not hide it. The worst thing a man can do to a woman is respond to her provocations.

From Max the Beach Bum

Max Alleyman

Max is a beach bum and a former sailor. He lives in Key West.

Keeping a boat is an act of meditation. There was always something to be sanded, painted, tightened, weatherized or replaced. If you look at it as a tool like a hammer, you’ll be disappointed by the upkeep. If you look at it as a lifestyle to savor, you’ll appreciate it.
And since Max lived on his houseboat, he definitely saw it as a lifestyle. Work sharpens each moment, and a boat is an eternal list of chores. It kept him trim and firm, and it kept his mind both grounded and lofty. It also kept him sunburnt, his knuckles callused and his bank account empty, but nothing’s perfect.

From Max the Beach Bum

The Butcher Shop

The Vanzetti butcher shop was on Costenoga Boulevard in downtown Seaside Heights, near the ocean but far enough away the crashing waves were only barely audible at night. It was a tiny shop with a big window out front and a display case piled high with sausages, steaks, cutlets and premade beef wellingtons. A heaping jar of Vanzetti family ragu sat in the case as well. Everyone in the neighborhood swore it was the best.

From Rough Trade Italians

Signor Vanzetti

Signor Vanzetti, who was an arousing sort of man. He wore his butcher’s apron unbuttoned, so his curly black chest hair popped out the edges. His broad chest stretched the apron, which was stained with pale red meat juices, and his well-worked biceps were revealing by the sleeveless shirt he wore under the apron.

From Rough Trade Italians

Pizza King

The kitchen was a mess. A stack of pizza boxes had fallen over. A pile of banana peppers lay sprawled out across the floor. A mop bucket sat forlorn and filthy near the walk-in. A big bowl of spaghetii grew more and more crusty by the moment, resting on the shelf by the cooking station. A pan lay coated in extra-burnt charcoal near the stove — somebody had burnt something real bad.

From Rough Trade Italians

The Hunting Cabin

Anyway, they made it to the hideout spot, which was some old hunting cabin in the woods. All it got was a outhouse to shit in and some buckets to bathe in. Rico turned his frown on like a spotlight about that.
“Where is this cabin, the nineteenth century? Shit, nigga!” Rico stamped his foot, furrowing his handsome forehead at the buckets like they might turn into a shower somehow. He phoned out to see if he got a app that could build, deliver and install plumbing before his next poop.
But there ain’t no such app. Not everything’s a phone yet! Plumbers still out there making bank, y’all!
Rico’s phone ran outta bars, so he couldn’t even use it. He tried to charge it with his frowns, but that ain’t fix it. Then he hand-delivered a frown to the dust, the cracked windows, the spiderwebs, the buckets, the front door, the back door and the fireplace. He delivered his best frowns to Thumper though.

From The Ex-Con, the Prettyboy Thug and Gang Loyalty