Tony Has My Back

I met Tony Palermo (he writes Tip Tone Presents on this website) (seriously, I wish you people would pay attention) in junior high. We exchanged hellos right after I did a cannonball into the pool and landed on his back. I'd like to say that we have been friends ever since but that is a lie. I still have a scar on my forehead from where he hit me with a plate full of tater tots in the school cafeteria.

It's a guy thing.

It's tough to dive an exact date when we became each other's familiars. The fact is, it's a weird friendship. I'm currently married to his high school sweetheart, and Tony is married to my next wife. That's not strange, is it?

As you all know by now, I have an unhealthy fascination with handguns. I love them all but have a special fondness for 357 Magnums. I don't know if it's the sound of that large caliber going off when you pull the trigger or the big hole it puts into your target, but it's my catnip.

Anyway, when my friend Nick called me and said that he had a Smith & Wesson Model 686-P with a rubber Hogue grip for sale, I just had to go and see this beauty and hopefully take her home with me.

I grabbed my secret roll of hundred dollar bills that every married man hides from his wife and gave Tony a quick call. I wanted him with me because Nick can't always be trusted and Tony can sniff out bullshit better than any man I know. Tony and I soon found ourselves being buzzed in to the shitty apartment building that Nick lives in on Como Avenue in St. Paul.

"Nick let me take a look at her."

"Sure thing, Sean. Do you and your hairy friend want a drink?"

To be honest with you, my mind was not on booze like it normally is. I just wanted to see the gun and add her to my collection. Tony was so nervous that a whole bottle of Wild Turkey wouldn't have calmed his nerves.

Nick handed me the gun and I immediately opened the cylinder to check if it was loaded, and it was!

"What the fuck, Nick? You just handed me a loaded gun you stupid half-breed."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry man."

Fucking Nick.

"Hey, Nick, did you hear that my neighbor Homer's house was broken into last night?"

My bullshit alarm was ringing as Tony leaned in next to me and said.

"He's full of shit, get me the fuck out of here."

I tried to distract Nick, "Yeah, he said they only took his guns and his favorite cane, the one with an 8-ball for a handle."

I dumped the bullets out of the gun, put them in my pocket and pushed Tony towards the door.

"Sorry, Nick," I said. "I don't deal with stolen goods."

Tony and I ran out the door of Nick's apartment, down the hall, and outside to my car. We couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"Where the fuck do you meet these people, Sean?"

"My editor introduced me to him. Nick's usually a stand-up guy, but I guess he needs drug money."

"Sean, that stupid fuck handed you a loaded gun. Someone is going to shoot his dumb ass."

"Yeah, I should cut ties with that guy. He's trouble waiting to happen."

I looked over and Tony's hands were shaking. I wasn't sure if it was fear or anger, so I thought I'd smooth things over by buying the first few rounds of drinks.

"You know, Tony, I do appreciate the help. You are usually there for me."

"No sweat, Sean. In fact, if you are ever in bad shape in the hospital, I'll be glad to smother you with a pillow like Fuckin' Eh Chief did in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."

"I'd rather that you gave me a hand with tossing the water fountain out the window so I can make a break for it."

"Shit, I weigh less than the water fountain. Just grab me by the waist, Heimlich style and toss me out the window. I'll be your water fountain."

I may need that some day. Tony has my back.

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