Excerpt from Dead Playboy1. One Last Fish BreathTriple espressos are hazardous at any time of day, but knocking one back late on a Tuesday night in a sleazy Vegas cafe, full of hopped up bankers and plastic s*x workers, has a certain foolish bravado.
The danger isn’t in the locale or the patrons; it’s in the way the bitter liquid strips your tongue dry and peppers the back of your gullet like bullets from an AK47.
But in the words of John Lennon, “Whatever gets you through the night.”
Swallowing the last drop, I drummed perfect scarlet fingernails on the side of the cup, and waited for the pain. It was preferable to staring at the bent head of the young man sitting opposite me, waiting for a reply to the question I’d asked him five minutes ago—
Oh yeah, there it was: a blast of sweet c
