nothin' but trouble

“Who’s watching the brat?” said Big George.

“Mikey’s turn,” I said. “I watched her this mornin’.” It was noon-thirty and already it was hot. Only supposed to get up to 70, but it was headed up to 80 plus. “She’s gonna be trouble again. I’m gettin’ tired of taking care of nothin’ but trouble.”

“Maybe if you called her by her name, Joey, and talked real nice, she wouldn’t give you a bad time,” said Mikey -- mister smartmouth.

“Yeah, that’s real likely,” I said. “She don’t wanna be waitin’ for the boss and you know it, Mikey, so shuddup. Cryssakes, I’m gonna get me a real job one o’ these days. Make lotsa money and have nice-lookin’ dames hangin’ offa my arms.”

“Oh, that’s real funny, Joey. You not smart enuf to have a real job, so shuddup about it already. I’m sicka you gonna get a real job.”

“Shove it, Mikey, or I’ll shove it for ya. Then I’ll take your cut and we’ll see who’s smilin’.”

“Knock it off, you two,” growled Big George, “and go check on the dame.”

I look at Mikey. He knows it’s gonna be him since Wally’s out gettin’ lunch. “Aw shit, I’ll go,” he says and heads for the bedroom.

And explodes right back. “Shit! The brat’s gone! Went right out the window and we’s on the third floor.”

“Goddammit, goddammit,” rumbled Big George, “the boss ain’t gonna like that. Come on -- we gotta go find her again, and this time we tie her up.”