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Kevin Murphy Pops His Cherry

Kevin Murphy Pops His Cherry

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Published by Scotty Milder

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Published by: Scotty Milder on Aug 30, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/18/2012

 
Kevin Murphy Pops His Cherry
Marvin the Martian licked his lips.
Here it comes
, Kevin thought.
Fucker’s gonna start begging.
But no. The begging, if there was to be any, would come later.Marvin simply sat there, palms pressed flat to the table, rightleg pistoning up and down like a piece of heavy farm machinery.He licked his lips. His eyes slid from the pistol in Sal’s handover to Kevin. He raised his eyebrows and offered a shaky littlesmile, as if to say “little help, buddy?” That was all.Kevin cleared his throat, kept quiet.“Well,” Jim said, and Marvin looked at him. “Well, well, well.”Marvin licked his lips again and uttered a dainty, girlishlittle cough. Everyone called him Marvin the Martian because he was short and he was black and he had buggy eyes and he always wore a silver beanie pulled down over his ears. Kevin didn’t thinkhe looked much like Marvin the Martian at all. His real name wasTracy. He was in college, Boston University, on a scholarship.Kevin was pretty sure he grew up somewhere in Indiana. He wasstudying biogenetical engineering or some such shit. Pureresearch. He once told Kevin that he never wanted to deal withactual patients, not if he could help it, because he generallydidn’t like people all that much. “People are shit,” he said. “Andboring. ‘less you’re fucking them. But viruses are very nearlyperfect. So simple but so magnificently elegant. If God really didcreate anything in His image, it was a virus.”Kevin didn’t know about that. Once upon a time he’d been analtar boy at St. Catherine’s and so was inclined to think of suchtalk as blasphemy. But he had to admit the idea of God as a virus made a certain degree of sense to him.
1
 
Marvin explained what he did one night when the two of them hungout in Marvin’s apartment, getting high and waiting for some girlsto come over. “Certain bacteria have these polysaccharide outercoats that are really poorly immunogenic,” Marvin had said. He waspacking a blunt at the time, and he stared down at it as if it might try to jump out of his hands. Kevin wondered idly what
immunogenic 
 meant, gave up entirely on
 polysaccharide.
“What we’retrying to do is put virus proteins into the bacteria to create avaccine. If you link the outer coats to these proteins, then youcan trick the immune system into thinking the bacteria is thatparticular virus and it will build up the antibodies to fight it.That’s how we’re gonna cure AIDS, dude. I fucking guarantee it.”Kevin couldn’t have given less of a shit. Marvin might knowabout polysaccharide whatevers but he didn’t know dick aboutdealing. He was a smart-ass country club nigger on a scholarship,and he got greedy. Kevin was still working the door at Gideon’s inRevere and taking home maybe $500 a week when he wasn’t drivingJim’s cantankerous ass all over the place. Jim didn’t pay shit.Not even gratitude. He knew Kevin wanted in, and he expected Kevinto pay his dues accordingly and with no faggot-ass complaining.Family or no family, that’s the way it was. About six months ago Marvin had decided it would be okay if heshaved a little off the top of whatever he was getting from Jim and Sal so he could sell some light ounces on the side. He wasdoing okay for awhile, keeping it under wraps, unloading the stuffup in Somerville where Jim/Sal’s network didn’t reach, andthrowing enough money Jim/Sal’s way to keep the old mick/wop duohappy.But then he sold a dime to this guy who turned out to be anundercover Statie. The dude was in his mid-20s and had a crew cut
 
and a Magnum P.I. mustache right out of 1984. His name, he toldMarvin, was Wheeler McCain. Anyone who knew anything aboutanything would have made him for a Statie inside two seconds. NotMarvin. Marvin was a smart-ass, greedy country club jungle bunnyfucktard and he thought he had Somerville by the balls. Forty-five minutes later he was in a holding cell down at Government Center.From what Kevin understood it took less than two hours for him to
Keee-RACK 
like a piece of dry timber. Kevin heard that Marvin hadactually cried a little.Jim gave a deep, world-weary sigh and scratched a wood matchagainst his thumbnail and lit up. Smoke wafted out his nostrils ina fine stream.“So,” he said to Marvin. “Why don’t you see if you can give meone good reason I shouldn’t kill you?”Marvin looked up and saw Jim’s smile. A light smile. A 
friendly 
smile. He grinned right back. In that grin Kevin saw relief andhope and he felt a sudden stab of sadness.Because Marvin didn’t know. Marvin thought he might still have ashot at talking his way out of this. He figured this was just abit of strong-arm bluff work over the light ounces. He didn’t knowthey knew about the Statie. He didn’t know what it meant to besitting here face to face with Jim Finnigan, when anyone who knewanything about anything knew that Jim 
never 
showed his face toanybody unless he felt completely safe.Marvin didn’t know that Jim’s smile, kind as it was, meantabsolutely nothing because as far as Jim was concerned he, Marvin, was already dead.****Kevin had picked Marvin up after Marvin had left a piano bar onLansdowne Street. It was a faggy little joint as far as Kevin was

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