I suppose for a guy in his early forties, Wheezer wasn’t exactly homely. There weren’t many beauty marks or creases in the skin on his face. He had a magnetic personality, oddly enough, and his eyes were young and carefree despite the slight jaundiced discoloration to his corneas. I could see the vague definitions of a six-pack just below the surface of his tight black T-shirt that made me think he was kind of sexy at first glance. But his abhorrent smoker’s cough was enough to make me wish that I had an oxygen tank at his disposal. It was also enough for me to not have to ask about the origin of his name. He was apparently the guy that Johnny was getting our Tina from. I had only known Tina for a few weeks before now which was probably why I had never met him before. Hell, I had only known Johnny for a few weeks before now, and already he was threatening to shoot me. And now he was asking me to do this.
The story, or so I was told, was that Wheezer had fronted Johnny the Tina that we had just smoked and Johnny agreed that he would pay him for it in the morning. However, as I had witnessed the previous night, Johnny’s plan to rob the bodega had been halted after his little freak-out with Comb-over. Therefore, payment was due, and he had nothing to show for it. Nothing… except for me of course. Thus, here we were with me in my superhero underwear and two horny bastards ripping it off with their carnivorous eyeballs.