MURDER & MARIJUANA

Apparently, I have a daughter. Some cunt I banged a hundred years ago called me up out of the blue to tell me that our teenage daughter ran away or something. It was a Wednesday. Who runs away on a Wednesday? Anyway, the cunt threatened to come after me for fifteen years of child support if I didn't help her find the little angel. So I booked myself a seat on the next flight to Cincinnati. Well, the next flight that didn't cost too much, which didn't leave until Thursday afternoon.  That gave me time to get drunk and think about things.

A daughter! I hate kids. And teenagers are worse. And teenage girls.... What would I even say to her? She better not be expecting a pony! It was probably a boy. When I was that age I was always convincing skanks to run away from home to... did I just call my daughter a skank? Shit!

I continued drinking until I couldn't hold my head up anymore, about 9 am, then decided to lay on the bathroom floor & get some sleep. I had just gotten comfortable when I heard a knock on the office door. I tried my damnedest to ignore it, but this fucker was loud and persistent. I peeled myself off the floor & stumbled to the door.

"What!?" I demanded. My appearance must've startled the poor sergeant because he jumped back in horror.

"Gene, I need you to come with me." Sergeant Griffen was one of my contacts at the police department. He and I worked together on cases before. He's pretty handy to have around sometimes, but he's also a little too friendly and does not know how to talk to women. It's like trying to crack a case with one of the Hardy boys.

“Why?” I asked.

“Police matter,” He said officially.

I got in his squad car and we were off. I never really liked Griffen that much, but I had to talk to somebody, so I told him about my phone call from the night before. He seemed happy for me, about having a kid, not that she ran away, but he didn’t say much. He just kept smirking, like he knew something I didn’t.  “She’s here, isn’t she? My daughter’s in Vegas?”

He started laughing. “She got picked up for underage gambling last night. Everyone at the station got a good laugh when she dropped your name. The captain didn’t want me to tell you, wanted to see the look on your face.”

So my daughter had run away to Vegas and was already in trouble for gambling. A chip off the old block, I guess. “Does she look like me? I mean, is it possible that she’s not my daughter?”

“She’s ugly alright,” he joked. It was only the second joke I’d ever heard him say. The first wasn’t funny, either.

We walked through the station to the woman’s lock-up. There she was. She was ugly alright. And I instantly remembered the woman I boned to... father her, I guess. A woman named Jeanette who was uglier than my ass and twice as fragrant. I was taking one for the team by banging her and I was good and drunk when it happened. Looking back on it, I definitely got the better end of that deal because I banged Jeanette so my old buddy Ken could bang her friend Rebecca, and Ken banged a grandmother with a mustache so I could bang a hot 19 year old dolphin trainer. I almost married that dolphin trainer. Not because I was in love with her, but because she thought she might be pregnant and I was drunk.  Damn, I really should start wearing condoms.

Anyway, my daughter was ugly, but there was no doubt she was mine. She had my eyes, and she had my mom’s tits, kind of lopsided, with the left noticeably larger than the right. It’s a family trait.  

“So here you are, the legendary Eugene Monroe,” she said sarcastically.

“So what brings you to Vegas....” I trailed off when it dawned on me I still didn’t know her name.

“My name’s Gertrude,” she said.

“Gertrude? Really? Shit. What brings you to Vegas, Gertrude?”

She glared at me and then looked down at the floor, her expression softening. “I guess I need your help,” she said.

I was pretty skeptical. Why would she think I would help her? She couldn't know that much about me. Either she really was in trouble or she was mad and setting me up. I had to get her out of there. That's when Captain White walked in.

"Gene! Good to see you here. I see you're getting acquainted with our..."

"Give it a rest, Jim. What'll it cost me?"  I didn't have the energy to deal with this idiot.

"What's your rush? Have some coffee while we get the paperwork going."

"Let me guess, $500 a cup?"

So I bought the boys a round of very expensive coffee while the good captain explained that Gertrude had been picked up for underage gambling over at the Luxor, and that that was a serious offense. I gave the captain an extra hundred and the charges were officially dropped.  Five minutes later we were on our way to the airport.

“Are we going to  your office?” Gertrude asked.

“I am, just as soon as I get you on a flight back to Cincinnati.”

Just then, my Buick got broadsided by a black Escalade. We spun through the intersection. Luckily, my car is built like a tank. I hit my head on the steering wheel as we came to a stop. “Son of bitch!” I said as blood ran into my eye.

“Oh, yeah,” Gertrude said, “I may have forgot to mention that someone is trying to kill me.”

I lost sight of the Escalade and floored it. My left eye had a small window of vision,but my right eye useless. Damn kid.

"What the hell did you get yourself into?"

"Watch out!" She screamed. "To the right!"

I swerved right to avoid some car or woman or something. "Don't tell me what to do!" I retorted.

This went on for a good few minutes until I was sure enough we'd lost them. Then I pulled over and wiped my face. I was going to need about five stitches & three bourbons. I lit a cigarette and held my forehead closed.

"God damn it, you little shit sack! Who was that & why are they trying to kill you?!"

"Shit sack?" She had no idea what I meant. "Look, some guys back home asked me to drive a car to California. They offered me $2500."

"Where's the car now?" Seemed like a simple enough question.

She started in on a tearful explanation about how her boyfriend, Kip, had talked her into letting him go for a joyride in the car, but crashed it into a tree. When the cops got there they found the car was full of marijuana, about forty pounds. Now, some half-assed Cincinnati gangsters were after her to pay for the weed.

“Marijuana?” I asked. “Jesus, it’s legal in twenty states. Who kills people over marijuana?” But I guess those Cincinnati boys take their pot seriously. I looked over at Gertrude and saw that she was still crying. “Jesus, would you stop that!”

“What are we gonna do?”

The first thing to do was call my gangster friends here in Vegas and see how serious these guys from Cincinnati really were. We made our way over to an office on the north side of town to see Igor Ivanov. He’d been in town setting up his casino for the past few months and he owed me a favor. After an hour-long wait while he was in a meeting, we were let in to speak with him. He was happy to see me.

“What is the matter, Mr Monroe? Did I not give you enough money the last two times I saw you?” Ivanov quipped. “And who is this, your ugly daughter?”

“Yes and yes. I just had a problem and I was hoping you would have some perspective on the situation.”

“Ah, perspective… what a wonderfully expensive sounding word. I love your language, Mr Monroe.”

That’s when Gertrude stepped in and changed my opinion of her. She sat down in a chair in front of Ivanov’s desk and didn’t say a word. She let us talk and never interrupted. I’ve never seen a woman be so quiet. I filled Ivanov in on the situation. It turned out he had heard of the Cincinnati syndicate that Gerty had gotten involved with. They were small time, but dangerous, like an angry chihuahua.

“I think,” Ivanov said, “that the best way for you to proceed would be to use the Wallowitz procedure on them.”

I smiled and nodded. Wallowitz was exactly what the situation called for.

“Dad?” Gertrude said when we were outside again.

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped.

“Fine, Gene! I just wanted to know what the Wallowitz procedure is.”

“Well,” I began, “it goes like this, you give all your plans away to some goon you just met and let her sell you out to some gay Cincinnati gangsters for probably a few thousand at most."

"Why would I sell you out?"

"You've got nothing to lose, that makes you dangerous. Also you're a teenager and well on your way to becoming a woman. That's three strikes."

"So you're going to leave me to deal with these guys on my own?" She asked with a tear in her eye.

"Yes. But first I have to make sure I'm in the clear." I could see the horror build up in her face. I was lying. The Wallowitz Procedure was a bait and switch maneuver. She was my bait.

She got out of my car slowly; in complete disbelief. I gave her a hundred bucks and drove around the block. I followed her on foot from there. I didn’t have to wait long, a few blocks later, the black Escalade pulled up alongside her, it had one of those cop things on the front for ramming, so it wasn’t too damaged. I figured the guys would grab Gerty and take her to their hideout. She was ugly, so they’d probably only rape her a little bit.

A large black man in a black suit with a black turtleneck and white penny loafers stepped out of the passenger side door. Gertrude greeted him with a smile and the two of them proceeded to make out, right there on the street.

“That little bitch,” I muttered to myself. She was playing me. My years of experience told me that the best course of action would be to pull my piece and blow them both away right there, let Jesus sort ‘em out. I resisted the urge. After all, she was family. I guess I could at least find out what her game was before I murdered her in the street.

Gerty got into the SUV and I got into a cab. I gave the driver a ten and told him to follow them. He looked at me like I was crazy. Greedy bastard! I gave him a fifty and set off after the Escalade.

I followed them to The Rio. They left the valet and made their way through the casino to the elevators. I ran back through the casino to the valet parking lot. I found the Escalade unlocked and jumped in. The cigarette smell was harsh, even for me. It was a rental and these bastards are smoking in it. The signs all pointed to a scam.

Looking through the vehicle, I found a bag of weed and a cheesy, metal pipe. There was a map of Nevada. There were no fucking clues. I knew I’d have to wait.

I paid the valet to call me when they leave and with the direction they go. I went back to my car, then for a quick bite to eat, then back to the office for a nap. It was seven pm by then.

At 9:30 I got the call, they were headed my way. I finished off the bottle and turned on the TV. She must’ve walked the last couple blocks because I never saw the Escalade. She knocked very quietly. I answered and tried to look shocked to see her. “Damn it. What now?”

I listened, stone-faced, as she explained that she had nowhere else to go, and that she was afraid the gangsters would find her. I waited for the other shoe to drop. “I was thinking,” she began (Here we go, I thought) “Maybe we could get some money and just pay them off.”

“I got good news kid. While you were gone I got a line on our friends in the Escalade. One of my contacts saw it at the Rio.”

She looked worried. “What are we gonna do?”

“Come on,” I said taking her by the arm, “We’ll handle this shit right now.”

At the Rio, I bribed a bellhop to get Pennyloafer’s room number. We headed up to the eighth floor, room 817. I knocked gently. When he opened the door, I kicked him in the balls and shoved him into the room. I pulled out the colt and blew his brains all over the floor.

Gerty’s jaw dropped and she started making incomplete words like, “Uh… Ah… eh….” She went on like that as I went through his pockets and took his money and jewelry.

“It’s okay,” I said, “You’re safe now.” She just stood there staring at her dead boyfriend. I didn’t know how much she loved him, but I hoped it was a lot. Nothing makes you stronger than watching your father murder someone you love, a lesson I learned early in life.

Back at my office, I tossed Gertrude the keys to the Buick, it was a piece of shit anyway. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Now get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back.”

She was crying as she drove away. You know what, I think I like being a father.

.

The Enemy of my Enemy

I’d been laying low for a few months in Los Angeles. I hate that place. There had been some unpleasantness between Wayne Newton and myself and that monster has people all over Vegas. I crept back into town at dawn on a Friday. I parked two blocks over from my office and cautiously approached. Nothing looked out of sorts. No one was watching me. I entered the building. I expected my office door to have been kicked down, but no. Still locked. I opened the door and walked in quickly. Everything was in its proper place, my safe was still locked and hidden, even the candy stash in my top drawer was untouched. Not a second after I sat down at my desk and poured myself a drink someone knocked on my door.

I ducked behind the desk and pulled my piece before saying, “It’s open.”

The lights were still off in the office. As the door opened, I was greeted with the silhouette of a beautiful woman. Don’t get too excited, I cautioned myself, it could be a tranny. “Mr. Monroe?” said a distinctly feminine voice.

I pointed the desk lamp at her and turned it on, leaving myself in the shadows. Whoever she was, she was high class, Silk blouse, pearl necklace and a two hundred dollar pair of fuck-me-high-heels. I reached down and checked my boner... half mast. “Who sent you?” I asked.

"A man who wishes to remain anonymous. I can tell you that you and he share a powerful enemy and he believes you've proven that you can be a valuable asset to him," She handed me a large envelope. "Here's what you've missed since you left."

I opened the envelope without saying a word. In it, there was the profile of an MIT professor, some schematics and blueprints etc. and a large dossier on Mr Wayne Newton. Apparently, the fact that I had his hand hadn't slowed him down a bit. He hired a robotics expert to build him another. God damn it, I hate rich people.

“I don’t see a plane ticket to Massachusetts in here,” I said. “If your boss thinks I’m flying on my own dime-

“You won’t have to,” she said, “Doctor Ryder is flying into Las Vegas this afternoon.”

“That gives us time to get better acquainted,” I said as I unzipped my fly. A look of extreme distaste appeared on her face. She sighed and started to unbutton her blouse. I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance her boss had told her to keep me happy... no matter what. Lucky me.

That afternoon I headed to McCarran Airport disguised as Wayne Newton’s chauffeur. I had a meal and a drink in my belly and a fresh pair of panties in my pocket. I felt optimistic, maybe this would be the first case in... ever to go smoothly.

First, I had to deal with the real chauffeur. Some super glue on the all the toilet seats did the trick. Then, I waited by the terminal for the professor. After a few minutes, he finally came out. He was dressed like a nerd and I wanted to laugh at him real bad, but business had to come first. I tried questioning him while driving, but he was not a talkative fellow. So I let up and drove to the address given to me by... fuck what was her name again? I was just banging her... Sandra probably. Anyway, I drove him to a giant warehouse for questioning.

I was told to use whatever means necessary to get info out of him. I chose the hooker method. I had three hookers waiting there for us. I took two into the bathroom and left him in the office with the other, my most trusted hooker, the brunette. I instructed her to do him right and get him to talk about the mechanics of the new hand design. Apparently, he was too shy or weinerless to do her, so they just sat around talking about his hand design. Unfortunately, everything he said went right over her head and she could not repeat any of it back to me. So I was forced to move on to Plan B -

I walked into the office, pulled out my switchblade and stabbed him in the gut. “You wanna go to the hospital? Tell me how to stop the hand!” I snarled.

“Stop It? I don’t understand... I’ve been trying to tell the young lady, I’m years away from perfecting it. The robotics work fine, but there’s no way for the human brain to communicate with the hand. Please, take me to the hospital.”

“Why would Newton pay a pile of money for a defective hand,” I queried

“It’s not defective,” he said defensively, “It’s just not done yet. As for Mr. Newton, he seems to believe that money will make the process go faster.”

I thought it over. It made sense, Wayne always was the type to think he could buy anything. I sent the hookers home and helped the good doctor into the trunk of the limo. Just then, the power in the warehouse went out and I heard a helicopter flying low just above the roof. A spotlight shone in the windows. I needed to think fast.

I started up the limo, then I used a piece of 2x4 to hold down the gas pedal & kicked it into gear. It busted through the warehouse door and through the giant parking lot and right into the wall of the office building across the street. That kept their attention long enough for me to sneak out the back door make my escape.

I caught a cab & posted up at a shitty motel for the night. At 5:55 am, that Sandra chick came by to debrief me, both figuratively and literally. I gave up everything I learned. She handed me another dossier. This one was on a team of brain surgeons from India. "Indians... Why did it have to be Indians?" I asked. I tried to hide my extraordinary fear of Indians, but Sandra caught the look on my face.

"Fortunately for us, Mr Monroe, the Indians are staying in India for now," she seemed delighted in my weakness. "However we need to stop Mr Newton from making his way to them with the AG59781.”

"The what?" I grimaced.

"The bionic hand."

"Oh, yes. Of course. How do you intend do that?"

"His private jet is currently being prepped for departure. It appears he isn't taking any more chances. We have a man inside the airport who is going to slow that departure. Your job is going to be securing that hand,"

I thought about making a hand job joke, but I figured she wouldn’t laugh. By the time I got to the airport, Newton’s jet was already taxiing out onto the runway. I drove the Buick out onto the runway and floored it. “Come on girl!” I caught up to the jet and pulled along side. I could see Wayne’s smiling face watching me from the window. He wouldn’t be smiling once he saw my surprise.

I rolled down my window and grabbed a grenade from the box on the passenger seat. I lobbed it out the window and it exploded near the tail. Another by the landing gear. I kept hurling grenades. Finally, I got a little bit ahead of the plane and was able to hit the wing with a grenade. But the thing was still moving. And Wayne was still smiling! “Son of a bitch!”

I grabbed my last grenade and aimed it right at Wayne’s fat, smug head. I threw it with all I had. It bounced off the window and down to the ground. It blew under the front wheels and snapped them off entirely. The nose hit the ground so hard it broke the front 10 feet of the plane off completely from the rest.

I waited for it to stop skidding then I made my way in through the rather large opening I made. Wayne and the crew were all knocked unconscious. I found the hand in a black case and got back to my car before the ambulance pulled up. I knew my job was done so I sped off. Just then a bee flew into my car and stung me on the arm. Fucking Wayne Newton.

I called my contact to give her the news. She said her employer will be pleased. Also her employer had authorized a 24 hour security detail for me for the next two months. When I got back to my office, Sandra was there to meet me with a briefcase with $200 grand in it. I invited her in for coffee. She declined. It was still a good day.