THE TAKEOVER - Part 4: The New Boss

Part 1 - The War Council
Part 2 - The Offer
Part 3 - The Armenian Dick Head


I woke up the next morning well enough. Sandra was there and thoughtful enough to have sent someone for some clothes for me. Apparently she had me followed, figured out who Abdulian is and asked the Russians to bring him and his crew in to answer some questions. Of course, her story explaining all this took a good hour when it could've taken a damn sentence. Fucking Sandra, no one cares.

I changed clothes, took a piss and sent one of the Russians out for bagels. Then I went to finally have that chat with Abdulian. He was tied up in a small room, the Russians had beaten him pretty good when they captured him. “The tables have turned,” I said to him, “last time I saw you I was beat up and tied up.”

“And are you going to feed me to your Russian dogs?” he asked.

“You’ve been selling RPGs to the Chinese, Abdulian. The Russians won’t like that.”

“The Chinese? No. The Chinese import their own weapons.” He seemed sincere.

“So they didn’t attack us with your weapons?” I asked.

“Uh… no.” His answer seemed cagy.

“What do you mean, ‘Uh...no.’?” I asked.

He sighed, “In the interest of self preservation, I will say this. Those were my RPGs, but I didn’t sell them to the Chinese.”

I believed him. I thought about the events of the last couple of days. All we had to go on was Ivanov’s assumption that it was the Chinese who attacked him. He’d been encroaching on their territory for months, it made sense. But an old gangster like Ivanov would have many enemies, anyone of whom could have blown up his house and office. “Who did you sell the RPGs to,” I asked.

He chuckled and bits of blood and phlegm shot out of his mouth and splattered onto his shirt, “I sold them to Ivanov two weeks ago.”

I was stunned silent. I believed him. But why? Why would Ivanov bomb himself? Or did he? Is he trying to start a war? Was one of his men behind all this? I fucking hate mysteries. I pondered my next question when in walked two large, Russians with two handguns. One escorted me out while Abdulian begged for his life. The loud gunshot and Abdulian's slow, gurgling death only confirmed my suspicions. Now to prove them.

I went back to Sandra and pushed her for an in with her handler or boss or pimp, whatever you call him. "Just set up a meeting for me. I think I can work out a peaceful way to end all of this."

"It doesn't work that way, Gene," she tried to tell me.

"The only way you and I survive this, is through your pimp."

"Will you stop calling him that? He won't just meet with you on your terms. I'll put in the message, but he makes the calls."

"Just call it in already"

She pulled out her cellphone and began dialing. Then she got a worried expression on her face. “It’s dead,” she said, “someone’s jamming the signal.”

“That would be me,” Ivanov said as he walked into the room looking remarkably un-comatose. There was an ugly Asian man with him, “Allow me to introduce my business partner,Kong Rui Bao.” They looked awfully chummy for two assholes who were supposed to be at war.

The world just turned upside down and took a steaming dump on my head. I just stood there staring at the buddy-buddy crime lords like an idiot.

“While the CIA and the local dick have been running around chasing ghosts, our men have wiped out the Italians, the Albanians and the Columbians. Vegas is now ruled by a single crime-lord,” Kong said

“And which one of you assholes gets to be the boss?” I asked.

They looked at each other and smiled. Ivanov was about to say something, but another damn rocket came crashing through the window and exploded at their feet. This time, there was no doubt, Ivanov and Kong were dead. Sandra and I climbed to our feet and looked through the shattered window in time to see a smiling Wayne Newton wave at us with a fully functional bionic-hand. Newton dropped the rocket launcher at his feet and climbed into his waiting limo. With a screech of tires, he was gone.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Sandra and I said in unison.

“He planned the whole thing,” I said, “just to take over vegas.”

“Where did he get that hand?” Sandra asked.

I told her some mysteries are best left unsolved. She told me that she hoped she’d never see me again. Then we went our separate ways, but I had a feeling I’d bang her again someday.

THE TAKEOVER - Part 3: The Armenian Dick Head

Part 1 - The War Council
Part 2 - The Offer

I left Sandra half-naked in the SUV and told the Russian goons I'd call when I had some info. I knew Abdulian was in town, and not at his desert warehouse or overseas because he sat three rows in front of me at Cirque du Soleil last night, the dick head, but I needed an address.

I went back to my office and made a few calls. No one was in, so I spent time looking at porn while I waited. Eventually one of my regular snitches, a tweaker named Melvin, called me back. Melvin gave me the number a drug dealer in Henderson who used to play cards with Abdulian. After threatening to turn him into the police, and promising him a bribe, the drug dealer eventually gave me the address of the ridiculous, grandiose thirty-two room house that Abdulian calls home.

I took a ride out to his house and began planning my entrance. The dogs were going to be the biggest problem. I found a couple kids playing in a lot across the street from the house. I offered them $20 now and $20 after if they kept his dogs on the far end of the yard and not killing me. Once I heard the barking, I hopped his fence and found an open door through the laundry room.

His house was weird. I didn't like it. I searched for probably ten minutes before he and his shotgun found me.

"Who are you? Why have you come?" his shotgun seemed to say.

"I've come to ask you a few questions," I said, or something like that. We stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. He clearly had the advantage with his shotgun pointed at me. I began to wonder if I could draw my own gun, and even things out, before he shot me. I’d need a distraction.

I pointed behind Abdulian and said, “What’s that!?” Abdulian didn’t bite, he just shot me in the chest. Luckily, his gun was loaded with rock salt. I wasn’t dead, just in extreme pain from a hundred salt filled wounds… also, I landed on my keys when I hit the floor.

“I never kill an intruder with guns, Mr…. Monroe, isn’t it? I leave that to the dogs. But I do like to salt the meat for them.”

“You’re a cruel bastard,” I groaned, “saddling those poor dogs with high cholesterol.”

He chuckled and said, “The price of an enjoyable life, Mr. Monroe. The price of an enjoyable life.” Then he stomped on my face with his boot.

I woke up, hanging upside down from a tree, a pack of hungry rottweilers circling beneath me. It was night. I was just a few hours away from becoming dog shit when I heard a crash and shouting. A car had crashed the gate and was speeding towards me. The dogs scattered. I couldn’t see who was driving, just the blinding headlights.

Two large men stepped out of the front doors. One sprayed bullets in Abdulian's general direction. He and his crew ran, unprepared for the incursion. The other cut me down without saying a word. He dragged me to the car and tossed me in the backseat. Then we made our escape. Sandra was in the backseat with me, calling me an idiot. I tried to reach up and grab her titties, but my arms were sore and useless.

They took me back to the incognito hospital and put me in a bed next to Ivanov. That asshole was still unconscious. Then I passed out.

To Be Continued...

Part 4 - The New Boss

THE TAKEOVER - Part 2: The Offer

Part 1 - The War Council

I stood up, my ears still ringing. The room was in shambles. Ivanov’s two Russian goons were torn to pieces. Sandra was on all fours under the desk, “Damn her ass looks good,’ I thought. She seemed to be okay. I looked for Ivanov and found him lying on the floor, his face covered in blood. I checked his pulse. He was alive. I slapped his face and called out to him, unable to hear my own voice over the damned ringing. He didn’t wake up.

Someone pulled me away from Ivanov, some more of his men had come in with guns drawn. They were rushing around the room like chickens with their heads cut off. I stumbled through the madness and found the wet bar. I opened the bourbon and took a long swig. My hearing was starting to come back, I could hear the others yelling, but it sounded like it was coming from another room.

I took three deep breaths, then I took another swig. And then I saw the second rocket. I didn’t even bother to duck. Luckily, it hit a little further east. It was still loud as hell. I saw two russian guys run in and drag Ivanov out of the room. I grabbed Sandra out from under the table and we followed.  We all ended up in the garage and climbed into an SUV. Then we raced to safety.

As we drove out of the garage, I was handed an assault rifle & told to watch our backs.

No one followed us. We drove to what seemed to be an empty office building, but inside there was a small hospital staff. They took Ivanov and left me and Sandra alone. I set the rifle down and realized that I had taken the bottle of bourbon with me. Thank god for foresight. Sandra was texting on her phone or something. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to ask, “Sandra, who do you work for?”

She looked confused, “What?”

“For whom do you work?”

She ignored me and went back to her phone. Something inside of me wanted to grab her and slap her for it. I wanted to shake her until she gave up everything she knew. I reached over and started pressing buttons on her phone. She collapsed into tears. Fucking women.

“There there, honey,” I consoled her. “At least you still got that ass.” That was all I had. I wish you could just talk to women like they were normal people. As Sandra sat there crying, I took the opportunity to lift her wallet from her purse. I planned to take it into the bathroom later and quietly riffle through it, but I couldn’t resist a peek.

“The CIA!” I exploded.

Sandra looked at me then at her purse. “You stole my wallet? While I was over here crying my eyes out?” She yelled. “For a moment, I almost thought you were human.”

“You’re one to talk lady, you’re a goddamn CIA sex-operative.” I retorted. “And why are you all worked up anyway? What kind of CIA agent gets all cry-faced after a few explosions?”

“Like you said, I’m a sex-operative,” she said with disgust, “this isn’t the kind of action I normally see.”

I felt kind of bad for attacking her while she was vulnerable. She was only a woman after all, and she had a fantastic ass. I took a swig of bourbon and offered the bottle to Sandra as a peace offering. She looked at me skeptically for a moment before grabbing the bottle and taking a drink.

“So, why is the CIA tangled up in a Vegas crime war?” I asked.

She took a few deep breaths before finally letting out with it: "The CIA just wants a piece."

"Of what, Vegas?"

She nodded, "We can't have the Chinese or the Russians making moves like this. We tried approaching the Italians in the 70's. That was no good. We need white in charge. Making the rules and enforcing them."

“But why, what’s any of this have to do with national security?” I asked.

“Vegas is one of the largest recreational drug markets in the world,” she explained. “We need to control where those drugs come from. Subtle changes in international drug trafficking could result in certain areas around the world destabilizing. And whenever an area get unstable, they blame the USA, and turn into a terrorist threat.”

It all made sense, "That's why you were so interested in Wayne Newton. You wanted him as your pawn. I'm guessing he didn't want to play ball."

"We can't have a star either. Newton is too high-profile and he has secrets even we can't discover. That was why we came to you."

"Uh huh. So when he goes looking for revenge the CIA won't be in his sights. You came to me for action lady, not intel. You gave me fucking grenades!"

"Like I said, Mr Monroe, we need white in charge. That's why we came to you. We left you with a large sum of money and armed security. We had to be sure you wouldn't piss it all away in a few days."

"Aww... I totally did," I sighed.

"Listen, I'll tell you right now that if you get your shit together, I can station twenty men here and at your disposal, just to start. We just need to know that you are willing and able to do what we need you to do."

"No," I said very quickly. I probably should have thought it over for a little longer, but I just know I'd get assassinated. She was offering me the keys to the city, and along with them, a shiny red target to hang on my ass. The truth is, they were probably only interested in me because they figured I'd be easy to control. Part of me wanted to prove them wrong, but I was better off with Ivanov in charge, I had a good relationship with the ugly Russian. But as long as Kong was blowing shit up, the CIA were gonna be sticking their noses in things.

“If you accept our offer,” Sandra unbuttoned the top button of her shirt as she spoke, “I could be made a permanent member of your staff.” Sandra was the finest piece of woman I’d ever stuck my dick in. The offer just got a whole lot sweeter, but I still couldn’t do it. I can barely balance my checkbook, I couldn’t run Vegas.

I needed to think, and I do my best thinking when there aren’t any women around, so I decided to hit the streets, alone. There’s only one place in Nevada to buy heavy weaponry… from a small Armenian man named Jalal Abdulian. I wanted to have a little chat with Jalal about those RPGs I’d been dodging all morning. And luckily, I knew just how to find the little bastard.

To Be Continued...

Part 3 - The Armenian DickHead
Part 4 - The New Boss

THE TAKEOVER - Part 1: The War Council

I was out on a date with Double D. She begged me to take her to see Cirque du Soleil. We had a nice steak dinner first, then took a cab to the show. I got good and drunk and we ended up at D’s place. When I got back to my office the next morning I found two armed Russians inside waiting for me.

They escorted me to the massive casino that just opened on the strip; Ivanov’s casino. Ivanov was in his office, and he was obviously out of sorts. “My men waited at your office all night, Mr Monroe. Why?”

“A woman,” I replied, suspiciously. “What’s going on, Ivanov?”

“Someone bombed my house, Mr Monroe!” He was angry, but not at me thankfully. “Some piece of shit bombed my house! My brother is dead!”

It turns out while I was asleep a Chinese mafioso or whatever you call him bombed Ivanov’s house, killing his brother and a few lackies hanging around. Ivanov and his wife and children were also in the house, but were not near the blast. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. And now Ivanov wants to drag me into this fart storm.

Truth be told, I’d already made some Chinese enemies when I busted up Kong Rui Bao’s hooker ring. If Kong and Ivanov were going to war, the sensible thing to do would be to call my pimp friend Ronnie and head to Cancun with a few of his bitches. But if I had to get involved, Ivanov’s side was really my only option.

Ivanov made a phone call and in walked two large men in too tight suits and angry expressions. One was blonde and looked like Ivan Drago’s older meaner brother. The other was a young Joseph Stalin. “These are my… cousins,” Igor said, “Sergi and Valeri. They flew in this morning.” As the two men sat down, I realized, with no small amount of pants-wetting terror, that I had somehow become part of Igor Ivanov’s war council.

“Gentlemen,” Ivanov began, “Perhaps my secretary can get you something to drink while we’re waiting?”

Waiting for what, I wondered as I ordered my bourbon straight up.

A few minutes later, the door opened. “Ah, the final member of our party has arrived,” Igor said with a smile. I turned in my seat and looked into a familiar pair of tits. “This is Sandra,” Igor continued, “She represents an interested party.”

I flashed Sandra a friendly smile and she averted her eyes and sat down as far away from me as possible.

"Now," began Ivanov, "we start with Kong Rui Bao, the boss. We all know the name, but has anyone ever seen his face?"

Nobody spoke up. Thinking about it now, I had also never seen his face. "This, gentlemen and lady, is because he is not here in Las Vegas. He was here once eleven years ago when the Chinese first dug their slanted claws into this horrible town. He then left, leaving his head enforcer in charge. The triad bosses in China think he's here. Lu Peng Heng thinks he's in China. He is, in fact, in New York city. I just flew in from the Big Apple, where I saw Mr. Kong arguing on the street with a hotdog vendor."

I was stunned silent by his intel, but could it be true?

"We cannot get to Kong, but we can make him come to us. Right now there are 200 Russian brothers on their way to Las Vegas. In two-day's time, we will storm the Chinese compound and kill every man, woman and child with the exception of Lu Peng Heng. He is going to be our bait. Lu and Kong will then lead us to triad headquarters in Hong Kong. You four are here because I have special missions for all of you."

It was right about then that I saw a funny looking bird flying at the window. I was about to say something clever about how stupid birds are when I realized that it was an RPG. I dived behind Sergi and Valeri just as the window exploded with a deafening boom.

To Be Continued...

Part 2 - The Offer
Part 3 - The Armenian Dick Head
Part 4 - The New Boss

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.

.