An Excerpt From My Novel

J3scribe · Jun 14, 2009

I've been promising to share something for a while now, however, I'm lazy, which explains my lapse.

The name of the story is The Mojave Triangle. What follows should be fairly self-explanatory as a small episode within the larger story itself. Feel free to comment, critique, ask questions, etc.

The larger story revolves around a protagonist named Daniel Dunne, nicknamed Jack, an executive officer of the CIA. I hope you like it...

Larry Bonk still had blonde hair at the age of fifty-threeâthinning, it was true, but it still gave him the appearance of a much younger man. He had a naturally warm gaze and disarming smile that belied the fact that behind his sparkling eyes, Larryâs mind was actively measuring you up as a potential sucker, and if he determined as much, he would then use his friendly smile as a weapon to seduce you, because Larryâs primary goal in life was separating fools from their money
He had grown up in Kansas City, Missouri, in a working class neighborhood on the fringe of Little Italy, the result being that many of his playmates had names ending in the syllable ini or otti or omo. Most of Larryâs childhood chums would grow up to be wise guys, somehow getting deferments while Larry and his less connected neighbors wound up in Viet Nam, many of whom didnât manage to survive the most terrifying experience humanity had managed to contrive. Larry was the first to admit he got lucky, although he didnât walk away unscathed. He had taken shrapnel on a number of occasions but never enough to merit a discharge, so Larryâs use of the word lucky was a relative term.
When he returned from overseas, Larryâs life picked up pretty much where he left off, running petty scams and hustling pool at night while working as a mechanic in his fatherâs auto repair shop by day, but it didnât take very long before his days and nights began to feel stagnant. His mafia friends, on the other hand, were coming up in the world, getting rich off racketeering and smuggling and their control over the emerging drug trade. As a result, the kids who he had once played sandlot ball with were growing apart, leaving Larry on the outside looking in where once their group had been cohesive. It didnât bother Larry too much, he had no pretensions to the mobster way of life, but he did admire their business practices, so he decided to strike out on his own, leaving Kansas City and making his way west to the wide open horizons of Las Vegas, which was pretty much a free enterprise zone where Cosa Nostra was concerned, since no one particular family controlled it. As a sly entrepreneur, Larry fit right in.
That had been in the late seventies. Since then, Larry had done quite well for himself since he had been poised to take advantage of the explosive population boom that began at the start of the nineteen nineties and continues unabated right up to the present day. One of Larryâs more successful ventures had been loan sharking, lending money to people who had no credit with legitimate institutionsâand who never wouldâcharging an arm and a leg in the bargain, sometimes literally when payments were no longer forthcoming. Las Vegas was full of such unfortunate people for obvious reasons, one only had to look at the Strip to see where their bad credit woes began, but his nefarious lending business had drawbacks of its ownâlaw enforcement scrutiny being foremost among them. So, in â95 Larry decided to go legit, opening his first payday/car title loan venture. He was still charging alarmingly outrageous interest rates, plus, his client base had expanded by thousands, but the best part was that it was legal usuryâand largely unregulated.
A firm believer in truth in advertisingâand always one to call a spade a spade, as his brother and partner Bob was quick to point out, even if the spade in question was a linebacker-sized black manâBonk opted to employ candor in his marketing of the enterprise, hence the name Larry the Loan Shark, complete with a cartoon mascot of a shark standing on tail, wearing a panama hat, Hawaiian shirt, and a wide, toothy grin, its hand-like fins gripping enticing fans of C-notes while he declares the company slogan: âLet me help take a bite out of your cash flow problems!â
Starting with just the one location, Larry Bonk now had two-dozen locales around the Las Vegas Valley and greater Clark County plus he was looking into creating franchise agreements so the brand could spread state and nationwide. And the best part was he didnât have to hire an army of thugs to keep after his delinquent customers, he had a law firm to take care of that, freeing up time for his thugs to concentrate on the less visible enterprises Larry continued to engage in. The man was still old school after all.
He drummed his fingers on the desk in his walnut paneled study, his gaze taking in the harbor-like setting behind his home in The Lakes community on the west side of the valley. The sun was setting over the Spring Mountains, its tangerine glow shimmering on the waterâs surface like molten light. Larry sighed over the news heâd just received and said, âYou got any evidence this Noriega character had something to do with Artyâs death, Harry?â
âHim or someone heâs runninâ with,â King growled over the line. âItâs the reason Arty was in Vegas in the first place, like I told you.â A chill silence spooled out before he went on. âHe was found in a fucking dumpster, thatâs some pretty cold blooded shit. His mother is absolutely frantic about it. She seems to think I had something to do with it.â Snort.
âGerty knows he was working on your behalf?â Bonk wondered, somewhat alarmed.
âNot from my end,â King countered. He sighed then said, âMaybe Arty mentioned somethingâ¦ I donât know.â More hesitation. âSoâ¦ Can you help me out here Larry? Iâm getting sick of sending people out to Vegas only to have them vanish. That place is like the Bermuda fuckinâ Triangle. Remember that shit I went through last year?â
Bonk recalled. King had sent another pair of men on a hunting trip for another awol client and that was the last he saw of any of them. âYeah, I remember. Your luck ainât so good in this town, at least where sendinâ emissaries goes. Why donât you tell me what you can about the principles and Iâll make some calls, see if I canât ferret âem out.â

*
Harold King liked staying at the Luxor because he thought the structure was cool. The black pyramid was deceptively plain on the exterior but inside, by contrast, it was an architectural marvel with its cantilevered balconies around the perimeter stepping upwards in ever decreasing concentric squares to where they met at the buildingâs apex, creating a twenty-six story high open atrium above the attraction level, itself four floors above the casino, and featuring a number of multi-story structures that resembled buildings one might find in Alexandria, Egypt, as well as an eighty foot high I-MAX theatre that in no way diminished the atriumâs open feel.
The rooms were nice too, if a bit predictable in layout by Las Vegas standards, but in a peculiar twist, the exterior walls angled inward as they rose, and the corner suites featured spa tubs in the space where the glass walls met. King had reserved a couple of connecting rooms on the twenty-seventh floor with a view of the western mountains, which was reached by inclinator, an elevator that ascended at an angle, or incline, hence the name.
âSo you say Noriegaâs at Caesars?â King asked, a little surprised that Larry Bonk was able to come through so fast. He and his brother Bob had shown up while Harry and his associate were still checking in.
Cheep
âWith the girl, yes,â Larry nodded. âAs a matter of fact, Bobâs got a couple of guys keepinâ an eye on him as we speak.â
King nodded thoughtfully at Bob Bonk, who returned the gesture. âGood.â It had taken Arty three weeks to find the man, King knew, and he said as much to Larry. âAnd you were able to find him with just a phone call.â Harry shook his head. âArty tried that. Why did he fail?â
Larry smiled. âIn all fairness, the room is in the girlâs name. Thatâs probably not what tripped him up, though. Noriega requested anonymity and anonymity is what he got. I just happen to know the right people, Harry. You shouldâve called me first.â
Cheep
âIâm sorry I didnât,â King agreed on a sour note. He cocked an eyebrow at Bob. âYour menâ¦?â
âHave him under observation,â Larry Bonk reiterated while studying Kingâs assistant. The man took up most of the sofa he was sitting on. âWe got a call while you were checking in. Theyâre in the casino playing slots,â he disclosed. âAs long as theyâre under the eye in the sky, though, thereâs no moving against them.â
Cheep
King made a moue of disappointment, glancing at Bob, who was taking in the view. âTheyâll let us know when things change?â
Bob turned, nodded then smiled. âThatâs why they make the big bucks.â

*
At Caesar's Palace, Victor Noriega and Maria were dressed for an afternoon of leisure, wearing blue and yellow and yellow and blue track suits respectively, as well as matching blue Nikes with a yellow swoosh. They had been bouncing around the casino at random, feeding twenty-dollar bills into video slot machines while being watched from a distance with feigned indifference by a couple of brown haired white guys with Mike Ditka-style mustaches who were stylishly dressed in contrasting tones of green-gray slacks and gray-green sport coats, sipping on highballs at a small bar next to the Mesa Grill. At least one of them had a concealed weapon in a shoulder holster under his tailored jacket.
Taking an interest in all four of them were DEA agent Keith Dokes, a solidly built mulatto man of few words who had once been a running back at USC, and his compact, fireball of a partner, Kimber Mosconi, a woman whoâs bobbed haircut was dark as pitch and watchful eyes were as yellow as a felineâs, which is why she let her friends and associates call her Kat, but never Kitty. They had watched the men in sport coats change vantage points five times in relation to Noriega and his girlfriendâs movements before Mosconi pulled a security guard aside, identified herself as a Treasury agent and asked if the guard could confirm one way or another whether or not the dapper gentlemen were plain clothes security people or possibly detectives with Las Vegas Metro. The answer was a definite no on the first count and an in all likelihood no on the second.
At that point, agent Mosconi contacted agent Wu, who was running logistics from the Bucket, to request back up. Wu called Jack directly, asking for his input. âTell Kat Iâm fifteen minutes away and will be there directly,â he said, standing in the basement of Aegisâ building where the firing range was located as well as the armory, which had expanded to include more than just the items they had loaded up into Spikeâs truck the other night, Jack discovered. Surprise, surprise.
A long moment elapsed and then Wu said, âTheyâre by the sports book.â Then she rattled off Mosconiâs cell phone number.
âGood. Tell her to have a security supervisor on hand when I get there.â Jack shut his cell phone and slipped it in his pocket, making a thoughtful face while he did so.
âWhatâs up?â Carmen asked. Then, âNo, hold it like this,â she said, giving Jackie instruction.
âRight.â Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam!
âJesus! One at a time Jackie,â Spike suggested. âYouâre all over the target.â
âVictorâs got a tail,â Jack revealed, noting the wide spread of body shots on the silhouette thirty feet away.
âBut at least Iâm on target, right?â Jackie replied, smiling with pride.
âCanât argue with that,â Spike admitted. âDo you want to see something cool? Jack, show her that thing you do.â
âHe competes,â Carmen said to Jackie. âWhatever you do, donât blink. Do you want help Daniel?â
âIâll take Spike,â Jack replied, accepting the .357 Colt revolver Spike pulled from his belt holster. Jack stuck the tip of the barrel into his waistband just right of center then took up position in line with the new target Carmen had sent down on the overhead wire, holding his hands up at shoulder level in what was termed in the world of compwtition shooting as the surrender position. He winked at Jackie, saying, âWhenever you feel like it, say go.â
âOkay. Go.â In a flash, the gun was on target, sounding like a burst from a machine gunâsix shots in under a second. âJesus Christ!â Jackie exclaimed, astonished. His trigger finger had moved in a blur. As Carmen brought the target forward, it was plain to see all the shots had found their mark, a three-centimeter grouping through the heart of the silhouette. She looked from Carmen to Spike, who still couldnât hide their amazement, even though they knew what to expect. âMy god, how did youâ¦? Where did youâ¦?â

âPractice makes perfect,â Jack grinned at her disbelieving features. âStick with it kid and someday you might be able to challenge me.â He had expended over a half million rounds of ammo to perfect that particular skill, so someday wasnât likely anytime in the near future. He kissed Jackieâs forehead and then positioned her in front of the new target Carmen had sent down the range. âFor the time being, though, just stick to one or two shots at a time, focusing on accuracy. Thatâs most important, okay?â
âGotcha.â Jackie noddedsharply, smiled, then turned to the task at hand while Jack returned Spikeâs handgun. Blam, blam! Blam, blam! âHowâs that?â
âCheck it out, Jack,â Spike said, his expression open.
Four well placed body shots. âDamn,â Jack said, pensive. He smiled at Jackie then with unmistakable fondness and drew her to him, planting a kiss on her grinning lips. âI think weâve

created a femme fatale. Câmon Spike, letâs roll. Weâll meet up at the Bucket later on.â
*
They found Dokes and Mosconi standing alongside of a long, narrow, crescent shaped counter that delineated the sports book from the casino beyond as prearranged; along with a tawny haired man in a handmade blue serge suit named Ray Bischoff. Victor and Maria had been on the same slot carousel for the past forty-five minutes or so, evidently racking up the credits. Their shadow sat at the end of a casino bar about fifty feet away engaged in quiet conversation, apparently content to do little more than observe for the time being.
âI doubt theyâll try to get pushy under the cameras,â Bischoff pointed out, having been brought up to speed on the scenario by the DEA people.
âYouâre certain theyâre not cops?â Jack pried. They were out of Victorâs line of sight, just to be on the safe side. He didnât want to have to go through the bother of having to explain his presence.
âI called Metro, who denied having anyone on the property, for whatever itâs worth,â
Bischoff confirmed. âThey could be off duty though.â He hiked a shoulder. Anythingâs possible.
Jack nodded his understanding. âWell, what say we find out? Would you mind going over there and politely asking if theyâd join us over here?â
âSure.â
Spike said to Dokes, âTheyâre working alone, Keith?â
âWeâre pretty certain,â he answered. âOnce we caught on to their conduct, Kat and I split up in a wide net until after Noriega had moved a few times. Those two were the only ones who moved in concert.â
Jack watched as Bischoff approached the two men, smiled, identified himself and spoke a few words. The two men both swiveled their faces in Jackâs direction and then back at Bischoff, who held an open hand at arms length indicating the way. âHow long have you been onto them?â The two men shrugged then slid off their stools, checking over their shoulders and looking annoyed.
Mosconi checked her watch. âAbout ninety minutes or so.â
âOkay. Good work. Go ahead and stay with Victor and Iâll take it from here,â Jack directed as Bischoff approached with their quarry. As the trackers stepped up to him, Jack flipped open his ID case and asked, âEither of you two got badges?â The men glanced at one another but said nothing. âIâll take that as a no,â Jack said, sliding his hand under the jacket of the one heâd been told was carrying, freeing a .357 Smith revolver with a six inch barrel. The man was nothing if not compliant. âYou got a carry and conceal for this?â he asked, then stuck the gun in his coat pocket.
âUhâ¦â
Spike said, âAha,â handing Jack a 9mm automatic he had discovered on the other man.
âHow âbout some ID?â Bischoff asked, watching the nine slip into Jackâs other pocket.
âExcellent suggestion, Ray,â Jack agreed.
âI got a permit,â Jackâs subject finally managed to say while slipping a black leather bi-fold from his sport coat.
Jack plucked the wallet from the manâs fingers and began rifling through it. Earl Jones was the guyâs name, forty-seven years of age. The permit was a registration card. âThis ainât a CWP,â Jack observed. âIâm thinkinâ right now youâre in violation of a code or two.â
âThree that I can think of,â Bischoff offered. âMaybe more.â
âThis guy doesnât even have a card,â Spike provided, flipping through the contents of the other manâs billfold. âSee?â
âMaybe more just became definitely more,â Bischoff emended.
Jack scrutinized one goon and then the other, shaking his head like he was disappointed and then studied the Nevada driverâs license of Spikeâs subject, noting the manâs name was Al Mertz, forty-six years of age. âWell Mr. Jones, perhaps you can explain your interest in Mr. Noriega?â The look in Jackâs eyes left no doubt he was in no mood to play games.
Jones glanced at Mertz. âWho? I donât knaaghââ
Jack poked him in the pit of the throat just above the collarbone and made a sound like a buzzer. âWrong answer. Care to try again?â The man had his hand to his windpipe, a grimace set to his mouth beneath watering eyes. âHow about you, Mertz?â
âUmâ¦ Yeah, we were told to follow him,â Mertz revealed, apparently startled by Jackâs flash of violence.
Spike asked, âBy who?â his gaze slim and intolerant.
âFor a guy named Bob Bonk,â Mertz confessed promptly. âHe said, uh, Noriega was, uhâ¦ that he owed some money to a guy and that we were supposed to find him and, you know, take him to the guy,â the goon explained, adding, âPolitely, of course.â
Jack looked at Spike with a raised brow. âChock one up for Mr. Insight,â he said with a quick smile. Then to Mertz, said, âWould this guy happen to be Harold King?â
Shallow sigh. âUmâ¦ That would be the guy, yeah,â Mertz confirmed, though it was clear he didnât want to.
âNow weâre making progress,â Jack said in a lighter tone. âSo, where can we find this guy?â
Jones cleared his throat, evidently ready to get back in the game. âWell, eh-hmm-mm, weâre supposed to make a call. Set up a meet,â he said in a scratchy tone. âYou know, once we had explained the situation to Mr. Noriega.â
Jack gave that a momentâs consideration. âI see. Why donât you go ahead and do that right now, just as if the five of us had never had this conversation, you understand Mr. Jones?â Jack asked, poking the man in the sternum to make his point.
âUh, eh-hmm, yeah, loud and clear boss.â
âThatâs good Earl, because the quality of your cooperation will go a long way in determining the outcome of your immediate future,â Jack warned.

*
Click to expand...

J3scribe · Jun 14, 2009

continued...

Bobâs cell phone rang. It was in his hand, so he flipped it open with a flick of the thumb and held it to his ear. âYeah? â¦Good work, Earl. Whatâs wrong with your voice, you catchinâ a cold? â¦Uh-huh, oh. Hang onâ¦ Theyâve got Noriega,â he revealed to the others before putting the phone back to his ear. âWhat? â¦Oh, weâre at the Luxorâ¦ yeah. Hang onâ¦ How do ya wanna do this, Harry?â
King rubbed at his double chin then said, âThey got both of them?â Bob nodded. âAll right. Have âem keep Maria separateâIâll deal with that bitch later. Have one of âem bring Victor here. Tell him weâre just gonna have a friendly talk over supper.â
Bob passed on the information then waited for his man to relay the scenario to his partner. To King, he asked, âWhere?â
âWhere what?â
âWhere supper?â
King said, âOh. Uhâ¦ That Mexican place on the upper levelâ¦ Whatâs it called?â
âLa Salsa,â Larry said.
âTell âem to hurry up, Iâm fuckinâ hungry,â King said. âYou hungry, Load?â
Grunt.

âYeah, okay. Fifteen minutes,â Jones said, pressing the end call button and looking to Jack for approval.
âGood job, Earl. Now give me your phones,â Jack commanded, holding his hand out and waving his fingers over his palm in the international gesture of gimme. Both men exhaled through their noses in exasperation, but complied.
âWeâre supposed to meet them in front of La Salsa on the upper level of Luxor,â Jones disclosed.
âThem who?â Spike asked.
Jones said, âBob and Harry, I imagine.â
âAnd probably Larry,â Mertz added. âBob donât go nowhere without his brother. Larryâs the brains of the family.â
Jones was nodding in agreement. âThatâs true.â
âWhat do they look like?â Jack asked.
Mertz shrugged. âBob and Larry resemble each other. Theyâre like, this guyâs height,â he said, hooking a thumb at Bischoff, who was around five-ten. âTheyâre in their fifties but still blonde, trim like active guys. Well groomed. Nothing remarkable about âem.â
âWell, there is that thing with Bobâ¦â Jones said, looking at Mertz with an expression of puzzled amusement while scratching at an eyebrow.
âWhat thing?â Jack wondered.
âWell, he makes this funny noise sometimes,â Jones revealed. âKind of like a chirp, or a peep.â
âHeâs got that condition,â Mertz said, snapping his fingers in an attempt to remember. âIt sounds like that top part of an army tankâ¦ What do they call it?â
âA turret?â Spike guessed.
âTourette Syndrome?â Bischoff suggested.
âYeah, thatâs it,â Mertz agreed, shaking a finger at Bischoff. âWhen heâs just sittinâ there, not talkinâ, suddenly youâll hear this chirp.â
âSoâ¦ Bob Bonk beeps?â Spike said, giving Jack a funny look.
âAnd then heâll blink his eyes real hard,â Jones added, demonstrating.
âWhatâs King look like?â Jack wondered, moving things along.
âFat,â the two men said in unison. âReal big,â added Mertz, puffing out his cheeks and arcing his arms out to his sides like he was carrying large bundles.
âLike that guy in the old detective series,â Jones offered as an example.
Bischoff: âIronside?â
âNah, not Raymond Burr, the other one.â
Mertz: again with the finger snapping, âConrad something.â
âCannon?â Jack put forward.
âYeah, but in that So and So and the Fat Man show,â Mertz clarified, somewhat.
âJake?â
âWilliam Conrad?â
âThatâs him.â
âGotcha,â Jack said, enlightened. He turned to Bischoff. âWould it be too much of an imposition to ask you to keep these two on ice for awhile, Ray?â
âNot at all.â
The arrangement immediately sparked complaint from Jones and Mertz, which Jack immediately suppressed with a withering glare of intolerance. He handed over their guns and cell phones to the security executive, then said, âI canât have you fellas giving your friends a heads up. Besides, you guys were caught carrying guns in a casino without proper credentials, which probably carries a heavy fine, if not jail time, am I right, Ray?â
âHeavy on both counts, you can be certain,â Bischoff agreed, grinning.
âHe would know,â Jack stated, provoking postures of defeat in his captives. âCooperate and youâre free and clear, as far as my concerns go. What this man decides to do with you is up to him.â
At one point, a couple of uniformed guards had begun hovering nearby and it was to these men Bischoff turned, instructing them to take the goons away to wherever it was they took offenders of casino rules and regulations. Jack shook the security supervisorâs hand, thanking the man sincerely, then retrieved one of his CIA business cards and scribbled his cell phone number on the back. Handing it over, he said, âI owe you a big one, Ray. Donât be afraid to call in the marker, okay?â
âGood to know.â The man glanced at the card and made a puzzled frown. âI thought you said your name was Jack?â
âItâs a nickname,â Jack smiled.
âAh, I see. These people those guys were interested in? Theyâre not gonna be trouble for the property, are they?â Bischoff wondered, concerned.
âNaw, just keep takinâ their money, Ray. They got lots of it,â Jack assured the man.
âWell, weâll just have to see about that.â

âItâs been twenty minutes, Bob. Where the fuck are they?â
âItâs Friday rush hour, Harry, give âem a break! Theyâll be here,â Bob Bonk soothed, admiring the three-foot tall tube-like margarita container incorporated into La Salsaâs neon sign. It looked like a great big bong. More neon over the takeout bar claimed, Margaritas By The Yard.
âWhy donât we go in and get settled while Bob waits out here?â Larry suggested, thinking Kingâs disposition would improve once they got a plate of quesadillas in front of him. And a bucket of chips with a quart of salsa.
Cheep
King sniffed. âYeah, alrightâ¦ Hey, where did Wide Load get off to?â
Bob said, âI seen him wander into the arcade a minute ago.â
âAw shit. Heâll give the fuckinâ kids nightmares. Go get âem Bob, would you?â King implored.
âSure. Be right back.â

Jack and Spike had walked right past them and went as far as the food court before turning around and walking back as far as the towering obelisk at the center of the attractions level, where they paused and considered their adversaries. There was indeed a pair of middle-aged blonde guys and a man of rotund proportions looking impatient. âI think weâre late,â Jack observed.
âCould be,â Spike agreed. âYou know, I think that guy in the Panama hat is Larry the Loan Shark.â
âWho?â Jack asked, as he watched one of the trio head toward the video arcade.
Spike said, âCâmon, you know. On the TV commercials for that payday loan place? âLet me help take a bite out of your cash flow problemsâ?â he quoted.
With growing enlightenment, Jack confessed, âBy golly, I think youâre right. Well, thatâs interesting.â The man who had disappeared into the arcade reemerged a moment later, stopped, looked over his shoulder, made a waving gesture with his arm, like, come on, and then went to join the others.
âWhat was that all about?â Spike wondered.
As he and Jack looked on, a knot of tourists scattered like startled pigeons as a bulldozer of a man trundled into view on legs as stout as redwood trunks. He was well over six feet tall, four feet wide in the shoulders, and three feet thick in the torso from any angle. Arms like Hercules, hands like King Kong, feet like Herman Munster. His shiny, dome shaped head grew straight out of a sequoia stump of a neck that poked up through the crew neck hole of a gray, woolen sweater that required several yards of fabric to cover his considerable girth, which the garment still managed to strain against. For all that, the guy did not appear to be fat.
âJesus,â Spike hissed. âI bet you could slug that sucker a hundred times and he wouldnât even notice.â
âNo shit,â Jack agreed. âNow that, my friend, is what you would call built like a brick shithouse.â The lumbering giant joined the other three men and turned, the dark, languid eyes beneath his prominent brow staring in Jackâs direction.
âCheck out that grill,â Spike marveled, alluding to the behemothâs dental work. The man had a cigar the diameter of a broom handle clenched in his bared teeth, which appeared to be chrome plated and augmented with rhinestones.
The megalomorph could be an issue of sorts, Jack decided, recalling a similarly enormous fellow he had to contend with once upon a time. âThe dudeâs size is an asset to his function,â he murmured, causing Spike to swivel his head in Jackâs direction, a smarmy look of no duh set upon his mocha features.
âReally,â Spike replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. âHow so?â
âDudeâs like a human boulder, best not to get him rollinââ¦ which is where you come in,â Jack determined. âOkay broâ¦ you keep Mr. Peterbilt there in check while I have a chat with the others.â
âWhat? Why me?â Spike argued.
ââCause Iâm the boss.â Actually, Jack had no desire to cause trouble. Too public.
âManâ¦ Youâre still ticked about what I said to Jackie, arenât you?â Spike complained.
Jack grinned. âNot anymore Iâm not.â

Harry checked the diamond studded Rolex squeezing the blubber around his left wrist and frowned. âFuck it, lets get a table,â he decided. âWhy donât you call âem, Bob, see what the
hold upââ
âHarold King?â
Harry pivoted his jowly face in the direction his name had emanated from and found himself looking at a fair-sized white guy dressed casually in jeans and a golf shirt beneath a russet colored leather coat. His partner, a black man who outstood and outweighed the white guy by several inches and several dozen pounds was dressed in similar attire but wearing a black leather ball club jacket with Pittsburgh Steelers logos sewn on. He had his hands in his pockets and was studying Wide Load with caution. Smart man. King sneered with satisfaction. âMy associate, Wide Load,â he revealed, prompting the black dude to purse his lips. To the white guy, Harry said, âWho the fuck are you?â annoyed at the interruption.
Cheep
âWeâre your dinner guests,â the man said, and then he grinned. âIâm afraid Earl and Victor couldnât make it, so my friend an I decided to come in their place.â
Harry glanced first at Larry and then Bob, his puffy, ruddy features taking on a look of consternation. âWhat the fuck are you talkinâ about asshole?â
The manâs grin stayed in place but his blue eyes seemed to deepen in shade by several degrees. He held an arm out, indicating that they should enter the restaurant and said, âPlease, letâs get comfortable and Iâll explain.â Then he said, âHey, arenât you Larry the Loan Shark?â
Cheep
Larry had been sizing the guy up with a thoughtful expression. He smiled at Harry and then said to the man, âThe one and only. Câmon Harry, letâs get a table.â
Harry said, âFuck it, all right.â Then he rotated on his axis and stepped up to the hostess. âParty of six.â
But dinner for ten, Jack was contemplating as they were led to their table, two small ones actually, that were shoved together to accommodate them. Spike took one end while Jack took the other, King to his left and Larry Bonk to his right. King already had his nose in a menu and was ordering appetizers before the hostess had managed to escape. Bonk seemed to be familiar with Kingâs behavior. He sighed through his nose and said, âSo, misterâ¦?â
âDunne. Daniel Dunne,â he said, reaching for his credentials. âCIA Special Operations.â
Cheep
The revelation caused King to look up from his menu, first at Larry and then at Jack. âCIA?â he glinted at Jackâs open ID wallet. âOh. I see.â Then his brow unfurled as he thumped an elbow against the giantâs arm. âHey, get a load of this, Load. Guyâs a spy.â
Grunt.
A waiter approached and Jack let him do his job, saying, âGet that to go,â when it came to be Spikeâs turn to order. âWe wonât be staying.â He ordered a Negro Modelo for himself and then got down to brass tacks. âLook, Mr. King, I know why youâre in town lookinâ for Noriega, the man is in arrears, right? He probably burned you on a coke deal Iâm guessing.â The expression on Kingâs face was reserved but vaguely suspicious of Jackâs accusation. Jack waved it aside. âI donât care what rackets youâre into and frankly Iâm not lookinâ to make trouble for you, understand? Furthermore, I suspect youâre also here looking to get revenge for your nephewâs untimely demise. Right or wrong?â He glanced around the table. He certainly had their attention.
Cheep
Cocktails and tortilla chips with salsa were delivered as well as a plate of assorted finger food for King. The human mountain gathered one of the bowls of salsa in a cupped hand and hooked a stout finger in the bowl of chips nearest him and slid them both in front of himself then started in on them with robotic repetition. Chip, dip, crunchâ¦ Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
âIâm sorry about Arty,â Jack continued, meaning it. âThe kid was too young to meet such a tragic end.â
King took a sip off his gin and tonic, but it was Larry Bonk who spoke first. âYou know something about that do you?â
Jack regarded the man pensively. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt under a white linen blazer. His complexion looked to have been caressed recently by tropical sunshine. âAs a matter of fact Mr. Bonkââ
âCall me Larry.â
Cheep
âOkay Larry, as a matter of fact, I know all about it,â Jack revealed. He turned to King, who looked like a man ready to explode, his complexion detrimentally florid as a result of high blood pressure. He reached over and plucked a stuffed jalapeÃ±o off the manâs plate. âThe truth is, I have the whole episode on surveillance video.â
Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
Kingâs eyes widened. âBullshit,â he growled. âWhere do you get offâ?â
Jack raised his hand. âI shit you not,â he confirmed mildly, snatching a second deep fried nugget and popping it in his mouth.
âHeyâ¦â
Cheep
Bob Bonk squeezed his eyes together and then opened them wider than they were before. âSo you know who killed Arty.â It was a statement.
âYes. And I can assure you, it was not Victor Noriega.â
King gulped the rest of his drink and signaled the waiter while he asked. âDid you nail the bastard responsible? Did you toss âem in jail?â
âNo on both counts,â Jack confessed.
âWhy not?â
âWas it a Chinese guy that did it by chance?â Larry asked. He knew where Ching was too, but theyâd deal with him later.
Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
Jack smiled and then stopped. âHave you guys got issues with Mr. Ching too, Larry?â
Cheep
He was going to deny it and then thought better of it. âNot if you say I donât,â Bonk said agreeably.
âYou donât.â
King determined it was probably best to take a thoughtful approach with this guy. So far, he had been on the up and up with them. âCan I level with you Mr. Dunne?â he asked, gathering the manâs attention and receiving a nod in response. âI sent Ching here in the first place to make contact with Noriega. Now what Iâm getting from you is that the CIA has both Noriega and Ching in their sights. Right?â
Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
Jackâs response was noncommittal. In fact, it was non anything, he simply stared at the man, blank faced, waiting.
Cheep
The look was very disconcerting after a moment. King compressed his lips, he had to know. âThere donât happen to be a couple of ex-KGB Russians mixed up in the situation, are there?â
Jack said, âNo.â
King narrowed his eyes and studied the man carefully for a long moment looking for tells. Nothing. He sighed. âCan you at least tell me who killed my nephew?â King asked reasonably. If he had to beg, he just might.
Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
Jack smiled and nodded agreeably. âCertainly. Do you happen to know a guy goes by the name of El Tiberon? Heâs from Columbia. Heâs Victorâs supplier.â
King sneered. âOchoaâs in town?â If so, he was shark bait.
There was no question what Mr. King had in mind for the cartel member. Jack matched the manâs wicked smirk. âRight next door, at the Four Seasons.â
âWait a minute,â Larry intervened before Kingâs hard on got the better of him. âWhy would you tell us that, Mr. Dunne?â
Cheep
Jack slid his gaze toward the usurer and shrugged. âA reasonable question, Larry. Honestly? I donât give a ratâs ass about Ochoa. If you want to kill him, go ahead. Heâs not an American citizen and heâs not a diplomatâs son.â
âAh, the qualifier.â
Chip, dip, crunchâ¦
âIn a nutshell, yes,â Jack agreed.
âYou donât care if we kill Ochoa?â King asked, doubtful.
Jack held his gaze on Larry Bonk. âIâm not a cop.â
âUhâ¦ What happened to my guys?â Bob Bonk wanted to know.
âTheyâre otherwise engagedâfor the moment,â Jack divulged, smiling at the man. âSo gentlemen, let me recap just so weâre clear. Forget about Victor Noriega, Mr. King. Forget about Tommy Ching, Mr. Bonk. Both of you. Theyâre off limits.â At that point, a couple of waiters arrived bearing aromatic entrees, including Spikeâs, which came in a big plastic container. âIf I catch you defying me, youâre going to be pining for the good old days of pleasant conversations like this one. Iâm a very unforgiving man when crossed, gentleman.â On that note, Jack nodded at Spike as he rose from the table. âEnjoy your dinnerâ¦ Oh, and by the way? We never spoke.â The look he left them with left no doubt it was true.
Cheep

At the valet waiting for Jackâs Mercedes to be brought around, Spike said, âIâm kind of surprised you gave up Ochoa like that.â
âYeah?â
âEspecially since he had nothing to do with the kidâs death,â Spike observed, hefting the to-go container in his hands. âThis burrito is huge, you want half?â
Jack eyeballed the grilled chicken and black bean concoction through the transparent lid. âMaybe. How do we know he wasnât in on it? Ochoa certainly witnessed the act.â
âTrue. But what about his deal with the Russians?â
Jack smiled at his friend. âWell, hereâs the thing, bubba. Remember when I got shot up in Peć and they took me to that medical facility in KukÃ«s?â Spike was nodding. âAs I was lyinâ there after theyâd patched me up, you asked the doc if I was gonna make it, right? Do you remember what he said?â
âNot off hand, no,â Spike replied, distracted, craning his neck to see if Jackâs car was coming up the drive.
Jack continued, âAmong other things, he said that I had lost my spleen but that Iâd get along fine without it. When asked why, he pointed out that even though the spleen performs an important function it was expendable because its role was redundant, that my liver would make up for its loss and that my body would adjust. Evidently, he was tellinâ the truth, right?â
As the Mercedes rolled to a stop in front of them, Spike remarked, âSo it seems,â as he trotted around to the passenger side.
Settled in behind the wheel, Jack said, âWell, think of Ochoa in the same light, Spike. He performed his vital function, eye-ee; he planted the idea in Plain and Simpleâs minds of using the jet to retrieve the weapons. From this point forward heâs just a redundancy. Besides, we donât need any more of his product finding its way ashore, and we certainly donât need the weapons finding their way abroad.â
âSo youâre saying Ochoaâs a spleen,â Spike jibed, chuckling. âThatâs reasonable, I guess,â he nodded. âI guess youâre hoping that King and his buddies will do away with the cat pronto, right?â
âThatâs the general idea, yes,â Jack revealed. âDamn that smells good.â
âSo step on it.â

*
Raphael Ochoaâs latest orgasm would be his last. It was just before eight and he was lying naked in bed smoking a cigarette after Pilar had finished fucking him silly, always a good way to kick off the weekend he was thinking, when the room phone rang. He rolled his head to the left and stared at it for a ring or two like it was foreign to him, because it was the first time in two weeks the thing had jangledâhis usual means of communication being his cell phoneâwhen Pilar picked up and said, âÂ¿Bueno?â Then, âEst para tiâ¦ una Americano.â
Ochoa gave her a look of annoyance as she presented him with the handset. Pilar stuck her tongue out at him as he put it to his ear, learning in short order that Harold King was on the line. âHow dâjoo know where to find me?â Ochoa asked, frankly suspicious.
King said, âI figured if Victor was in town, you probably werenât too far removed, so I used the process of elimination, starting with the best hotels. The thing is though; I struck out using the same system with Vic. Heâs layinâ low, probably thinks I wanna hurt him, which just ainât true. All I wanna do is set things right and I was hopinâ youâd help me out here. Can we get together and discuss the situation? Iâm right next door at the Luxor, Rafa. Maybe I could come over andââ
âNo! No, that would be inconvenient,â Ochoa advised. What it came down to is, he didnât want that pig sullying up his suite. âHow bout I come to joo, eh? Joo relax Harry. I be over in, say, twenty minute, okay?â Which met with Kingâs approval, naturally. Old lard ass wouldnât have to move a muscle. He asked the manâs room number then grudgingly rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.

When the room phone rang, Harry picked up immediately. Ochoa was in the inclinator lobby but the guard wouldnât let him go up, so King had a few polite words with the man and the impasse was resolved. He set the phone down and said, âOchoaâs on his way up,â even though everyone was aware of the fact.
Cheep
Larry Bonk asked, âSo what have you decided?â After the government men had split, the encounter had dominated the dinner conversation, particularly the revelation about Ochoa being behind Artyâs death. King was ready to act on the information straight up but Larry wasnât so sure. He sensed the government man had an agenda and perhaps they were being used to do his dirty work and eventually convinced King to at least think things through before acting in haste. After all, what did they have to lose?
King replied, âWeâll talk, okay? But you know heâs gonna deny it!â
âTrue,â Larry said. âBut there are denials, and then there are denials. Weâll soon see if heâs sincere.â
Cheep
âSincere or not, if he was even peripheral to the event heâs gonna be sorry.â
Bob Bonk squinted hard then intoned, âThereâs sorry, and then thereâs sorry.â
King grunted at the sight of the manâs snarky expression. âThe second one, Bob. Heâs gonna be real fuckinâ sorry.â The sentiment was punctuated by a knock on the door, which prompted King to turn to Wide Load and say, âLoad, stand right there against that wall. I donât want you to be the first thing Ochoa sees when he walks in, okay? It would ruin the element of surprise.â Like nearly every hotel room in Vegas, or everywhere really, when you walked through the door the bathroom was on your immediate left or right, creating a little hall leading into the bedroom. Wide Load took up position around the corner from the bath and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in a relaxed posture. King was sitting at the foot of the bed while Bob stood, staring out the window. At Kingâs nod, Larry stepped to the door.
King heard Ochoa say, âUm, forgive me, perhaps I have the wrong room.â
âAre you lookinâ for King? â¦Then youâre in the right place. My name is Larry, pleased to meetâcha. Câmon in.â
As he stepped into the bedroom, Ochoa said, âJoo look familiar. Are joo on TV?â Then, âSeÃ±or King,â nodding.
Cheep
âYeah, heâs Larry the Loan Shark,â King confirmed while hooking a thumb toward the window wall, âAnd thatâs his brother, Bob.â By that point, Ochoa had taken startled notice of the humongous being leaning against the wall, so whether or not he had caught Bobâs name was unclear. The man took a sidestep away from Kingâs aide almost as if he had been compelled to do so by magnetic repulsion. âThatâs my associate, Wide Load. Load? This guy is Raphael Ochoa, a friend of Victorâsâheâs got a nickname too. El Tiberon. Like the car? You know what Iâm talkinâ about?â
Grunt.
Like a boulder sealing off a cave, the man mountain slid to his left in front of the hall space with a deceptively smooth motion, effectively blocking that avenue of escape. Ochoa thought, uh oh. Heâd never seen the freak before, wasnât even aware of his existence. Kingâs new secret weapon, Ochoa gathered, uncomfortable with the fact. And whatâs up with that metallic grin? He glanced at the man by the window, briefly wondering who he was and decided it didnât matter before focusing his gaze on King while smiling amicably. âSo. About Victor? How can I be of assistance?â
King smiled in the face of the manâs helpful nature because it was a new aspect of the manâs personality. He said. âVictor owes me a hundred and twenty grand, plus interest at this point, so sayâ¦ one fifty? All Iâm interested in is the money, I swear. I really donât want to hurt the man. If you could get the message to him, maybe we could resolve the issue and move on. Can you do that?â
âThat sounds fair,â Ochoa agreed, thinking in fact it was. But what about the Chinamanâs original mission, and what about the other one, the nephew?
King continued, âIâm happy you think so. Now, onto other business,â he asserted as his tone soured. âA reliable source tells me you had something to do with my nephewâs death. Iâm inclined to believe this source because he claims to have surveillance video of the event and he happens to be just the sort of guy with access to such evidence.â
Cheep
What the hell was that? Ochoa glanced in the direction of the windows as he narrowed his brow. âIs that so?â he asked as evenly as possible. King was just staring at him, trying to draw him out. So be it. âThis man lied to you.â
âIn what way?â Larry wondered. He smirked at King, who gave him a dirty look. Evidently, it wasnât his turn to speak. For the moment the room was quiet, except for the low drone of Wide Loadâs respiration. Larry said, âPerhaps youâd like to explain.â The offer was met with a pensive moue and shallow nodding.
âIt was joor Russian friends that performed this act, SeÃ±or King, not I,â Ochoa volunteered, âbut it is true that I witnessed this sad affair,â he confessed, thinking that if the disclosure about the videotape was true, then there was no getting around the fact of his seeming complicity in the matter. Distracted by the unfolding event, he hadnât taken time to consider the presence of surveillance cameras. Damn it. King didnât seem surprised by his revelation, he noted, as he took the time to explain what had happened, going into what detail he thought germane and spinning the facts to suggest he had no control over the situation, and furthermore, was vocally opposed to the ex-KGB menâs rash behavior, qualifying everything by summing up, âQuite frankly, they scare me. It was like being in a movie. They were robotic and unremorseful in action. What was I to do?â
Cheep
King knew he was being patronized and the notion curdled his mood further. He pointed a finger at the Columbian and accused, âYou had an opportunity to save his life when the Russianâs left for the alley. Surely, you canât expect me to believe that you, El Tiberon, the baddest hombre south of the Panama Canal, were so petrified with fear that you couldnâtâve taken the opportunity to warn off my nephew at that time?â
âNo, I assure jooââ
âAnd what exactly is your involvement in this deal theyâve got going on, huh?â King demanded. âAnd how does Tommy Ching fit into your circle, huh? â¦Ah, I see, you didnât know
I knew this, did you?â
âIâm not in on anything, I am merelyââ
âBullshit! Youâve never taken a mere part in anything! I know you Ochoa, and I know how you operate. You take advantage of every opportunity that comes down the road, whether itâs a good idea or not,â King reminded. The men had six years of history, after all. âI bet youâre up to your neck with the rest of âem and in my opinion that makes you as guilty as the fucking Russians. Fortunately for you, I need your help to contact Victor so I can get my fuckinâ money. You do that for me and Iâm willing to let you off the hook as far as Arty goes, do you understand me?â
Cheep
âI am nothing if not amenable to joor request,â Ochoa granted. Harry was as florid as a
rose. Heâd never seen the man so angry and as such had him worried, especially with the Incredible Hulk standing so close. He had no doubt the guy could withstand a whole clip of bullets. They would probably just piss him off.
King snorted, âAmenable, thatâs good. I knew you were smart, Rafa. Just donât try to get clever. Running home to Columbia wonât be far enough to get away from me, but I think you already know that, right? â¦Good. You got twenty-four hours to come through for me, Ochoa, not one minute more.â
Click to expand...

J3scribe · Jun 14, 2009

...continued...

âMore than enough time, I assure joo,â Ochoa confirmed.
âYouâre lucky to get that much,â King grumbled, resentfully. âLoad? Throw this son of a bitch out of my room!â
Which he did. Unfortunately, the man didnât always appreciate his own strength. While Larry Bonk held the door open, Wide Load grasped a big handful of Ochoaâs sport coat and shoved him out into the hallway, which is actually a balcony, and the force of Ochoaâs momentum flipped him right over the balustrade and out into open space.
âOh shit, Load! What did you do?â Larry cried in alarm, spurring King to struggle to his feet and join Bob, who was already fast on Larryâs heels. They gathered along the rail looking downward upon the center of the attraction level twenty-three floors below. Ochoa never made it that far. His torso was impaled on the tip of the eighty-foot tall obelisk, his blood seeping down the beveled facets of its peak.
Cheep
âGoddamn it! Now Iâll never get paid, probably,â King complained. âWhat did you go and do that for, Load?â
Grunt. Shrug.
Larry patted the giant on one of his enormous shoulders. âThe kid doesnât know his own strength, Harry, give âem a break.â
âYa gotta admit it was a hell of a toss though, right?â Bob observed. âA one in a million shot! Donât you think?â
Larry chuckled in agreement. âPossibly. In a town full of bookies we could probably find out, I bet. But I think we oughta get back in the room before people start askinâ questions.â
King said, âGood point. Iâm already forgettinâ who the guy was.â
âWhat guy?â
âWho?â
Grunt?

*
It should be noted that aircraft have crashed at municipal airports in Las Vegas without meriting a single mention from the local news media, so the death of a single individual must be marked by a certain measure of sensation before news crews can be bothered to react, otherwise the deceased just wind up being recorded as yet another generic statistic, especially if they die at a casino, which is considered bad for tourism. The question then becomes: What qualifies as sensational? A hotel room suicide? Unless youâre already famous for something else, forget it. A bandit being pursued by casino security personnel âaccidentallyâ falling off of a parking structure? No comment. That would be bad publicity.
A guy gets impaled on an obelisk while a multitude looks on? Now youâre talkinâ.
As it so happened, it was a slow news day, which is to say no local politician raised the bar by sinking to new lows while committing an indictable offense; no babies were shaken or beaten to death by a drug addled caregiver or left for dead in a dumpster by persons unknown; no carload of unlicensed teenagers blazing along at NASCAR speeds managed to rip their car in half with the help of a telephone pole or somehow get the vehicle entangled around the axles of an eighty thousand pound gravel truck while trying to get back to class after pushing the limits of lunch hour.
As a result, Ochoaâs death was given the lead slot during the eleven oâclock news with
lots of commentary by so-called eyewitnesses who in all likelihood just happened to look up after someone else had started pointing, and possibly screaming. As was common these days, home video footage was included in the account, featuring a brief close-up shot of Ochoaâs shocked and agonized death face.
If Jack had started the movie five minutes later he probably would have missed the report all together. As it was, he and Jackie watched the story with equal fascination because in truth it was a pretty fantastic way to leave this world. As the anchorwoman moved the broadcast along, Jack turned to Jackie and said, âI knew that guy. He was one of the players in this farce Iâm involved in.â
Jackie turned to him with an open expression, curious. âDo you know who killed him then?â
Jack hiked his shoulders. âI could probably narrow it down to one or two individuals I imagine.â Or one. A real big one. Jack smiled at his home theatre screen, wondering how it played out.
âThe Russian guys?â Jackie pried after a minute, trying to keep her tone light and disinterested as she watched the news broadcast.
Jack shook his head, glanced at Jackie then back to the news. âUhâ¦ No. Not them. Some other people with an axe to grind you can be certain. Butâ¦ itâs not important.â
âShouldnât you tell the cops? I meanâ¦â Jackie began, but he was shaking his head some more, making a puckered moue of indifference.
âOchoa was an asshole. He isnât worth the effort, babe.â
After a moment, she said, âOh.â

*
It sounded like a simple proposal by Larry Bonk when he asked: âWhat would happen if we simply knocked on Victorâs door? Or how âbout Chingâs?â
âIâm thinkinâ if that CIA asshole got wind of it, weâd be sharinâ morgue space with Ochoa,â King speculated. âYou were right about that sly son of a bitch, Larry. He was tryinâ to trick us into doinâ his fuckinâ dirty work!â
âHe inadvertently succeeded, too,â Larry pointed out.
King snorted because it was hard not to. âYeahâ¦ goddamn, huh? That was somethinâ,â he pondered while staring at the pudgy toes poking out from under an Ace bandage wrapped around his right foot and ankle. He shook his head and made another sound of amusement through his nose then lifted his gaze at Bonk. âFuckinâ Load.â They were in Larryâs den. King had his considerable bulk propped up in the corner of a sofa in such a way that he could keep his leg stretched out and elevated on the couch, while his left leg below the knee dangled over the side.
After ducking into Kingâs room to avoid detection, they had more or less collectively reached the same conclusion that maybe they would be better off making themselves scarce, so King and his body guard collected what luggage they had brought along, and with the Bonks, made a hasty departure. King had never moved so fast and as a result, he had stumbled over a pavement imperfection in the parking garage and twisted his ankle, the result being a bad sprain, that particular joint not being up to the task of supporting his excessive weight at an unnatural angle. They managed to make a clean escape and once they arrived at Larryâs home, placed a call to one of the house call services who sent a doctor over to fix up Harryâs foot.
âOn the other handâ¦â King uttered at length, âI like the idea of confronting Ching. The panda fucker could put us onto the Russians, although I suspect weâd have to approach them with a little more finesse.â For Larryâs benefit, King revealed the information his brother-in-law had imparted. âSo you seeâ¦â
âNot the kind of guys to lose their heads in a crisis, if what you say is true,â Bonk offered insightfully. âI had contact with CIA guys like that over in Nam. Hard edged characters who lacked a conscience. Dunne is like that, I suspect. Those guys are fuckinâ different. They take ruthlessness to a higher level.â
âYeah, no shit. âI donât care if you kill Ochoa.â I give you my blessing, go nuts,â Harry muttered. âLike giving a kid free run in a candy shop.â He puffed air through his nostrils. âBalls.â
âBig and brassy.â
King grunted. âKind of guy Iâd like to have on my payroll, truth be told.â
âI doubt you could afford his fees, Harry,â Bonk countered, his expression reflective.
King flicked a hand, dismissive. âWhatâre you talkinâ about? The guy works for the government,â he scoffed, âand theyâre not exactly known for their largesse, pay wise. Unless youâre a senator.â
âTrue,â Larry nodded. âDid you happen to notice his watch?â King shook his head. âAh, well, there you go. Like I always say, âthe truth is in the detailsâ,â he reminded. âThe man was wearing an IWC of Schaffhausen.â
The claim was meaningless to King. âSo.â
âA very exclusive Swiss watchmaker. Handmade, custom fit, buyer specific options and details.â Bonk held up an arm, displaying an elegant gold and onyx Tag Heuer model that probably set him back three or four thousand dollars. He said, âAn IWC timepiece like this? Your basic model with time and date?â King nodded. âThey start at around, oh, forty grand.â
King cocked his brow. âYeah?â
Larry smiled. He had the manâs attention. âItâs true,â he claimed. âDunne was wearing an aviators chronograph, solid platinum, the kind with all the bells and whistlesâall those little dials inset on the face for time zone adjustment and phases of the moon or whatever? Jeweled face with emerald chips on the five-minute marks and a ruby at the twelve. It was quite impressive and I wouldnât be surprised if it set him back three hundred large,â Bonk revealed.
Harry made a face of disbelief. âYouâre shittinâ me.â
Larry shook his head. âI shit you not.â
âFor a watch.â
âOn a government manâs salary,â Larry reminded. âAlthough, to be fair, a guy of his position and seniority probably pulls down an easy quarter million a year.â
King looked toward the ceiling, thinking about it. âPossibly, but who blows a yearâs pay on a watch?â Harry questioned. âRight?â Larry hiked a shoulder in a gesture of uncertainty. Could happen. âThree hundred grand â¦ Huh. Intriguing.â
âTo say the least.â
âHeâs either really careless or incredibly clever,â King posed.
âMy moneyâs on the second choice,â Larry decided. âAll things considered.â
âYeah, mine too,â King agreed.
âThat said, do you really want to defy the guy and talk with Ching?â
âI ainât goinâ nowhere,â King stated, patting his knee. âYou think you could approach the guy on the q.t.?â
Larry bobbed his head side to side, thinking about it. âI know a guy that practically lives at the MGM year round, comped room and all. Heâs on a first name basis with everyone that works there by this point. Hell, he might even know the Chinaman. After a while, the regulars become like fixtures, manâyou know âem like you know your own living room. At the very least, he could get me past the elevator security as his guest. After that, I donât see why I couldnât go knock on the Chinamanâs door and have a pleasant, non-threatening conversation with the man.â
âHeâs a contract killer, so that would probably be the best approachâ¦ Might not even need to go to the manâs room, actually, itâs more likely youâll find him in the casino,â King pointed out. âI seem to recall he likes to play dice.â
âNeed to know what the man looks like,â Larry murmured, working out a scenario.
âLike a chink,â Harry chuckled. âOr you could page himâ¦ Letâs think about this.
Click to expand...

haydaddict · Jun 14, 2009

Are we supposed to this?:mrgreen:

MarkyMark1971 · Jun 14, 2009

Copied to notepad and I will print it out!

Perfect4ths · Jun 14, 2009

Get I get this on my Kindle?

The Cunt Factory · Jun 14, 2009

Nice scribe, great story line ...
also like the quite elaborate descriptions of buildings/interiors/settings ... visited Las Vegas in 2004 -4 nights in Circus Circus- so it helps understanding.

Printed it out on a bit larger font for easy reading.

Only thing I miss are the "..." marks (don't know how you call them) at beginning and end of the characters dialogues ... but that's just personal.

Make sure it gets published by early 2010 'cause I'm expected in New York the second week of april ... I'll be looking for it at Barnes&Nobles.

SilentKnight · Jun 14, 2009

The Cunt Factory said: ↑

Only thing I miss are the "..." marks (don't know how you call them) at beginning and end of the characters dialogues ...
Click to expand...

"They are quotation marks," I said.

Great story...really liked it.

J3scribe · Jun 14, 2009

The Cunt Factory said: ↑

Nice scribe, great story line ...
also like the quite elaborate descriptions of buildings/interiors/settings ... visited Las Vegas in 2004 -4 nights in Circus Circus- so it helps understanding.

Printed it out on a bit larger font for easy reading.

Only thing I miss are the "..." marks (don't know how you call them) at beginning and end of the characters dialogues ... but that's just personal.

Make sure it gets published by early 2010 'cause I'm expected in New York the second week of april ... I'll be looking for it at Barnes&Nobles.
Click to expand...

Thanks TC, I appreciate the input.

The dialogue is in quotes ("), I don't understand what you mean?

(I can only hope it gets bought by the time you visit.)

SilentKnight said: ↑

"They are quotation marks," I said.

Great story...really liked it.
Click to expand...

Thanks.

The Cunt Factory · Jun 14, 2009

My bad ... I meant I'd rather have no "-marks ... must have been the coffee and my poor english.

J3scribe · Jun 14, 2009

The Cunt Factory said: ↑

My bad ... I meant I'd rather have no "-marks ... must have been the coffee and my poor english.
Click to expand...

Gotcha. Well, it's got to have proper punctuation. I find it nearly physically impossible to leave out punctuation. I'm such a word geek!

Jammsbro · Jun 20, 2009

That's me got it printed. I will read in the morning with breakfast.

Billy Sastard · Jun 20, 2009

Larry Bonk?

I fucking just fell off my chair laughing.

I guess Bonk means something else over there

arespilgrim · Jun 21, 2009

Billy Sastard said: ↑

Larry Bonk?

I fucking just fell off my chair laughing.

I guess Bonk means something else over there
Click to expand...

Bristol Palin? You never thought about that?

agogo · Jun 21, 2009

Very nice, J3. My effort did not get beyond John and Joan went up a hill....

J3scribe · Jun 21, 2009

Billy Sastard said: ↑

Larry Bonk?

I fucking just fell off my chair laughing.

I guess Bonk means something else over there
Click to expand...

To hit on the head or fuck in the ass. Pick one.

agogo said: ↑

Very nice, J3. My effort did not get beyond John and Joan went up a hill....
Click to expand...

Cheers to you!

wtfazzhole · Jun 21, 2009

your novel is long, i will read it on my 18 hour flight back to vietnam.

arespilgrim · Jun 21, 2009

Copied to Word; I'll get to it in a lull. :wink:

J3scribe · Jun 23, 2009

The novel itself is a couple hundred pages azz.

wtfazzhole · Jun 23, 2009

what??? couple hundred words is long enough! what can't you say in a couple hundred words that you would need pages for? :-?

As a person who loves to read I will get to it, and if it gets published I will buy a copy for you to sign even if I don't enjoy the subject matter.

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An Excerpt From My Novel

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

haydaddict Smiley King ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member

MarkyMark1971 Sex&Drugs&Rock&Roll ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Perfect4ths ...That's All She Wrote ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew Polls Champion 2023

The Cunt Factory phundamental

SilentKnight Photographer

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

The Cunt Factory phundamental

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

Jammsbro ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member

Billy Sastard One thousand brown M&Ms ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ Ten Years of Phun

arespilgrim Blast from the Past ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

agogo

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

wtfazzhole Munchin on Pussy ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew

arespilgrim Blast from the Past ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

wtfazzhole Munchin on Pussy ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew

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An Excerpt From My Novel

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

haydaddict Smiley King ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member

MarkyMark1971 Sex&Drugs&Rock&Roll ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Perfect4ths ...That's All She Wrote ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew Polls Champion 2023

The Cunt Factory phundamental

SilentKnight Photographer

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

The Cunt Factory phundamental

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

Jammsbro ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ 15 Year Member

Billy Sastard One thousand brown M&Ms ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ Ten Years of Phun

arespilgrim Blast from the Past ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

agogo

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

wtfazzhole Munchin on Pussy ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew

arespilgrim Blast from the Past ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

J3scribe we are devo BANNED ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Ten Years of Phun

wtfazzhole Munchin on Pussy ★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ 15 Year Member Original Phun Crew

Share This Page

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