But he understood for business is always business and so we scooted.
King, I think it was King wanted to go dancing at the Voodoo Lounge. I had bad Missy memories from that name.
COME ON. Let’s get it done so I can get rid of the acid burning a sink hole in my tummy.
So I did one of those back hand things to my forehead, sans white gloves. I pretended I was a southern belle, instead of a gal with a heater in my clutch.
I promised much dancing, maybe f*****g later and corralled them to the front door. Once there, I did not see anything that I liked; nothing at all, once out the door.
Parked in front of the joint, was our guy, the limousine, and behind that was a Black Cadillac Escalade. Loitering there we’re two six-foot-two, 220 lbs thugs, obviously Zetas. They were wearing the standa
