Chapter Twenty Nine
Walk out into the grand living room, see the sit down. Carlos is sitting on his bench, coat off, behind him, black leather thigh jackets, the evil giants on either side of him, Vegas neon twinkling innocently behind them.
Thought it was going to be a fun evening, just an exchange, loot owed, why the muscle?
King is sitting on the bench in front of them. The Halliburton is on the plate glass, me knowing when that damn thing opens there maybe will be a tuna in it, or phone book.
You know the kind the CIA used whacking those guys in Iraq with, after they water boarded them, which that ghoul Rumsfeld, his Dracula buddy Cheney said wasn’t torture. Unless of course, it was being done to you and, then it is horrific torture.
Drowning really is a horrendous thing.
I twirl
