Two Sleeves and a Shakedown

7/30/2019 Two Sleeves and a Shakedown

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-TWO SLEEVES AND A SHAKEDOWN-

BY: Greg Manker

Chap 1: The Fun

Chap 2: The Crew

Chap 3: The Money Tree

Chap 4: The Pour

Chap 5: Friend From Clive

Chap 6: Hooligans and Hicks

Chap 7: Not Carl, Kevin


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-Two Sleeves and a Shakedown-

Chap one: The Fun

You're born, you take shit. You get out in the world, you take more shit. You climb a

little higher, you take less shit. Till one day you're up in the rarefied atmosphere and

you've forgotten what shit even looks like. Welcome to the layer cake son.

The T.V. in the living room was at a loud volume although most of the people

were on the back porch. With the new bonfire pit and bar we built, there was plenty

of outdoor accommodations to keep the guests entertained. I was busy in my office

behind some double doors with their blinds shut when a rapping on the

windowpanes drew me out of my concentration. I stuff everything into the suitcase

again and put it under my desk just before the door opens.

Whatre you doing in here? The partys out back Ben!

The voice was sweet but the view was sweeter. Her chestnut hair bounced as

much as the bikini under it as she came into the room. Hard to believe a girl like this

is a part of my life. A year ago she didnt even know I existed. The mutual friends

and similar hangout spots werent enough to catch her eye, but it was

understandable considering my spot when going out usually was a corner booth or

shadow. Lurking, thinking the so many fish in the sea were going to jump on my

worm and hook for me.

Just doin some stuff. Ill be out in a sec sugar.

She wrapped her arm around my side and kissed my neck, a strain even for

the tall glass of water I craved a sip from. Yes sir, theres sure plenty to celebrate. I

make it easy for her and bend down to lock lips. Everything in the past few years


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that happened seems like an impossible scenario, but as I look her in the eyes I

know that I dont need to pinch my arm or fear that shell start kicking my ass and

find myself lying on some shit apartment floor next to a spoon and needle. Im living

in a beautiful house now, with a beautiful girl, a beautiful view and a beautiful

abundance of money. Fuckin b-e-a-utiful.

I just have to check my email and then Ill be out. Promise. Make me a whiskey-

coke in a pint. Dont hold back.

I cracked a smile knowing the stiff drink was going to probably knock my

socks off. I was glad she hadnt looked under the deskwhen she came in. I grabbed

the suitcase quickly as she left the room and stuffed the bills back into place. She

thinks I have an obsession or something. It was stupid to count it at a time like this,

but if anybody has ever held stacks of $100 bills in their hand, knowing full well that

they were his and his alone, they can empathize. Its a surreal feeling once monetary

issues become a thing of the past. If the old me had his hands on this he would

certainly be dead from a heroin overdose. Fortunately, oddly enough, after a mix-up

with a former lover I had to spend time in jail.

Sentenced to a year, but out in six months so regrets were minimal. I dont

regret hitting her at all to tell the truth. Its one thing to say I enjoyed it, but

honestly I savoir the moment my fist hit her mouth. I got sober whether I wanted to

or not, and I got a chance to get my head straight and move forward. A new life and

a fresh start were great, but Im no saint. The chance we took seemed more than

worth the risk, not to mention the temptation was dangling in our faces. Getting out


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of the dirty life for good seemed like the only chance I had and the rewards offered

such freedom.

I place the small suitcase back in the painting-concealed safe behind my desk

and chuckle at my clich hiding spot. Most people understood there was a safe in

hiding, but that was generally because of the painting of the safe that covered it.

Leslie had painted it thinking this was a cute touch, and reminded me that just

because someone knew where it was, didnt mean they could open it. Originally

planning on having a moveable bookcase, I chose the less expensive route and

pleased my lover by using her painting to conceal a smaller safe than originally

planned.

Still hard to believe we pulled it off but whats done is done and its best not

to think too much about it. Lets just say a certain entrepreneur thought his assets

were more secure than reality exposed. Theres not much to say either, seeing as it

was over and done in less than five minutes. A quick in-and-out with no sirens or

shots fired. When you can move a wall of a panic and safe room and then seal it

after youre done, there is little chance of interaction or proof. Its like poof and

something goes missing.

I was lucky enough to get a job through my uncle as a construction worker

for upscale homes when I got out. He had never lost faith in me when I was at rock

bottom, and was my most frequent visitor. He had always had a close relationship

with my sister, so maybe he got a soft spot for me after she died, but either way he

was kind enough to give me a chance. I never intended on breaking his trust, but

you tend to have a bit of freedom when building, and can make entry easier. I


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mightve gotten over my addiction to heroin, but I still had sticky fingers. I couldnt

help myself. Even now, with loads of cash, I steal candy bars and beef jerky just for

the rush.

Mr. Booker D. Hatfield made his money in porn and strip clubs. He called

himself an entrepreneur but his barely legal sights were far from legal girls and

anyone with eyes could see that. I mean a dirt bag like that doesnt deserve to have

so much and get away with what he does. Connections with the Department of

Justice seemed to defer any actions or complaints made. I wish I never would have

known this stuff but the guy drank at the same pub as us when we got done for the

day and talked his ass off. Bragging about his connections and money was just the

start. I know what he got his 3rdwife for Valentines Day, as well as what he got his

two other girlfriends that very same day. The girlfriends were teenage employees

of his but were only part of his usual cycle.

New slit every week! I cant wait to see what recruits come crawling up next week!

Fresh meat for the grinder, know what Im sayin champ?

I wanted to either throw up, or punch him in the face when I heard him talk.

No, I wanted to throw up in his face, but quickly punch it first, through the puke,

before the vomithits his face. Thats somebodys daughter, someones sister, cousin

or mom. He spoke with no remorse, and no respect for the female kind. All of this

can be summed up as just a bunch of justifications for a crime committed. No matter

what I say or how much the dick deserved it, it was illegal.

As I step out of the office my pinup reality welcomes me with my drink and

another kiss. As I guide her out onto the back porch with my free hand on her hip I


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soak in the floral scent of her hair. I smile as I survey my grungy good-timin pals

and realize how lucky I am to be here. Lucky I lived to see where life could take me.

The drunken choir sang along with the MP3 player, out of key, but full of sentiment:

Feel it in your heart and feel it in your soul

Let the music take control

We're going to Party, Liming, Fiesta, fo-eva

Come on and siiiing my sooooong

All night loooong

With every situation there are layers that need to be examined and taken into

consideration. Every piece has to fit just right or a world of shit can blow up in your

face. Luckily I have quite a few good friends in good places. Not necessarily high

places, but just the right places.

--

Chap two: The Crew

Cory and Fizz were around the fire pit burning marshmallows and launching

them into my pond like gooey meteors. I thought about discontinuing their fun, but

as I watched the stunning flaming sugar balls rocket through the air I chuckled and

made my way over to the bar with Leslie, deciding the fun they were having

overshadowed my thoughts of cleaning the yard in the morning. Its odd when you

find beauty in such a strange light. A wise man once said, Once in a while you get

shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at it right. Terry took a swig out

of his glass and waved me over to the bar where he and Bing were sitting. As I


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approach the bar Bing is shaking his head and looking at Terry like hes an idiot.

Even as close friends, they bickered like an old married couple.

Iswear, I seen it with my own eyes

Terry continued his testimony upon unaccepting ears as Bing gave him the

bird and blew the smoke in his face from the long drag he took from his cig.

Bullshit man Hey, Ben, Terrytard here seems to think that he saw a chupacabra

and plans on catching it. Tell him they dont live in Iowa.

Sorry man, I think hes got you there. They live in desert places like Mexico and

Texas. Too damn cold up here for those blue devils, Terry.

I responded, knowing all too well that Terry would spit out his usual

But...butbuts and get his dollar-fifty in for every other persons two cents. After

several more attempts to gain my support without any luck Terry gives me a look

like he had something important to tell me. I knew as much as the others that some

things were better left unsaid around the uninvolved, so I pat Leslie on the butt and

tell her to go calm Cory and Fizz down and deal out some cards.

Ill be over in a bit. Deal out cards for all six of us n lets play some golf.

Although I didnt really care for the card game Golf I knew that Leslie loved

it and would jump on the opportunity without question. We continued chatting

with an informal faux conversation for a minute before we knew we had lost

interest from the others. I turn up the music playing on the iHome slightly and raise

my glass to the others around the fire when they peer over. With the others

distracted Terry changes the subject to what he had intended, with a hushed and

unfamiliar serious tone.


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We got issues man. Donny didnt check in last night.

What do you mean? He called us last night and said he was getting off I-35.

Mr. Bentley said he never called him or anything. At least thats what Jarred said

when he called me this morning. I told him Donny got sick to buy us some time, but

shit, man. We were all supposed to stop by n kick him his cut! We all know what

rides on thisThis is all for nothing if we dont cover our asses.

Bings tone of voice was rarely so aggressive. I understood and shared his

concerns but didnt really have anything to say back. We were all on the same page

after we had finished the job, or so we thought. What we all promised wouldnt

happen but what we all feared would happen, was slowly becoming a reality.

I looked at Terry and Bing and knew that this wasnt something that we could

just ignore. The stakes were too high, and the prick we were dealing with was one

that we had no chance of negotiating with.

Well lets talk to the guys. We cant keep them out of the loop.

I hated shooing Leslie off but things were about to get interesting.

Babe! Head inside n go get comfy. Ill come chat with ya in a sec.

We both knew I was lying but at least she knew not to wait up. She

understood when business happens it happens. At least I think she does I watch

her glide into the house without looking back and admire her self-confidence.

Terry, what the fuck?

I turn to see Terry pointing his tan Ruger P89 at Corys head and before I can

say anything he fires.

CRACK!


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---

Chap three: The Money Tree

Cory didnt stop touching his face and his head for a good five minutes. He

couldnt believe he was alive. After his short freak-out he and everyone else noticed

the man lying just to the side of a tree, about 15 yards past the other side of the

fence beyond where Cory had been standing.

Scope reflected. Dumbass thought we were that easy to kill? Looks like I got some

food for your piggies, Ben.

Cory punched Terry a couple times and told him that next time he could at

least say duck. After we went over to the body and searched the would-be

assassin we found nothing but his rifle, a water canteen, ammunition and a white

business card with Mr. Bentleys trademark B. Now we definitely needed to talk to

Cory and Fizz. After explaining everything that we knew, neither of them looked

like they had any idea what to do.

The fact that Donny didnt meet up with Mr. Bentley didnt surprise Cory in

the slightest. His hands pulled at his rusty brown curly hair as he cursed his friends

fuck-up. His jolly figure accented his rage in a semi-humorous manor.

Who told you guys this would happen? Donny better hope I dont find his stupid

ass! Theres no excuse for this shit! You trusted him and I told you not to

Cory didnt conceal his emotions as well as the rest of us and I could tell by

his red cheeks and watery eyes that I needed to step in. Luckily Fizz jumped in and

made a profound statement. I was even surprised the longhaired redneck even

spoke up. Without a bottle of fireball in his belly he usually keeps a reserved aura.


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Alright, we know that Donny probably took off. Where did he always say he

wanted to go? Come on guys, dont be fuckin stupid. He couldnt have made it more

obvious.

Corys eyes got wide, as did the others, and the fire pit illuminated their

epiphany.

Colorado! Rat bastard wouldnt shut up about the damn mountains!

Terry was pissed off and pacing as he checked his phone. I knew what he

was thinking, but it was too late to drive to Des Moines and catch a flight out. I

shake my keys to catch his attention and we exchange a nod as I toss them his way.

There was only one option. Drive and catch him before we lose him in the

mountains. We had friends out there that he would probably be meeting up with

before he found his mountain cottage that he dreamed up and shared with us before

the deed went down.

Alright, Terry, Bing, you guys hit the road and get to Aurora. Cory, Fizz, you two go

get Carl and get him to trace Donnys moves. Credit cards, cell phone, everything.

They gave me a funny look but there wasnt much time to explain all the details.

Carl has all our shiton file. I had him do it before I even asked you guys to

help. Yall are my best friends, I meant for it to be in case we got into trouble, but

now Im glad I did it cause of Donny. Chop, chop; lets fuckin go! Just go tell Carl

that Donny went AWOL and hell know what to do. Im going to see Mr. Bentley. As

I said those last words the hair stood up on the back of my neck. This was the last

thing I wanted to do. I knew nothing good would come of it, but I somewhat felt


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responsible for the group even though Terry had gotten us into this mess. I also

knew I had the best chance of getting through to him out of any of us.

Mr. Bentley was one of the foremen on Hatfields property and he found out

about our little operation. He usually left us to work and didnt check up on us, but

of course eventually he stumbled upon our extra drainage pipe leading to the panic

room. It was large enough to crawl through, and led to a small chamber behind one

of the walls. This is usually a quick addition that we can bury but Mr. Bentley had

caught on to Terrys extra breaks and decided to keep an eye on him. As far as I am

concerned Terrys dumbass is what caused all of this in the first place, but pointing

fingers does no good.

Mr. Bentley was a stern boss, yetdidnt seem like he had ever swung a

hammer. The guy wouldnt even tell us his first name. For someone who has never

worked a hard day in his life, he sure could bark some orders. Hes got this creepy

way of talking to you and looks down upon us like were workhorses or something.

Always having something to say about us. I can hear it now:

I encourage you all to take a moment and evaluate your lives. Take a look at my

Malabar chestnut, my dear boys. Pachira aquatica commonly known as the money

tree. Name originating from a tale of a poor man praying for money who found the

odd plant instead, took it as an omen and sold them as the seeds grew. I have no

sympathy for the poor men of the world. They have yet to recognize their omen is all.

This was his way of telling us that he was better than us. It wouldnt matter if

we had bigger bank accounts than the guy, he would still look down upon us. Some

people are just unreachable and often become unfathomable as friends. I often


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wanted to let him know how we felt about him, but knew that my uncle would have

no power to save my job. He was given pretty much everything he had from his

father, the owner of our main lumber provider. The guy was five years older than us

but treated us as though we were children.

You sure you want to go alone? I got your back man.

Bing didnt have to say it. I knew he had my back. I knew they all did. I had

to go on my own though. I had to deal with him. I couldnt kill the guy, but I knew

we also couldnt cover enough of Donnys debt to keep his mouth shut. We all had to

sacrifice half of the last job just to keep Mr. Bentley quite after he discovered our

extra additions to the homes we had been constructing. Hatfields was supposed to

be our retirement, but with Mr. Bentley added to the equation we had to settle with

less.

----

Chap four: The Pour

The drive to Mr. Bentleys estate was a trip I had made many times before,

but never with so much animosity. There were few words that caught Mr. Bentleys

attention more than money and dont have. I could have told him I killed his dog

in the driveway, or that I had messed around with his wife and he wouldnt even

blink. Telling him Donny wasnt going to be dropping off any money would be

worse news to deliver than a doctor diagnosing him with cancer. After driving a

good 20 minutes and then navigating the maze of gravel roads on my way into the

western outskirts of Waukee, I pulled in between the two 15 foot brick towers


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adorned with massive bronze letter Bs holding the steel gate as it opens. He

wasnt expecting me, but for some reason I felt like he knew I was coming.

I had barely lifted the knocker and the door swung open. An awkward

looking man curled his mustache and adjusted his monocle with a smirk across his

face. His suit was a classic black with a lime green pocket square embroidered with

a white, Old-English type letter B matching the B on his top hat.

Mr. Bentleys got you lookin like a damned fool, Jeeves.

Even in the midst of such a terrible situation, I couldnt help but give Jarred

some grief. As Mr. Bentleys right hand man and butler, Jarred didnt have much

freedom with his attire.

Please refrain from expelling further insults in my direction, as my attire is made

with the finest quality and materials available. Furthermore, your attempt to

degrade me by use of a stereotypical stewards name comes without reaction nor

reward.

His smirk never fades and he swings his far arm in front of him motioning my

welcome. Even with his inviting movements I felt the knot in my stomach move to

my throat.

Youre starting to even sound like him, Jarred. Scary

The Good Sir awaits you in his study.

I always hated the way Mr. Bentley had Jarred call him The Good Sir. Like

this somehow made him a good person. Jarred walked me down the hall to a pair of

large oak doors with the Bentley B carved intricately along the trim. A few men


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with British accents voices traveled down an adjoining hallway as Jarred gave a

quick, single knock, a voice boomed from behind the doors.

One moment, please.

I took a look down the hall to see where the voices I was hearing were

originating. The white glow and flicker of a T.V. lit the hallway and the room at the

end, although I couldnt see the occupants or what was playing. I clear my throat

trying to produce enough self-assurance to give off a semi-believable confidence to

portray in front of Mr. Bentley. A moment later a small boy peeks his head around

the corner at the end of the long Persian rug and stares, saying nothing. I give him a

little wave, but it went unreturned. Mr. Bentleys son has always been shy to us

whenever we had the rare need to visit.

Let me tell you about Hatchet Harry. Once there was this geezer called Smithy

Robinson, who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry's

invited Smithy 'round for explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a

minute, Harry's lost his rag. Reached out for the nearest thing at hand, which

happened to be a 15-inch black rubber cock. He's then proceeded to batter poor

Smithy to death with it. Now, that was seen as a pleasant way to go. Hence, Hatchet

Harry is the man you pay if you owe.

As I began to recognize the voice I realized what movie was playing. The

movie was a bit more violent and adult themed than I would have allowed an eight-

year-old to watch, but I knew I had no place preaching morals to a man who held my

liberty over the fires of hell. It was unnerving how much Bacons words held weight

in my situation. Hence, Mr. Bentley is the man you pay if you owe.


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Enteeeeer

The lights that hung from the ceiling illuminated most of the room except for

just behind Mr. Bentleys desk. His hands folded sitting on the desk were the only

things visible besides a faint outline of his shadowy figure.

Mr. Ben, what a pleasant surprise. I was expecting the indubitably pleasurable

presence of Mr. Donny yesterday evening but have yet to hear from him. Of course

it would be ridiculous for me to presume that Mr. Bing has misinformed me of Mr.

Donnys under-the-weather state, but seeing you here tonight raises all sorts of

questions, Mr. Ben. What on Earth has caused this unusual circumstance my dear

boy?

I knew that it was very important to answer Mr. Bentley in subtle way, and to

make sure not to seem apologetic or aggressive. Basically, I had to walk on eggshells

and cook an omelet for him at the same time. You cant just say youre sorry, or

come without some kind of bribe, reward, or solution for him. Even then, most

attempts are futile due to his lack of sympathy and empathy, and abundance of

apathy and antipathy. Its like trying to go to the butcher for bread and the baker for

beef. His attitude can change faster than the weather during an Iowa spring. Hell

be all sunshine and then drop to 30 and start snowing on your ass. He obviously

knew the assassin was long gone, but Mr. Bentleys stubbornness would never allow

him to admit or speak of the hired gun. A failure in his eyes, and thus nonexistent.

Before you attempt to elucidate Donnys unfortunate overdue payment, I would

like to offer you a cocktail. Whiskey, I presume, as usual?


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Every time I met with Mr. Bentley he insisted I indulge on the sweet nectar of

the gods with him. Which of course was usually a wonderful treat considering his

impressive collection, not to mention now was not the time to turn down his

hospitality. I knew he would have found it rude if I had declined so I agreed with a

smile and a nod. As he stood and made his way around the desk I noticed he was

limping slightly on his left leg. Now was no time for asking him questions though,

seeing as there were much larger issues at hand.

Arriving at his ensemble of whiskey, he grabbed a tall, thick crystal decanter

and poured it neat into a couple personalized B cocktail glasses. As he tilted the

container I noticed it wasnt his usual choice. I watched him pour it, wondering if

the brown liquid falling into the glass was some clich ending to my life, eating away

my insides or slowly bringing my heart to a stop. Potassium cyanide may seem far-

fetched, but for a man with as much resources and connections as Mr. Bentley, the

idea became eerily convincing.

-----

Chap five:A Friend From Clive

Please, have a seat Mr. Ben. There is much to discuss I presume, seeing as things

havent gone accordingly. I can only imagine the unfortunate news you have come

to share with me, and I am dreading its arrival as much as I desire the retreat of my

ignorance on the matter. What say you?

I didnt want to think of Donny as our Mr. Orange but everything that had

happened has made me think that we were being played from the beginning. As I

made my way to one of the chairs in front of Mr. Bentleys desk I thought to myself, I


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swear to God I will put a bullet in that guy if he thinks he can just pull a fast one on us

like this. What the hell was Donny thinking? I could picture him laying, bleeding on

the ground; I had just popped Bing and Terry after defending him and listening to

his undeserving confession of his deception. After becoming close friends with

Donny over the last couple years, his misleading us was almost equivalent to the

surprise Mr. White was revealed.

Mr. Bentley I

Ive been reserving this batch for a special occasion. Highland Park aged 40 years.

Quite an extravagant whiskey I must say, and a benevolent gift from my dear father.

I have found it to be one of the finer additions to my collection. Now, tell me Mr.

Ben, as you sit there lacking a briefcase of money for me from our dear friend Mr.

Donny, what exactly you intend to speak on his behalf with me about to relieve my

apprehension and desire to react. The robbed that smiles, steals something from

the thief Mr. Ben.

Mr. Bentley omits a closed-mouth chuckle as he returns to his position

behind the desk, this time leaning into the light and emphasizing his eye contact

with raised eyebrows.

Likewise, I smile, and bask in the hilarity brought about by the unintentional pun in

Mr. Williams quote. You being a crook, I hardly consider what you own to be

rightfully yours, so recant any thoughts you have of me being a thief at once. Mr.

Donny has taken something of mine. Whether you believe it is rightfully my

possession or not is unfortunately inadequate reasoning on your part. Unlike Ms.

Desdemonas father, I will not allow you to steal from me and merely accept it as


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fate. As a victim who can smile about my losses, it is not only because I am superior

to the thief, it is also due to my knowledge of the impending remuneration owed to

me that you and your friends have justacquired Yes I regret to inform you that it

is now your trepidation.

Mr. Bentley I understand that we

Agreements were made and I expected them to be met with the same veneration as

any, Mr. Ben. Look at my smile, and realize I have not the time or the patience to

allow myself to pout

As I stared at him, I tried to figure out if he was going to let me talk, or if he

was simply playing games with me. I knew he wasnt looking for an explanation or

some kind of plan to get him his money, but I wasnt about to yell at him and ask him

flat outWhat the hell do you want!? That would only spark the uncivil side of Mr.

Bentley that I had been trying to avoid. His volume was slowly rising, with the

words quickening and tone becoming filled with discontent, and his temperament

becoming tenser.

I

What do you think of the Highland Park, Mr. Ben? I have yet to see you sample your

dram even though I have always known you to tipple

His face transformed from a look of seriousness seldom found outside of a

hospital to a disgruntled, almost insulted look. Either he saw my look of frustration

as he interrupted me again, or he was displeased with my slow acceptance of his

offering. I put my suspicions and fears aside and sipped the brown numbing liquid.

It was hard to enjoy with so much tension building between the reluctant host and


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myself. I dont know if it was just the moment causing my taste buds to reject the

fine liquor, but it tasted like Ten-High or Beams Eight Star.

Its good

Mr. Bentley leaned closer over his desk and raised an eyebrow. The fear of

being poisoned quickly made its way back into my mind and I couldnt tell if it was

the condensation or if it was my hands getting clammy around the glass.

But Id be lying if I told you it was great. Not much better than a well.

As the words fell out of my mouth I wished for their unnoticed return.

Despite my best efforts, I probably ended up insulting the man who could bring my

life crumbling to the ground. There were certainly a number of lies or things I could

have said just to keep the conversation going and keep the tone as civil as possible.

What a wonderfultreat Good Sir! Thank you so very much. I detect notes of pine and

eucalyptus oil but also slight notes of fruit and leafy greenness, developing with gentle

smoke. What a long finish as well! The zesty, bitter oak finish dances perfectly with

perfumy notes accenting the end. Hear, hear!A true ballet atop my taste buds.

I appreciate your honesty Mr. Ben. You have a notable palate and apparently

enough courage to stand your ground when confronted. As I witnessed your

intellectualization I had wondered if you would be able to continue your charade

and convince me of your faux calmness

I lifted the glass and took another sip, feeling as though at this point, a

poisoning would be one of the less vehement ways of leaving the world at Mr.

Bentleys hand. Staring at the strange man through the side of the glass, I wondered

exactly what he was getting at. Where was he going with this and why did he have


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those damned eyebrows raised again? I wanted to grab the gold-plated stapler off

his desk and stop him from continuing his overconfident and annoying facial

formations.

What you have sampled is in fact a horrible excuse for a single-malt. Drumguish

might become palatable if it were given the proper time to age, but to my dismay it

has been bottled and shipped out far too young. Alas, I cannot simply throw the

whiskey away. It was an investment I had made without first researching, and has

continued haunt me as the pallet of bottles sit in my basement cellar. Sometimes

when the price is too fair, the end results are not

I was thoroughly confused at this point, and wondered just what Mr. Bentley

had been implying. I began to wonder if he was sending metaphors my way or

toying with me to get something out of me. I had come to simply inform him that we

were in the process of finding Donny, and that his money would be delivered. How

much more bullshit would I have to listen to before I could leave and actually take

care of business?

Similarly, our dear friend Mr. Donny, despite his attempts to become more than

what he was, was not given the proper time to age. This immaturity is an issue and

unfortunately I do not have the same patience with my cohorts as I do with my

whiskey

Mr. Bentley had been shaking his head and sticking out his bottom lip as

though it were some sort of silly conversation with a toddler. As an added touch of

awkwardness, Mr. Bentley had started pacing around his desk in slow circles,


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making eye contact an impossible feat. His fingertips bounced off of each other in

front of him with each word exiting his mouth.

Well get you the money.

I spat out the sentence quickly hoping to avoid another interrupted attempt.

It pretty much went unnoticed despite a quick glance in my direction as he rounded

his desk and returned to his chair.

As I was saying, unfortunately, I do not have the same patience with my cohorts

as I do with my whiskey, and therefore I will be unable to accept any recompense

from you or the other parties not here with us tonight. It seems as though we have a

mutual friend that we, or at least you, were unaware of. The other night as Mr. Carl

was watching his little screens, as he does so vigilantly, he noticed a blip veer off in

the wrong direction. By wrong direction I of course mean away from me.

How the fuck do you know Carl? The simple thought ran through my head a

few hundred times before I mustered the courage to speak up. Of course, before I

could fully open my mouth Mr. Bentley interjected with his own question.

How is it thatyou intended on procuring my imbursement Mr. Ben? Are you going

to pursue Mr. Donny through the mountains and convince him to adhere to your

request?

I didnt really know what to say. I sat confused and flustered, trying to figure

out where and when Carl and Mr. Bentley would have met. Carl spent most of his

time online in fantasy worlds, discussing movie tropes and Easter Eggs found in

video games with fellow nerds. Like a smack across the face I realized the exact

moment in time that the two odd fellows had met. Mr. Bentley owned the strip mall


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in which Carl had rented space in for his computer repair business. As I tried to

wrap my mind around what Mr. Bentley had just informed me of, he placed three

small wooden boxes, each about the size of a spectacles case on the corner of the

desk closest to me.

A gift.

------

Chap six: Hooligans and Hicks

As I ponder reaching for the boxes I switch between looking into Mr.

Bentleys cold eyes and the miniature cherry oak chests. There are many ways this

could go, but I unfortunately only have one version to tell. The truth. I was scared

shitless. There could be anything in these boxes. A syringe to inject myself with a

poison for the sick freak to watch me die after he pulls up a video screen of my mom

tied to a chair. It could possibly be a bullet to load into his working 1860 Colt Army

Model sitting in between himself and I. If I could only be so lucky Would I cringe

at the site of a blade? Or would I be caught off guard by a puff of toxic smoke or a

small explosion of shrapnel into my face?

You do realize that I have recognized you all for exactly what you are. You are

nothing but hooligans and hicks, birthed into the world by whore mothers and

beggar fathers. Most lessons I try to teach you boys go overlooked unaccepted and

disregarded as verbal excrement. You, my dear boy, Mr. Ben, dont know just how

lucky you are that I have the slightest sliver of hope for you. The man sent to your

home tonight was never there to harm you. Let it be known that a friend of yours is

not who they seem.


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What do you mean? Which friend?

I was surprised to get two full questions out of my mouth but at this point I

figured Mr. Bentley was done messing with me. He nudged the boxes a little closer

to me and winked. The content of the boxes not only were a stress-inducing

mystery, but the order in which I opened them had me jumping out of my skin. Its

impossible to open three boxes at once in a reasonable manner. I grabbed the

furthest right and proceeded to open it.

What the fuck man Where is he? Is he alive?

I didnt have a clue what to do at this point. I was sitting in front of this

lunatic with my good buddy Donnys finger in it. I knew it was his. Who else has a

French mustache tattooed on their index finger thats associated with Mr. Bentley? I

closed the box and grimaced at the ripe death smell.

Go ahead, open the others. Youll probably find other recognizable features

amongst the contents of their boxesBAM!

He waited a good 15 seconds, which felt like hours, before slamming his fists

on the table.

Open the boxes Mr. Ben! That is not a request!

I reach for the other two. I open them each and stare emotionless at the

patch of skin with a skull tattoo that Cory had on his leg, and the left ear of Fizz with

all the piercings included. This son of a bitch better kill me quick, or hes going to see

what pain is. As if he were reading my mind, Jarred opens the large door and lets in

a new guest who did not come as a surprise.


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-------

Chap seven: Not Carl, Kevin

Carl walked through the door with a different stride and demeanor than I

was used to. I didnt even recognize him almost, except for his slicked hair and

glasses. I didnt even know what to say to him. There arent words for betrayals like

the one Carl has bestowed up me. The whole crew was led astray because of the

people I had trusted. Its hard to even blame the murderers of my friends when all I

have to blame it on is my own damn idiocy. I trusted too easily, and now the people

I loved are who were punished.

Carl what the fuck man? What did you do? How could you do

He held up his hand and shook his head giving me a very loud tsk sound to

shut me up. We had been so much on the same page the entire time I had known

him that I never once questioned where his loyalties lay.

Please do not call me that ridiculous name, Mr. Ben. I was merely portraying a

character of academic intelligence and social ignorance to woo you into thinking I

needed a friendship savior. Thank you so verymuch for saving me those

Wednesday nights and taking me bowling. I truly did need saving from my horrible

World of Warcraft addiction.

His sarcasm was thick with slyness and hauntingly similar to Mr. Bentleys.

What a coincidence we happened to cross paths thatday in Best Buy, when the

bully was picking on me! Please, Mr. Ben, try to save a little face and listen to what

my father has to say. We are just now getting to the most interesting part of the

evening! By the way, its Kevin not Carl. Care for a cigar?


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I was numb. Thats the only way to describe the feeling I had at that moment.

I was dumbfounded by the events of the night and could only sip on the shitty

whiskey provided by my murderous foreman and stare at the deceiving little

shithead that probably pulled the trigger each time as he puffed on a fat stogie. I

stood up to accept one of the others he was offering me, apparently a little too fast.

Whoa there, Mr. Ben. Please make all metacarpals visible, thank yoooou.

I smiled and slowed my stroll showing my palms wide and empty. Giving the

newly-known Kevin a slight bow and a questioning nod of the head I proceeded with

my approach to accept yet another unspoken unwanted gift, this time from the

source of all my hatred and pain.

There are few things in this world that I would care for more than a fine cigar right

now Mr. Kevin. I do declare your backstabbing tomfoolery has pulled a fast one on

me. Slipped right on by me. What do I have the pleasure of filling my lungs with this

evening?

Well there Mr. Ben, you wouldnt happen to be trying to mock the way me and my

father spea

CRACK!

As I reached for the cigar I popped the retractable plastic pistol out of my

sweatshirt sleeve and put a solid Kevlar bullet through his sternum and into his

heart. The piece of shit coughed blood and mouthed bastard before he hit the

ground. The soul of the wretched man left his eyes and blood puddled around his

corpse, soaking the $10,000 white Persian rug in a ruby red. Mr. Bentley slams his

fist on his desk and grabs the Colt off its stand. Outraged he points it at me debating


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shooting me down right then and there. Mr. Bentley of course needs to put in a few

words though making it as dramatic as possible, drooling in rage as he inches his

way towards me.

What have you done!? You could have been part of something very big Mr. Ben!

And now you have thrown it all away to revenge some hooligans and hicks! After I

pour you whiskey and invite you into my home when I could have just killed you like

the rest of those maggots! The money could have been falling from the trees for you

my boy, and now look at you. Thinking that somehow you killing that bastard son of

mine is going to somehow avenge your crew and their untimely passing? Well its

been an extremely fun experience working with you over the years, Mr. Ben, but

unfortunately you have come underprepared with a single shot trick weapo

Crack!

I have two sleeves Mr. Bentley.

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Documents

Two Sleeves and a Shakedown