SNORTING THE DEVIL’S DANDRUFF
By: Scott L Anderson
Tags: Crime Fiction, Marijuana, Drug Dealing, Gangs, Drugs

The sun was trying to stream in through the grit and grime that was coated on the trailer’s windows. The seemingly endless dildo assault on the tweaker had finally ended and she was lying in a corner, unconscious. The blonde had cooked up a handful of crushed up downers in a spoon and had shot it directly into the tweaker’s neck. It looked like enough to kill a fucking horse! The whole incident had been like watching an X-rated version of the Twilight Zone.

The blonde had taken off her fake crank, but was still lounging naked on the couch, like a sexually satisfied walrus, working on her sixth or seventh bottle of Bud and smoking from a large bowl of hash. I was trying my best not to look at her, I just kept my line of vision on a velvet rendition of Cletus la Favor sitting at the table with the rest of the disciples in The Last Supper. Cletus was drinking a bottle of beer and had his arm around Jesus’ shoulders. The big blonde suddenly stood up with a knife in one hand and walked over to me and punched me hard in the stomach, doubling me over in pain. Grabbing me by the hair she punched three times in succession on my bloody ear and then hooked me hard to the gut again. I felt her reach behind me and cut through the duck tape.

“Take off your fucking clothes off and get over here.”

“Huh? What?” I was bent over, gasping for air, and watching my blood stream down onto the carpet.

“You heard me, shithead! Take off your clothes and get over here. You got a pussy to eat. I guess you haven’t figured out who’s in charge here yet, have ya?”

She walked over and leaned back on the couch, spread her legs, and used her fingers to open up her gaping snatch. She had a pistol in her hand and she waved it in my direction. “Now get out of those fuckin’ clothes and get over here. If you eat my pussy real good I might tell Cletus when he gets here that you been a good boy so that he’ll ease up on you a bit. But first get in my purse over there by your chair and get me a fresh pack of cigarettes. There’s nothing I like more than to smoke myself a lung dart while someone eats my twat.”

“Fuck you! I’d rather be fucking dead than eat your snatch. You won’t kill me anyway. Cletus wants to know where that briefcase is and he’ll never find it if I’m dead.”

She sighted down the pistol at me. “I never said I’d kill you. I’ll just shoot you in the nuts and start to work on you with my knife. I can keep you alive for days and have fun with that. I’ll keep you alive long enough so Cletus can fuck you in the ass. That’ll be the last thing you’ll remember before we cut your head off with a chainsaw.”

Physically I was in horseshit shape. I had been shot, beaten up, several of my fingers were broken, and I was most likely suffering from a concussion. But my only chance to get out of this was to get close to the blonde and try to overpower her. My chances were not good, she was as strong as a bull, but it was all I had. I shakily stood up and took off my clothes while the fat hog leered at me, put the pistol on the cushion next to her, and then picked up the dildo and began to slide it into herself. I shuffled over, stark naked, and opened up her purse. When I bent over she must have seen something she liked. “Oh, yeah. I’m gonna break that brown eyed beaver in good.” My dick and balls shriveled up to the size of a thimble and a couple of acorns.

I was close to puking or passing out, it didn’t really matter at this point. I opened up her purse, nestled in next to her Marlboros was a wad of cash the size of a Big Mac. My adrenaline started to pump like I had just mainlined a dose of the tweaker’s meth when I saw what was nestled under the cash. A snub nosed .38! The blonde had already realized her fuckup, because by the time I had whirled around and aimed the pistol, almost dropping the damn thing in the process, she had already staggered to her feet and was reaching back to grab her pistol.

“You better drop that goddamn piece right now, asshole!” She screamed as she twirled around.

Without thinking or aiming I fired off a round. But the fingers that the midget had broken when he had stomped on them had swollen to the point that I couldn’t even open my hand so I was holding the gun with my left, my wrong hand, so the first shot went wide of the blonde’s head and took out the living room window. If you have never done it before, you wouldn’t believe how loud it is to shoot off a high caliber pistol in a shitbox aluminum trailer.

“Drop that pistol you fat bitch!” I yelled.

I could see the hesitation in her fat face and her beady pig-like eyes. “Drop it you fucking cunt or I’ll blow a hole right through you.” She opened her hand and the pistol dropped to the floor.

“Jesus Christ! Have you lost your fucking mind?” She started to slowly walk towards me. “Now give me the gun you little pisspot and we’ll forget about everything, because I don’t think you know just what the hell you’re doing.” She pointed a sausage sized finger to her head. “You might have gone a little whacko here.” She took another step. “Let’s just calm down here, you don’t want to do this. Think it over. You’re in enough trouble as it is. You shoot me and walk out of here there are people that will hunt you down, won’t matter where you run to. They’ll kill your whole family and all your friends to find you. Remember it’s the briefcase that Cletus wants. That’s all, just the briefcase.”

I pondered the advice for half a second, and then I dropped my aim down to her tattoo covered tits and started firing, four quick shots, the force of them driving her back down onto the couch. She was sitting there, frantically trying to stop the spouting geysers of blood that were pumping out of her by covering them with her hands, and when I walked over to her, she looked up at me with wild and frantic eyes. I fired the remaining shot into her head. Some of her brains blew out the back of her skull and sprayed all over the curtains. I dropped the gun, bent over and barfed on my bare feet.

After I was through throwing up my shoes and socks, I dressed as fast as humanly possible and went back to the purse and shoved the wad of cash and a big block of hash into my pocket. The tweaker must have been in a coma or dead because she didn’t move a muscle through all that screaming and shooting. I picked the pistol back up, wiped it off with my shirt, and put the weapon in the tweaker’s hand.

I was just about ready to take off when I realized that I may need the gun. Definitely someone was going to be after my ass and I didn’t want to get caught unarmed. But I had used up all the bullets when I dusted the blonde. I quickly went into the back bedroom and began to pull dresser drawers out. This fucking place had to be crawling with guns.

But nothing but crap and piss stained underwear, Levis, and Harley t-shirts. But then I hit the jackpot! In the closet I found a sawed off shotgun and a box of .12 gauge shells. Grabbing the shotgun I noticed a brand new throw rug on the bottom of the closet, it still had the Wal Mart tag on it and it seemed strangely out place. These assholes didn’t seem to be the type to be spending much cash or time on decorating their shitty trailer much less their closet.

Whoever had put the rug back down had been sloppy; I could see the edge of what appeared to be some sort of hatch. I pulled the rug out and found a trapdoor cut in the floor. I dug my fingers into the side of the hatch and pulled up. Down inside was a large gym bag, the kind hockey players need to stuff their skates, shoulder pads, and other hockey shit into. The bag was jam-packed with balls of cash rolled tight with rubber bands, several pistols, bags of weed, what looked to be about two kilos of coke with some sort of wax scorpion stamp on it, and all sorts of identification — driver’s licenses, passports, social security cards, the works. I had hit the fucking lottery!

Pulling the bag out and throwing it onto my shoulder, I headed for the bedroom door when the screen door in the kitchen slammed shut!

I put the bag down and leaned against the wall of the bedroom just next to the door. I gently pulled the slide back on the shotgun to see if there was one in the chamber.

“Glenda? Jesus Christ! Oh no! What the fuck? Cathy? You dumb fucking bitch!” The female voice sounded real familiar. “Wake up! Wake up you dumb fucking cunt!” The sound of a slap echoed through the trailer. “Goddamn it! Shit! Goddamn it! Oh, God! Glenda!”

Then it got real quiet. Someone was walking down the short hallway, trying to be quiet but I could hear her rapid breathing.

Fuck it! Flicking off the safety, I stepped into the doorway. The door frame exploded in splinters just inches from my head. I fired the shotgun once, catching Angel directly in the chest, the force of the blast knocking her off her feet and down on to her back into the living room. I jacked another round into the chamber and stepped into the living room, there was no one else there but Angel who was spread eagle on the floor, a massive hole in her chest — the shotgun must have been loaded with buckshot — in her hand she clutched a huge .44 magnum pistol. Luckily for me it had been too much pistol for her.

Her body twitched with spasms but her eyes were empty. There was a suitcase on the floor of the living room. I popped it open. Inside was a set of handcuffs and leg irons, a blowtorch, hacksaw, vise grips, a can of Drano, and a variety of surgical knives. This cat piss smelling trailer would have been the end of the trail for me if it had worked out for the parties involved. I grabbed the .44 mag, the shotgun, and the hockey bag and headed out the door.

The trailer was just on the outskirts of town but you could see neighboring houses in the distance. There was an old Cadillac in the driveway next to a battered Chevy truck. The keys were in the ignition in the Caddy. Someone in one of the houses must have heard the shots because I could hear sirens in the distance. I fired up that old Caddy and took off in the opposite direction.

Once I got my bearings I found a gas station, filled up the Caddy, hit the restroom to clean up my battered body as good as I could considering the circumstances. Then, bolstered by gas station coffee and hits off of la Favor’s cocaine I steered the car towards Minneapolis. I had one more stop before I could head south. I had to get back to the airport and get that goddamn briefcase.

Back In The Banana Republic

Like a dumb shit I had left the door open to my abode. Sometimes I couldn’t believe what a fucking fool I could be. Coming around the side I ducked down under the kitchenette window and placed my back next to the open door. A rental car was parked about twenty feet away. My dog, Ramos, a flea bitten old mutt was nowhere to be found. The smell of a really nice perfume mixed with the aroma of coconut oil suntan lotion was wafting out of the trailer as I gingerly stepped through the door holding my knife down against my thigh.

Sitting on my bed, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a can of my beer, was an older and very good looking woman. She was wearing a cleavage revealing lime green bikini top and a pair of cutoff jeans. Her wear was cut stylishly short and was grayish blonde.

I remembered it as strawberry blonde.

Feeling the trailer shift as I stepped in she turned and smiled at me. Ramos, the traitor, was lying beside her on the bed with his head in her lap as she scratched his mangy head. I felt like I was having an acid flashback. I walked over and shut off the stereo.

“Son of a bitch! Look who’s here.”

She smiled brightly at me. “You’ve lost weight but you look taller.”

“That’s not a nice way to greet someone that you haven’t seen in almost thirty years. Almost rude one could say.”

She laughed. “Well, forgive me, but this is kind of a weird situation. And you do look different from what I remember. Different, but not bad. You’ve got the beach bum look down that’s for sure. That’s all I was saying. Don’t be so fucking sensitive. You always were.” There was that smile again.

“Well, it’s been a long time, Reggie. Things change. How are you?”

She nodded at the knife. “You can put that away.”

She leaned back on her hands. Even from this distance I could see a tiny bead of sweat run down her tanned cleavage. Bad habits die hard. I folded the blade and dropped the knife in my pocket.

“I guess I can do that. It doesn’t look like you could be armed the way you’re dressed. So are you here to arrest me?”

I pulled over a stool over to me and sat down across from her. “Let’s just get this out of the way. I think I know why you’re here. I didn’t kill that NIS agent. I was there but Brewer did it. It was a traffic stop gone wrong. Ricky freaked because he and his old lady were dealing all that dope and he thought that he was going to get busted. Jesus Christ, I’m almost fifty fucking years old. This is ancient fucking history. Can’t you people give it up?”

Her green eyes flashed in anger at me and then she looked down to the floor. “I know all that but I’m not here totally on business.”

“Bullshit! So you’re the one that wrote that fucking letter. I should have goddamn known! I almost fucking drowned in Galveston but I guess I was lucky that a goddamn hurricane was hitting the island or else the cops would have been there to arrest me. The weather situation kind of fucked up their stakeout. You were setting my ass up again! Just like you did in Pearl Harbor!”

“I didn’t set you up in Pearl Harbor and I wrote you that letter to warn you! I didn’t fucking think that you’d go up there to kill Brewer.”

“I didn’t kill him. The cocksucker was already dead when I got there. Someone shot..” I realized suddenly what was happening and what was being said between us. “Wait a fucking minute here! Just who the hell are you working for now? It still can’t be for NIS. Even they couldn’t be that fucking concerned about that old murder to waste the cash on sending someone all the way down here to check out leads after all these years. Who the hell are you working for? What the fuck are you doing here? How much do you know about what’s happened to me since I left the Navy?”

Ramos, startled by my tone of voice, jumped off the bed and ran out the trailer. Reggie stood and flicked her cigarette butt out the window and quickly lit another one up. “No, I retired from the Navy years ago. I’ve been working for another agency for almost ten years. I can’t tell you who it is but after September 11th I’ve been working closely with the Department of Homeland Security. Running background investigations, reviewing intelligence on domestic terrorism, monitoring wiretaps, Patriot Act stuff, all that kind of bullshit. And then one day an old case file just was magically dumped on my desk. It really rang a bell. Some supervisor saw my name in it as a previous investigator on the case so they thought I might be interested in it for nostalgic reasons.”

“Me? The file was on me?”

Cigarette smoke streamed out of her nose. In spite of my worked up self it seemed oh so sexy. “No, it wasn’t your file. This file was on an old ex-prison snitch named Ricky Brewer, who had turned himself into some sort of a semi-professional computer detective, and was trying to sell information on an old murder of a NIS agent that happened in Hawaii over three decades ago. He claimed that he had solved the case and said he even had gotten his hands on the murder weapon. He also claimed that he had discovered that the murderer had in his possession a large photo album containing photos of a sexual nature involving a shitpile of high ranking military officials and political figures. Very graphic shit! Snorting coke, anal, oral sex, bondage, lesbian, crap that ran the whole gamut. Brewer had copies of some of the photos but said the originals and negatives were in the photo album. Some of these people in the album, if it does in fact exist, hold very high and important public offices right now and the snitch…that nasty prick Ricky Brewer…claimed the person who was holding this photo album planned on using it for a huge blackmail scam. The fucking media would eat that shit up with a spoon if it was all true.”

“It was Brewer and Mason and Rose who were pulling that scam off. Not me. I didn’t know about it until the night before I shipped out of Pearl. Mason got all liquored up and babbled on about it. I thought it was just all bullshit until now.”

Reggie let out a sigh. “I always thought Rose was into something a lot deeper than working for a call girl service. She was a sweet girl really, just real mixed up.”

“Mixed up to say the fucking least! What do you think happened to her?”

“Her last known whereabouts was supposedly at the house of an Admiral in Pearl. He denied everything and his alibi checked out. It’s been too many years. Nothing will come of it.” Reggie stared deeply into my eyes. “But I’m telling you straight right now. Whoever has that photo album, if it does exist, is in very serious danger. There are people in our government who are willing to eliminate whoever has it just to get their hands on it. Things have changed since 9/11. The rules have changed.”

“I don’t have it if that’s what you’re here for. Anyway, people working for the government are the last people that I’m going to lose sleep over. You could say that I have a much more hardcore bunch who would like to stumble on to my ass these days. If the Feds stuck me in a prison cell it would be a cakewalk compared to what these assholes would do to me.”

Reggie stared at me for several seconds and then took a deep breath. “Did you really kill those two people in that trailer in Minnesota?”

I walked over to the cooler and grabbed two beers and handed one to her. “So you do know. I guess your agency does have big ears. Doesn’t it?” I sat back down across from her. “I had to or I was one dead motherfucker. It was just one bad thing after another in my life that started when I was barely out of high school and led me to that moment. It was a fucking nightmare.”

She nodded her head. “la Favor.”

I gave a short laugh. “I forgot I told you about him. I guess I never could keep my mouth shut once I climbed into your bed. You sure could work your magic with that hotass body of yours.”

“Did you walk away from that trailer with 150,000 dollars in cash? That’s the amount that a government deep cover agent estimates you came out of there with.”

It was my turn to smile and not say a word.

Reggie’s face turned serious. “There’s money out there on your head. That’s what Brewer’s game was. First he contacted la Favor and offered to cut him in on the deal. At first la Favor didn’t bite because he didn’t really trust Brewer and because of the friendship between your fathers. But then la Favor’s father was killed at the penitentiary and Brewer finally told Cletus what was in the briefcase and what it could be worth. Leavenworth records show that la Favor was on Brewer’s visiting list and they corresponded on a regular by both mail and phone frequently. But then you really threw a monkey wrench in the works with what happened at the bar and at that trailer. So then Brewer started all over. He’d get the Feds interested in the old NIS murder and greased the wheels with that idea about the sex photos and they’d track you down. Once you were in custody and inside a prison you’d be an easy target for whoever needed to get at you, namely la Favor, he has very close ties to the Aryan Brotherhood and several biker prison gangs. And then he’d collect the reward. It’s nothing to sneeze at. There’s a total of about six figures on your head. That is a fuckload of money, especially for a scumbag like Brewer. I just don’t think he realized how dangerous a game he was playing. He was playing both the Feds and la Favor and it backfired on him, big time.”

“Who killed Brewer?”

She took a sip of beer and looked out the window. “I really don’t know. Brewer was piece of shit and he was playing a dangerous fucking game. No one is crying in their beer that he’s dead, that’s for damn sure. The world is better off without him.”

I didn’t want to ask the next question. “Then why are you here?”

“I can offer you protection and you need it. la Favor has a contract out on your ass, he’s organized crime and has a bounty out on you! You are wanted by the Minneapolis police department! The Federal government is looking for you! The current administration is willing to pay hush money for that briefcase to disappear. You can’t run and hide forever. Just give me the briefcase and I can make this go away!”

“I knew it!” I shouted. “The fucking briefcase! I told you I don’t have the fucking thing! Jesus Christ! Once a cop always a goddamn cop!”

“Fuck you! I’m here to help you. I can offer you protection. A way to get you out of all of this bullshit!. A way to start a new life, a life where you don’t have to look behind your back every goddamn second of the day!”

I tore my shirt off. “Look at this.” She turned and looked at the tattoo on my chest. “You broke my fucking heart the day I saw you in that courtroom. I’ve never gotten over you, and that’s a goddamn fact, even if you were a goddamn cop! But if you’re here to arrest me let’s get this shit over with. I’m getting too old to keep on running!”

Deja Vu All Over Again

“Your ferry leaves in about two hours. We better get dressed.”

“You really need to get his tattoo colored in again. Being out in the sun all day long is fading it out.” We were stretched out in my tiny bed, our bodies intertwined and covered in sweat. Reggie was lazily tracing her finger over the outlines of my tattoo. The moment seemed strangely familiar.

“Does your husband have your name tattooed on his chest?”

“Hell no! This is my fourth time down the aisle and not one of them has ever done anything nearly as romantic as that.”

“I can’t believe that you’ve been married four fucking times. Unbelievable.”

“Well, my line of work plays hell on the married life. That’s for sure.”

I felt sad and lonely all of a sudden. “Does he treat you good? Are you happy?”

She looked up at me. “He treats me well. As good as a seventy year old man can. He is very sweet and I’ll never have to worry about money again. The sex isn’t that great of course. But with Viagra….”

“I guess I don’t need to hear anymore.”

She stood up and walked naked down the short hall of the trailer and began getting dressed. She pulled on those sexy French cut black panties and then the cutoff jeans over those gorgeous tanned legs. Aging had been so gentle on her. A few extra pounds but still incredibly sexy.

“Are you jealous?”

I laid back on the bed with my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. “Without a doubt, how couldn’t I be. He gets to sleep next to you every night where as I just have the mem…”

I felt an incredible pressure on my chest! Jesus Christ! I was having a fucking heart attack! No wait; it couldn’t be a heart attack. The pain was coming from the right side not the left. Squirming in the bed I clutched my chest and looked down. My hands and the sheet were covered in blood. I tried to speak but nothing came out, just a squeaky gasp. Trying to take a deep breath was impossible! The closest doctor had to be five miles away!

In a panic I looked up to Reggie for help. She was already standing over me. I could swear that I could still see smoke coming out of the silencer. The bitch had shot me! First time I had been shot by a midget and the second was by a topless woman wearing nothing but cutoff jeans! At the angle I was laying in the bed the bullet had hit me just under the collarbone. The bullet must have exited out the back because goose-down feathers were floating in the air. She quickly cuffed my hands over my head to the bed frame and then stood over me with my knife in her hand.

“I can’t believe you got my goddamn name tattooed on your chest. You certainly are the romantic. Now I’m going to have to cut the fucking thing out. I certainly can’t leave my name inscribed on your chest. It just wouldn’t look good, would it?” She leaned over and stuck the silencer’s barrel against my forehead as she stuck the knife against the tattoo hard enough that it felt like the blade had gone in at least half an inch as I groaned in pain.

“Tell me where the briefcase is and if it’s where you say it is, I’ll call the police after my ferry gets to the mainland and have them send a doctor. I don’t think you’ll bleed to death in that time. You’re lucky that I’m such a good shot. I still qualify every year for an expert marksman rating badge on the range. You’d be dead right now if I wanted you to be. I just nicked you. Just a flesh wound, so consider yourself lucky,” she laughed.

“Fuck you, you lying bitch,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Trying to be the tough guy, huh? You never had it in you.” Reggie walked over and put a CD in the stereo and cranked it up. “Still like that redneck shit, don’t you?”

She leaned over me and stuck a dirty sock in my mouth then stuck the knife deep into the tattoo again, one hand against my throat to steady herself as she carved the knife around the tattoo. I closed my eyes and screamed in pain as I bucked my legs up and down in a feeble attempt to knock her off of me. After what seemed like hours she stood up and flicked the piece of flesh against a window curtain where it stuck with a loud slap, tore the curtain loose, and folded it up. She pulled the sock out my mouth.

“Maybe I’ll feed this to your dog. Now tell me where the briefcase is and you’ll live. I promise I’ll call for a doctor when I get to the mainland. It’s the only choice that you have. Don’t be stupid. Is this how you want to die?”

I nodded to her. “OK,” I gasped. “Just down the road there’s a burned down cantina. Against the north wall there’s a hole in the wall with a votive candle sitting in it. Dig down about three, four, fuck, I don’t know how many goddamn feet. That’s where your goddamn case is. A shovel is underneath the trailer.”

She tapped my face with my knife. “Now you’re being smart, that’s a good boy. But if you’re bullshitting me, I’ll come straight back here. And this time I’ll cut your cock off and shove it down your throat.”

She leaned over me and dragged her hard nipples across my face and then stuffed the sock back in my mouth. I didn’t look at her as she dressed but I heard her walk out the trailer door, dig around underneath for the shovel, and start up her car over the stereo:

“People say I’m no good and crazy as a loon

Cause I get stoned in the morning

I get drunk in the afternoon”

I lay there in that hot sweaty trailer as the blood ran out of me and I waited, and waited. And then waited some more. Fuck, I was going to bleed to death. But if she came back to the trailer I was dead anyway.

Then…

The explosion was loud that it shook my trailer like an earthquake. Seconds later it sounded like it was hailing outside as something metallic sounding rained down on to the roof of my trailer.

Then I smiled and closed my eyes.

This Is The End

Obviously since you’re reading about this I made it out there alive. Well, the hail coming down onto the roof of my trailer was from the mine that exploded when Reggie stuck her shovel into the top of. The fucking thing was packed with hundreds of stainless steel ball bearings. Since Reggie was standing directly over it when the mine exploded, the force of the blast practically vaporized her. The key word there is exploded, since the mine exploded not imploded, and the briefcase was under the mine, it survived almost without a scratch. The sound of blast alerted Javier who got to me before I nodded off into the Big Sleep and I was whisked off to the mainland by boat where I was laid up in the hospital for almost a month. It was there that the Feds finally caught up to me.

It was quite a wild scene in my room. Javier had rounded some of his old buddies up from his days in the police department to watch over me. Big dudes with bad fucking attitudes, brandishing shiny long knives and automatic weapons, and they had the Feds shitting in their knickers for a while. It was a real live Mexican standoff. Of course, they still ran the whole line of bullshit at me. I was going to be arrested. I was going to do the hardest time imaginable. I was going to the Super-Max prison in Colorado where I was going to get turned out by the Black Panthers, the Mexican Mafia, and the Aryan Brotherhood. I was going to be a bitch with an asshole so big you could drive a Ford Bronco through it. One dildo in a suit even threatened to send me to Cuba where they have all the terrorists locked up. Waterboard me and stick me in a dog run. But they were missing one crucial item and they knew it. The briefcase! The briefcase was gone, and the only person who knew where it was me.

And I sure as there was shit in a goat wasn’t fucking talking.

When it was all said and done, they didn’t give a hot fart in the wind about the NIS agent killed all those years ago, or me shooting those dirtbags in that trailer, or even Reggie — one of their own — blowing her sweet ass to hell digging up that landmine. They wanted that Goddamn briefcase. Not even the whole briefcase. Just the photos and the negatives showing ****** * **** (Co-author note: I blacked the name out for MY personal safety and security) all coked up, naked except for black dress socks, getting a hum job from a beautiful hooker named Rose.

I had them by the nuts and they knew it. They could send me off to prison. They could even kill me. They could turn me over to la Favor and his gang. But that picture. That fucking picture would still be out there. It could resurface anytime at my leisure.

So they cut me a deal. They’d give me a new identity (the third one of my life) and shoot my ass straight into the Witness Protection Program. Give me protection and in early 2009 I’d even get a pardon for all crimes committed up until now. With one huge condition though. Keep your fucking mouth shut and never let those photos or the negatives see the light of day or your ass will be deeper in concrete that Jimmy Hoffa.

I guess I can live with that.