Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“This pretty boy can break your neck, finish your glass of wine, whistle Dixie, and roll dice across this table occupied by six brown nosin’ reprobates, all with my eyes closed, in three seconds flat. No one would be the wiser until I turn my back and walk the fuck out of here.”
“…And you’d find that back of yours bloody, and your fucking head missin’, hollow as a hole in a tree from a series of 7.62x39mm bullets popping you right in the skull, my child. Now, I don’t blame your resistance.” Grandpa sighed; his shoulders slumped. “You don’t know any better. You come from poor stock. Your father was a fuckup from the moment he was born. Reeves was breech. That was a warning sign if I ever saw one. Your mother is weak and silly in the head. Your brothers are pathetic and fuckups—a perfect blend of their parents. You? Well, you’re a fuckup alright, but you’re redeemed. You’re smarter than every last one of ’em. You’re special.
“My favorite chapter of your autobiography shows just how gotdamn smart and special you are, boy…” Grandpa’s eyes turned to dark slits. “The big reveal! Surprise!” He gleamed, showing pearly whites. Bought and paid for. “All this time people thought you pulled yourself up by your own bootstraps.” Grandpa reached for a glass of red wine, brought it to his lips, and sipped. “…But those bootstraps were never yours. YOU STOLE THEM…” He shot a glance over at the table where Roman’s coworkers gathered. Merry as they were. “Maybe they’d like to know who they really work with, huh?
“The guy behind the mask? You’re a greasy, slick, Ken-doll-faced, failed Marine, conniving, cunning, piece of petrified dog shit passin’ as a sly thief. A bandit in plain sight, wearing swanky clothes and smellin’ like fresh money. You look like Superman… cleft chin, black hair. All that’s missing is a cape with a dollar sign on it. Standin’ tall and proud,” Grandpa mocked. “I just want you to do what you do best… what’s in your blood… for the family.”
“I see you’ve been readin’ some good literature lately.” Roman twirled that toothpick a bit faster, playing tongue tricks with the sharp, tiny stick of wood.
“I have. It’s a New York Times bestseller, if you ask me.”
Roman took a good look around him. His colleagues were deep into their conversations. Grandpa’s back was to them. The music was a bit loud, just enough to drown out a cry for help. No waiters were around, and the tables were so spaced out, there was plenty of room to get down to business.
“I know loads of avid readers at that casino, Roman.”
“Well, that book may be all make believe. Besides, if it were a biography, Grandpa, there’s this little thing called the Statute of limitations.”
“The Statute of limitations are up. You’re absolutely right, boy. I looked into it, but the civil cases could still roll in. The best part of course would be your ruined career which would serve me as a well-deserved penance in exchange for your impunity, and punishment for your abhorrent behavior, and disobedience. What do you think your story will go for? Maybe a lifetime of humiliation and some good old-fashioned cocaine snortin’ like that wasted cum rag I call your sperm donor. The rotten fruit of my loins. You’ll eventually walk in his shoes, Roman… you’re destined for darkness and despair, black sheep, and it’ll serve you right, don’t you think?”
Roman shrugged, then rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
“GRRRRAHHUUUUUHHHH!”
The table erupted as Roman thrust his right hand through the massive beard, wrapped his long fingers around Grandpa’s long, thick, throat and squeezed it. Grandpa turned red as a tomato—a vein popped on his forehead, and red veins filled the whites of Grandpa’s snakelike eyes. The men at the table hopped out of their seats, patted their hips, and then, their faces turned a million colors… Startled rainbows. Roman released his grandfather’s throat with a nasty shove that almost forced the geezer to topple out of his chair. The assault had only lasted about six or seven seconds, but he was certain that to his grandfather, it felt like an eternity. The color poured back into the old man’s complexion as he coughed and sputtered. Then he laughed as he rubbed his neck.
Roman opened his jacket, flashing what was underneath quickly before closing it again.
“You can close your mouths before you swallow a damn fly,” he chuckled. “When I walked around this table, I took all of your damn guns. Left you with your knives, only because that would’ve taken too long. My grandfather has run out of family to abuse, so he’s had to hire some non-blood related rookies, I see. Your first mistake was trusting him. Your second mistake is thinking you can take on me. Thank your United States government for my knowin’ how to clean the floor with each and every one of y’all if I wanted to. Semper Fi!” He saluted.