Twisted Truth

Chapter Three

ROCCO

The sound of my fist hitting the tied-up man's face rings in my ears and the dull throb in my knuckles is almost therapeutic - it's been too long. Stretching out my fingers I do it over and over again until I hear the man pleading with me to stop.

"So, George, are you ready to talk? Because as fun as this is I'm a busy man and this is wasting my time." I grip the shirt of the tied man pulling him closer. There is fear in his eyes, good there should be. Places like this, dark underground boxing rings shouldn't be a place good people come too but hey! No-one in this room is good not even close.

"C'mon George tell me about the drugs! Who's drugs got those fucking girls killed in my club!" I shout finally losing my patience with the pathetic piece of shit. See the thing I can't stand about men like George is, they lure women into their crutches with drugs and false promises only to use and abuse them before throwing them away like trash.  Now I'm no saint, far from it but there is a line that I would never cross and that is abusing women. It doesn't make you strong, it's a weak trait and one that infuriates me.

Fuck this! I grab the gun that I have tucked into the waist of my suit trousers and aim it at George's head. "Tell. Me. Now!"

"Why do you want to know? It's not like those sluts mean anything to you! They weren't even your girls!" The man spits, blood splattering onto the floor.

"No, they weren't my girls, and it wouldn't usually make it to my ears what a drug dealing fuck whit like yourself was doing but you were dealing in my club! Again, if they were drugs that came from me it wouldn't have been so bad, but they weren't, and 3 fucking girls died! Drug related deaths of college girls bring the cops to my door. Cops mean trouble George. Now I'm going to ask you one more time or so fucking help me god." I press the gun into the side of his head harder and the stench of piss fills my senses. 

Christ this mutt is more pathetic than I thought.

"Tell me a name and you'll be spared."

"WEBSTER! They were from Webster now please let me g-" the shot rings in my ears and George lays dead in the seat. One less scumbag on the streets of New York, my good deed for the day done. I get my men to clean up the mess, grabbing my suit jacket annoyed that I had to come down here in the first place. I had one place in particular that I'd have enjoyed myself much more tonight but here I am cleaning up other fuckers' messes. Leaving the darkness of the fighting den I'm off into the night to get some much-needed sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rubbing the palms of my hands into my eyes I try to shift some of the pain I feel behind them. It's half nine in the morning and I'm still reeling from the night I've just had. The inconvenience of George and the heavy partying for thanksgiving leaves my head throbbing.

Cleaning up messes that are not mine always leave me in a foul mood but learning its Daniel Webster's mess well this could get interesting. Dealing with the man is hard, he is untrusting, and his tempter could match mine, he's a moody bastard. If his contract and contacts weren't so useful, he certainly would have had an 'accident' by now.  Dirty drugs though could cause him some awful problems.

The buzzing of my phone interrupts the silence of my office, looking down at it I scoff, "Yes?" I answer already feeling my tempter rising.

"Did that drug dealer give you a name yet?" Harry, NYPD's finest detective asks. Harry has been on our payroll since this enterprise was my father's and let me tell you he seems to forget it every now and again.

"No, he didn't and he won't be doing much talking anymore." I answer. Leaving out Daniel Webster, I don't need the force finding out what's going on before I do.