Love and Ammunition - Book 1 - It's a dog eat dog world

Chapter 20 - You're in my way, Mr. Deen.

Mr. Deen opens the door to be met with the hard—yet subtle gaze, Colleen. Except Colleen is dressed like Al Capone. A not-so-subtle way to indicate she's been somewhere and with someone.

"Where did you go to?"

Mr. Deen asks, taking a swig of beer, his eyes not moving Colleen.

"Family business, Gramps."

Mr. Deen's eyes tighten, his fist grips harder around his beer. Reluctantly, he steps back from the door.

"No. There is no family business here. . . and I don't know who you were with, or why. But god dammit you will give me a name."

"Dan Mullen? Dan Mullen is not a man to be trusted!"

"And who are you to tell me who to trust, or not?"

Angrily, George drives his index finger into Colleen's chest.

"I'll have you know I know many of men like your father, and Dan Mullen is up there with one of them. He was in a war with your dad for almost a decade, and his father was at a war with Bobby for two!"

He can see the surprise on Colleen's face. He can't help but sneer.

"He didn't tell ya that in his little pep talk, did he?"

"It doesn't matter," Colleen shoots back. "There is not a single man eviler than my father. Whatever Mr. Mullen did, I guarantee my father did tenfold worse."

Colleen heads towards the stairs. She's had enough— I'm going to murder you in your sleep, old man!

"Your father didn't want you in this life!" Mr. Deen screams as he watches Colleen stomp her feet up the stairs.

Mr. Deen finishes his beer in one gulp and digs the bottle into a flowerpot at his right.

I don't need this stupid shit, Bobby.

And walks over to his recently acquired leather chair and sits down. His head throbbing from his increased heart rate—something the doctor would say he doesn't need this late in his life.

His newly acquired cellphone goes off.

He pulls it out of his pocket—taking a moment to remember what the cute young blonde at the door told him when it came to using this thing.

It's amazing what you can get delivered when your net worth is valued at over 2.2 billion.

'Press the green button, slide to the right, and—Voila!'

"Hello? Oh, hey, Mr. Jones. Still getting that paperwork done. Oh, I see. You're wondering about how many Casino's I want to put up for sale? I thought I already told you the number and names. . . Oh, you lost the paperwork? Well, I'll keep it simple. Put all of them up. Yes. All of them. No. I'm not drunk. No. I don't want to rethink this. Goddammit, Mr. Jones, I own his estate, so do the fuck what I tell you to do!"

Mr. Deen pulls his cellphone away from his ear and is met with a blank screen. He fumbles at the buttons—frustration boiling as he attempted to hang up—and finding himself unable.

Mr. Jones, on the other end, however, waited patiently for Mr. Deen to come back to the phone. Unaware that, in Mr. Deen's attempt to hang up—he'd instead given up. And through the phone, all Mr. Jones can hear is the noise of a phone in one's back pocket, sitting down on a leather couch—with the faint sound of Six o'clock news.

Mr. Jones hangs up.