Father

Ronnie wondered how to start a story, or even why tell a story at all... the story, truly.
Ronnie shuffled around that thought in her head, as if, although even in her mind her thoughts were subject to judgement and cruel stares. There was no real reason to tell the story of her Father other then the fact that he was a very interesting man- and Ronnie was also interesting in return... or more so in response.
Sensible, as Ronnie were, she never thought twice- maybe once perhaps but never again- about reporting him to the proper authorities for his scandalous, yet fruitful, occupations. Instead Ronnie was guiltily fascinated by her Father- Rance- as a person, and his work as a gangster. A literal gangster.

Ronnie believed that not reporting him would go to show she was smart, like her father, rather than only honing her quality as a sensible person. Rance had all of local Police Department on payroll and at least a few in his pocket in any station within a 65 mile radius, and if that wasn't enough- which apparently it was not, Rance had answered her once upon a dinner party- he had allies and partners in place, employees of the state, who more then often turned a terribly blind eye to Rance's operations. As it would turn out most government nobodies had their themselves elbow deep in the shade of backward business, shocking wasn't it? Not at all, it was the late 70's, and if we couldn't take away from history and how governments tricked and cheated most of it's people- we at least could heed the squabbles of cracked out conspiracy theorist waving signs from the side of their van reading 'spoon fed propaganda' or 'they are listening/watching' . Whose to say the government wasn't?