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)
He gently caressed the soft green petals. He bent down to smell the beautiful flower. Sweet and rich. I’ll find you one day and bring you back home. No one can fill your shoes. Yes, I will, darlin’… In the near distance, the curled and spiked screams of a man who’d disappointed him rent the air. He leisurely exited the greenhouse, closing the glass door, cane in hand, and walked several feet in his backyard, then stopped. There, like a scarecrow in a cornfield, with his arms extended along a wooden post, legs bound, dangled Fred.
“How’s it going?” Grandpa asked as he investigated the bloodied and swollen eyes of a soon-to-be dead man. Fred remained quiet, blood dripping from everywhere it possibly could. No inch of exposed flesh unharmed. “Now, Fred, you’re not the only man to let prey get the better of you.” Grandpa shrugged as he briefly turned away from him. “That’s not necessarily a reason to die… Sometimes the cat becomes the mouse. We’re human after all. Naw, that’s not it at all.” Grandpa shook his head. “You mighta lost a finger, somethin’ small like that. A consequence to learn by, but nothin’ more. I sent you to do mere surveillance. Not confront my grandson, Roman. Unfortunately, he spotted you and dealt with you how he saw fit. Roman is a chameleon. He looks one way but behaves a complete ’nother. I have to remind so many of that fact.
“He’s a pretty boy with a killer instinct, and he’s a fuckin’ con artist, too. Tricky. One of the more surprising elements about that boy, is that he was a damn good Marine, and a mathematical prodigy. When he was merely seven years old, he was doing complex mathematical equations in his damn head. The man’s I.Q. is off the fucking charts. He was a terrible and rebellious child, but much of that wasn’t his own fault.
Make no mistake about it, he’s my black sheep. He sits in the shadows, away from the moonlight, and he plots his next move on how to attack the wolves and gobble them whole.
He maneuvers his life in the same way that he plays professional Poker. To perfection. Now I hope that you understand why I want him so badly. Regardless of how you ended up with a fucking gun shoved down your throat, it wasn’t all a wash, though. Your efforts weren’t wasted, or in vain. I wanted to test Roman’s temperature, and now, I know that he’s on full alert. That brings us to today…
“The reason you’re here, and my boys brought you to me giftwrapped in blood, is because you’ve been dodging my calls, and I know why. I have reason to believe that you stole from me. I can’t stand a thief, Fred.” Grandpa lifted his cane high and swung it hard, whacking the man in the gut. Fred screamed—more blood and slobber oozed out of his mouth.
“…I… I didn’t steal nothin’, Mr. Wilde. I swear,” the man cried, tears streaming down his face.
“I have a small group of non-blood boys now that do good work for me. My extended crew. They’re well vetted, but not in the family business. I watch ’em. I train them myself.” He began to slowly pace back and forth. “You were one of those people, until today. When Brach went to your house to get information about my grandson, Roman, details of the little visit if you will, he also had instructions to search your house. During that visit, he found a small box with the cash I’d been missin’ from our last meeting.”
“That money was mine, Mr. Wilde. I swear. Me and my wife were savin’ it up to use for a European vacation for the whole family.”
“Mmmm hmm. ’Member when I handed out bonuses? I explained that there was a bit extra, for whoever could take care of a couple side jobs for me. Bruno and Torrence volunteered, but after that meetin’ I checked the box and lo and behold, my damn money was gone. My boys got paid nevertheless, but it was the principle. I don’t care if it’s a measly five dollars. NOBODY STEALS FROM ME! If you need somethin’, you ask! I couldn’t figure out how you got your hands on that cash that quickly.
“I turned my back for just a second. I mean, everyone knows that those are closed circuit meetings. Meaning, no cameras. Low lights. No phones. Nothin’ but a little liquor and a lot of ideas and brainstormin’. You were sitting close to the box. You were the last one in the room. I’m not a spring chicken, but my memory is like a child’s.”
“I didn’t take that money! I promise!”
“You did! LIAR! THIEF! It was marked.” Grandpa pulled out a wad of cash wrapped with a white paper band. He snatched a one-hundred-dollar bill from the bundle and held it up to the sunlight. “In the far-right corner is a tiny, tiny snake. My little signature.” He smiled at the embossed snake that was wrapped tightly around a rifle, barely visible to the naked eye. “You can hardly see it, but if you wet it, hold it at the right angle, with just the right amount of light, it’s there sure as day. Whenever I pay for a special kind of job, I usually pay cash. I make it traceable, too, BUT ONLY TO ME, just in case. Crafty, huh?”