Before he could finish his sentence, I ripped my switchblade from the wall and flung it at Soriano. It snuck through the opening of his shades where a lens should've been, impaling through his right eye. The swaggy cowboy lost his swagger, and stumbled to the ground, dead.
"You talk too much," I said to Vegas sharply. "You weren't supposed to mention my business."
Huile was staring at Soriano's body, while Vegas checked for a pulse. "I'm sorry Daddy," replied Vegas. "But what's it matter? You were gonna kill him anyway."
"Not like this," I shouted. "It was supposed to happen differently. He was supposed to know why this was happening. You ruined it, and now I need to hurry."
Huile rose to his feet and squared up as if he were boxing in the ring with Muhammad Ali. "Someone better tell me what's going on right now, you hear me?" He thundered in his sharp, French accent. "I recognize your name now, Daddy. I've heard of your card business. What do you want with me?"
I walked over to Soriano's body and removed my 10 year old Victorinox blade from his face. Huile reacted by taking a step back and raising his fists toward me.
"Relax, Frenchie," I told him. "I'm not going to stab you."
"I won't give you the chance you scoundrel," Huile snapped back. "Now put 'em up, I said put 'em up!"
I laughed at his unintentional impression of the cowardly lion. It was fitting for someone who was about to die.
"Sit down, Monsieur Huile," I said. "You are going to die soon, and I want to tell you why." read more