"Gentlemen," Bistros said through quivering lips. "I...I..."
Suddenly, Bistros whipped out two guns from his pockets and slung 'em forward like a cowboy from an ol' western film. He aimed one at The Boss and the other at Bruiser, and fired.
Mostly everyone ran for the door, except for the six men seated at the table and the waiting staff. The Boss and Bruiser were slumped over the table, and the others stared at each other in shock.
Bistros suddenly made a dash for the back room. I leapt to my feet, pulled a switch blade from my back pocket and flung it quickly at the murderous waiter. I barely missed his head, and the knife stuck to the wall like a bullseye a dart board.
"Sumuva bish," Monsieur Huile screamed. "What was that, how was..why was...who is...who do you think you are? I am!" The Frenchmen rambled on in complete shock.
I noticed a fresh bottle of Castelines Province beneath the table and reached for it.
"Here Huile," I said. "Take this bottle of oil that I found. It will calm your nerves."
The penguin fella drank it all down in one sip. He smacked his lips around a bit and commented that it tasted a bit sour. "Perhaps it was left out too long," Monsieur said. "It will do. It will do. But what in the croissant and Eiffel Tower is going on here?" He shouted in an ever thicker French accent.
Meanwhile, Vegas and Soriano inspected the bodies of Bruiser and The Boss. "He's dead as a caterpillar in the Nevada heat," Vegas said of The Boss.
"My gnarly butler friend seems to have eaten his last vegi pizza," the Californian Cowboy Soriano joked after checking on Bruiser.
I studied the scene for a few moments, replaying the events in my head. Vegas sat down. We made some quick chit chat about receiving letters to attend this dinner. Bistros spoke up, and then shot these two gentlemen dead right in front of customers and the other waiting staff. Why?
"Daddy, you asked what we all had in common," Cowboy Soriano said. "I am curious about that myself, because before today I didn't know who none of you were."
"Daddy?" Huile said, looking rather puzzled. "What kind of name is Daddy?"
"I believe it's short for Swizzdaddy," Vegas responded. "That is your real name, isn't it? Swizzdaddy of Big Daddy's Swizzy Cards and Stuff?"
Cowboy Soriano left his seat and stared in my direction. "Wait one darn second," he said in a southern drawl that he hasn't spoken with all night. "You mean to tell me that you are..." read more