Mafia Justice

Morgan pulled the belt tightly around his leg, just above his left knee. The knife’s 12-inch blade had gone clean through the calf and was now sticking out the other side.

‘I’m getting sloppy,’ he thought to himself as he strode out of the room with barely a limp.

Ten minutes earlier he had walked into the casino’s VIP lounge. Randal Jackson was sitting at the room’s single table, a girl in each arm…one under the table.

Upon seeing the unannounced visitor, all three girls fled.

Morgan walked casually to the table. He slowly reached over and pinched out the flame of a large candle in the middle of the ‘romantic’ setting. He said nothing.

“How did you get in here?” Jackson demanded as if he were used to being in charge.

Morgan glanced over his shoulder where he had left two large security men in a pile just outside of the room. He would never understand why, when it came to bodyguards, a person tended to think larger was better. They were just bigger targets in his book.

Slowly, Morgan reached over and put his hand into the drink Jackson was still holding. He pulled out an ice cube and considered it carefully before putting it into his own mouth.

Neither man said a thing for nearly a minute. Sweat began to form on Jackson’s forehead.

Finally, “You fucked up Randal.”

“Wait! I can pay. I have money, as much as you would ever want,” Jackson said apparently reaching for his wallet.

In a flurry of motion, Jackson’s hand swept out of his coat with the giant knife. Morgan’s heel crushed Jackson’s windpipe. Game over.

Then he noticed the knife.

He would have to take care of that. First, he had a couple more calls to make this evening.

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