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Rated: E · Draft · Crime/Gangster · #2234433
It isn't finished.
For a couple of years they were my neighbors. The Gentleman's name was Bartholomew and the Lady's name was Trixy. We had conversations over the years, which nearly landed me at a barbecue party with them. They had lived on the other side of my house for years, they were well known and respected, and why shouldn't they be; they were good business people too. Their business across the road did a little better as a diner than any of the others in town. And it came off as a mom and pop shop. Everything was fairly priced. The Gentleman ran a very profitable car-cleaning business out back of the diner. For $29.95 he would clean your car as good as when it was new; inside and outside, and one year he asked me if I'd go to work for him under the table. Of course I refused, I had my own daily routine, including making money as I'd cared too, without going home with an oil-stained tee-shirt. I had begun to realize that they had made their own spot in the sun as it were, from scratch. Rumors were when they started they had nothing more than a plot of land, and a small business loan. Its for entrepreneurs like them who genuinely make their success from nothing that the idea of free market capitalism is based on.

And then one night I was splitting a taxi with another man from my part of town, we actually lived a mile apart, that I had gotten some additional information on their business. The word on the street had it, that there were four mortgages on the lot. When I inquired of the man what that meant he told me 'four mortgages isn't bad if you have four businesses'. The neighbors started keeping their lips shut around me, and had been less neighborly than they had in the past. Then these well respected people moved into a trailer out back of their restaurants. They let their kids move in next door, god knows from where they came. A rowdy bunch, I couldn't help but think they wouldn't last long; people who were from here had more of a down to earth vibes about them.

Then I found out through various people, that the only reason they were doing so well, was because there business was propped up on drug money. Apparently they didn't just have four mortgages, they also owed some (read : a lot) of money to some very special people, and those people realized that the only way they would ever get their money back, was to have them sell drugs, and charge them two points vig on the balance. Bartholomew had had very expensive tastes when he first started his vehicle business, which oddly enough was how he got his name, but where he ran into trouble, was the gambling habits he had brought up with him from south Jersey.

He had a different name down there, he was known as Mickey the Shnoz, Mickey turned out to be his real name; he got in deep with the mob, had to testify in front of twelve witnesses and had got a deal under the witness protection act. He moved up to the Adirondacks at the programs insistence but he could only keep quiet for so long; soon enough he missed the fast money and fast pace of the city life, and had resorted back to his old bad habits.

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