Garry Messer and Don Crater escape a gangster's retribution.
“Don’t tell them anything,” Garry Messer whispered in my ear.
“Right this way, Mr. Crater,” a tough in an ill-fitting suit said as he took my arm and walked me to a door. Opening it, he guided me to a chair and threw me down roughly.
“Well, I finally get to meet one of the jerk faces who ripped me off!” said a slim, dapper man from behind a desk.
I smiled, but was met by a scowl.
“Do you know what I do to men like you and your partner?” he gritted through sparkling teeth.
I shook my head.
“You will talk or I’ll know why,” the gangster roared.
The muscle that had brought me in, appeared at the doorway with my partner Garry in a bicep grip.
“This guy says his partner ain’t talkin’”
“Really? Bring him in! If one won’t talk, maybe the other will.”
“You okay Don?” Garry asked me as he sat in another chair beside me.
“Now, one of you is going to tell me where you put my money and my drug haul! Which one will it be?”
“I can’t,” Garry replied.
“And why not?”
“‘Cuz I don’t know. Don stashed it,” he explained.
“So we’re back to you! Don is it? I’m a real don, so spill it.”
I signed my answer.
“What’s with this guy?”
“He can hear, but he don’t talk,” Garry told him.
“What? You’re partners with a mute!”
“Yeah, saves a lot of unnecessary conversation.”
The made-man threw up his hands and called in his bodyguard.
“Take these two, blindfold them, and take them for a ride.”
Once we were outside the main door, I took out the goon with my Kung-Fu and we hailed a getaway cab.