| Author: | R. Richard | ISBN: | 9781370569557 |
| Publisher: | R. Richard | Publication: | July 22, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | R. Richard |
| ISBN: | 9781370569557 |
| Publisher: | R. Richard |
| Publication: | July 22, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
I then got a bus ticket and rode the bus into Reno, Nevada. I arrived at the bus station and caught a taxi to the Silver Legacy Casino. Since it was going to be at least ten hours until I got back to Los Angeles, I got a meal at, 'Flavors! the Buffet.' Like most casino buffets, there are relatively few servers and no one is too likely to remember a diner. I don't want anyone to remember me.
I serve myself, building a salad and speaking with no one. I do get an iced tea from the server, standard stuff. I eat my salad and then go and build myself a main meal, again speaking with no one. I build a meal of high nutrition, low bulk items, since I'm going to be active in the not too distant future. I finish my meal, leave a moderate tip, exit the buffet, and then use one of the restrooms.
Prepared for my night's work, I then lug my suitcase down 4th Street, past the hookers. I check down several side streets, before I locate the Lexus automobile that's a stupid mistake that ghetto boy made. I walk down in the dark, open the Lexus, after a little bit of magic on the locks, and put my suitcase in the trunk. I then wait, preparing myself mentally and physically for what's to come.
A large, strong looking black guy walks down the side street. He sees me loitering by the Lexus. He asks me, “What you doing with mah ride?”
I don't answer, I move! I put a side thrusting kick into the guy's solar plexus. I then hit him with a back elbow and then a few nerve strikes. I'm a Kung-Fu black belt, nothing official, but hard earned and very skilled. I take the guy's keys, wallet, watch, rings and the cash that he came down the side street to stuff into, as it turns out, the glove compartment. I then pick up ghetto boy and dump him in the passenger seat of the Lexus. I then go around, get in the driver seat, use a Lexus key from his key ring, start the car and drive North to a rural stub street. As I drive, I lecture ghetto boy.
“If you try to attack me, the pain that you now feel is a tiny down payment on what you'll get. Back in South Central Los Angeles, you found out where a drug foreman hung out, on Friday night. Someone told you that. You then took what you thought was the drug foreman down. It wasn't a drug foremen, it was a top guy in the drug dealer organization. The foreman got sick, a really bad case of the flu. The top guy didn't have anyone else, so he filled in. That's why you got a Lexus and not some cheaper car. Now, the people that I work for want to know who told you where to hide and where and when to mug the foreman. They have a short list of suspects, but they need you to come back and testify against the snitch. Don't you try to lie to me, I have the short list and I want to know the name of the snitch, why the snitch told you and a few other things. If you try to lie to me, I can extract the information, using pain compliance. I'm a Kung-Fu black belt and I can do it scientific, but I don't need the extra work and I want you in good condition, when I get you back to Los Angeles.” (I'm playing with ghetto boy's mind. I have beat the crap out if him and I can obviously do it again. I have now given ghetto boy some hope of survival. The people that I work for supposedly need him, for some sort of hearing, to catch a snitch. He's going to survive, at least for a while. If he lies, he gets more pain, a lot more pain. If he tells me the truth, I just take him back to Los Angeles with me. Ghetto boy can maybe trust me.)
I then got a bus ticket and rode the bus into Reno, Nevada. I arrived at the bus station and caught a taxi to the Silver Legacy Casino. Since it was going to be at least ten hours until I got back to Los Angeles, I got a meal at, 'Flavors! the Buffet.' Like most casino buffets, there are relatively few servers and no one is too likely to remember a diner. I don't want anyone to remember me.
I serve myself, building a salad and speaking with no one. I do get an iced tea from the server, standard stuff. I eat my salad and then go and build myself a main meal, again speaking with no one. I build a meal of high nutrition, low bulk items, since I'm going to be active in the not too distant future. I finish my meal, leave a moderate tip, exit the buffet, and then use one of the restrooms.
Prepared for my night's work, I then lug my suitcase down 4th Street, past the hookers. I check down several side streets, before I locate the Lexus automobile that's a stupid mistake that ghetto boy made. I walk down in the dark, open the Lexus, after a little bit of magic on the locks, and put my suitcase in the trunk. I then wait, preparing myself mentally and physically for what's to come.
A large, strong looking black guy walks down the side street. He sees me loitering by the Lexus. He asks me, “What you doing with mah ride?”
I don't answer, I move! I put a side thrusting kick into the guy's solar plexus. I then hit him with a back elbow and then a few nerve strikes. I'm a Kung-Fu black belt, nothing official, but hard earned and very skilled. I take the guy's keys, wallet, watch, rings and the cash that he came down the side street to stuff into, as it turns out, the glove compartment. I then pick up ghetto boy and dump him in the passenger seat of the Lexus. I then go around, get in the driver seat, use a Lexus key from his key ring, start the car and drive North to a rural stub street. As I drive, I lecture ghetto boy.
“If you try to attack me, the pain that you now feel is a tiny down payment on what you'll get. Back in South Central Los Angeles, you found out where a drug foreman hung out, on Friday night. Someone told you that. You then took what you thought was the drug foreman down. It wasn't a drug foremen, it was a top guy in the drug dealer organization. The foreman got sick, a really bad case of the flu. The top guy didn't have anyone else, so he filled in. That's why you got a Lexus and not some cheaper car. Now, the people that I work for want to know who told you where to hide and where and when to mug the foreman. They have a short list of suspects, but they need you to come back and testify against the snitch. Don't you try to lie to me, I have the short list and I want to know the name of the snitch, why the snitch told you and a few other things. If you try to lie to me, I can extract the information, using pain compliance. I'm a Kung-Fu black belt and I can do it scientific, but I don't need the extra work and I want you in good condition, when I get you back to Los Angeles.” (I'm playing with ghetto boy's mind. I have beat the crap out if him and I can obviously do it again. I have now given ghetto boy some hope of survival. The people that I work for supposedly need him, for some sort of hearing, to catch a snitch. He's going to survive, at least for a while. If he lies, he gets more pain, a lot more pain. If he tells me the truth, I just take him back to Los Angeles with me. Ghetto boy can maybe trust me.)
