Life On The Line Part 12

I was followed for two days by the guy in the taxi, then it was gone as sudden as it had appeared. Uncle Paulie must have taken care of my little problem. I purchased a black jack table, poker table, craps table and roulette wheel. The Saint and I were now in the gambling business. Well I was anyway, he just "worked" for me and rented me table space.

About two weeks into our little endeavor, things were going good. We were making pretty good money off The Rich Boys and anybody they happened to bring with them. I was dealing black jack to M1, M2, and Brad (he looked like Brad Pitt) one night when we heard the door open. I looked up and Thug 1 was coming around the corner. I think one of The Rich Boys shit himself because the odor in the room took a turn for the worse.

Thug 1 had his hands shoved in the pocket on his hoodie and the hood was over his head, hiding his face. He threw his head back and the hood fell. At about this time, the three brave souls I was dealing cards to, all shot back from the table. It was kind of like you see in one of those cheesy westerns. Thug 1 was looking dead at me and I was looking dead at him. I couldn't go anywhere I was sitting in a corner and my asshole had puckered so tight and so fast I was vacuum sealed to my chair. I dealt another hand of black jack onto the table.

Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1: "What?"
Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1 (voice shaking): "I can't see the cards from here."
Trashman: "Come back to the table."
M1: "No."
Thug 1: "You ain't scared?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "You don't think I won't shoot you?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "Why?"
Trashman: "Three reasons. One. You're out on bail for a murder you "didn't commit". So you can't very well shoot somebody else. Two. Your lawyer has gotten discovery by now, so you know my testimony clears you. Three. The Italians got to you, and you don't have what it takes to pull the trigger."

Now I know that was a stupid thing to say. You don't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick and I thought I poked a little to hard when Thug 1 pulled his hands out of the pocket. I swear I heard M1 whimper. Thug 1 shook out a cigarette from a pack, lit it up, and looked at me.

Thug 1: "We're cool."

He turned and walked out. That was that, our business was finished.

Trashman: "Let's play some cards. I need to pay child support."
M1: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman (looking at The Saint): "I'm tired of people asking me that."
M2: "I can't believe you said that."
Brad: "You're out of you're fucking mind."
The Saint: "Trashman knew he wasn't going to shoot."
Trashman: "I was cornered. My ass was stuck to the chair. My legs wouldn't work. And I ain't going out like a bitch."
M1: "You are fucking stupid."