Turf“Hey baby, you don’t have to do this. I could work for you instead, right?”&ld

Turf

“Hey baby, you don’t have to do this. I could work for you instead, right?”

“Great, stupid and a traitor.” I said, tilting my eyes to the ceiling. 

She was out of tricks and she knew it even before the gag went over her mouth. She glared at me balefully over the duct tape, wriggling, fuming mad. Also scared as hell, as she should be.

It’s strange that there are rules in the crime game, but among the most cardinal is respect each other’s territory. Case in point, this dumb bimbo in the Emma Peel knock-off currently trussed up and struggling in the basement of our safe-house. She’d been hitting small-time jewelry joints for weeks before word got back to me about it.

In a way, I blame myself. The operation was getting too big, too sloppy, too many fingers in the pie. We were overdue for a downsize, but I hate to let good people go, so it was no wonder really that Miss Latex managed to slip under the radar for so long.

But once I was assured that none of my people were going rogue, her days were numbered. Big thick-headed Bruno brought her in, battered, but alive to answer the standard questions, but first we’ll let her sweat it out a few days in that ridiculous outfit….