• TPA Headquarters
    December 18
    0410 hours

    Frak I’m tired.
    It was late when I finally got home; I mean really late.
    You’re probably wondering why this was considering that the race was at ten and I wasn’t even there for an hour. Well; after the race, that smooth highway just turned into an unpaved dirt road.
    First there was Nat; hitting on me as always; Now I know you’re going to call me a f** or something, I’m mean a hot chick in a skimpy outfit was practically throwing herself at me (forget the practically) and I freaked out. There are several reasons for this; many of which are none of your frakking business. But one of the main reasons is that Bullit is a good friend of mine and I wouldn’t want ruin it, not to mention the fact that he can put a bullet in my eye from four hundred yards with that .70 automatic pistol of his with the naked eye (plus, this isn’t a porno people, you want explicit stories, Google it.).
    Then this guy shows up and tells me he’s got a job proposition, okay, we seem to be getting back onto paved roads here. I hear him out and take the job; I get the time and place.
    Then the road just turned to mud. The sound of sirens sends everyone into a panic; the cops decided they had to crash the party. Everyone dashed for their cars or alleyways; making this huge cluster. I ended up being one of the ones with cops on my tail.
    It took forever to ditch them; thank God I got a fake license plate on my Draco.
    So I finally made it back to my apartment; tired and ready to hit the hay. I put my keys in lock and opened my door to my dark apartment.
    “Good evening Mr. Casey,” floated a voice out of the darkness.
    BAM! Wide awake.
    I flipped on the lights and was met a sight one doesn’t see everyday.
    There was a clown sitting at my desk. He wore a black tuxedo with blue lining, his face painted white with black lips and black around the eyes and a blue skull under his left eye, and to top it all off he wore a belled black and blue jester's cap.
    He’s called The Jester (wow, never saw that one coming). Behind him and to his right was the biggest, palest, baldest man I have ever seen in my life, six and a half feet of muscle. He’s unaffectionately known as Cue-ball.
    Nice huh?
    “Well, well, if it isn’t The Jester,” I said as I took off my coat and hung it up on the hook beside the door, “What brings you too my humble abode?”
    I took a couple steps in the door, scanning the room and glancing in the kitchen. Where was Cue-ball’s evil twin?
    The door suddenly slammed shut behind me and I jumped.
    I hate it when questions like that answer themselves.
    I turned my head slightly to see Cue-ball’s black twin; Eight-ball, standing behind me, somehow he fit his huge bulk behind the door and was now blocking my exit.
    Drek, it’s really not good to be stuck in a room with The Jester and his muscle bound cronies.
    Well Mr. Casey," he started, bringing his elbows up to rest on my desk and his hands before his painted face, "It seems that earlier this evening you were approached by a member of the Sicilliano Family for a job."
    I hate how fast word travels in this town.
    The Sicilliano Family is one of the big mob families in Trip City which has a blood feud going with the Andretti Family; who The Jester just happens to work for.
    Papa Sicilliano's middle son is getting out of prison soon and coming into town by plane. Papa wants me to go with a small escort and play bodyguard. It was supposed to be low profile so that rival families wouldn't try to exploit the situation.
    Seems one was going to do just that.
    "My employer would appreciate, and reimburse you for any inconvenience, if you would not participate in this undertaking," he said to me from behind his hands, "You been particularly useful in the past and we would hate to see any unduly harm to come to you."
    While I know they would make it worth my while, and I know The Jester’s idea of unduly harm, I don't go back on a contract; it's bad for business. I'm pretty sure you know what's coming next. It's time for the cliché:
    “And if I don't?”
    This little term usually means "Go off yourself." The Jester’s a clever boy and knew this.
    A grin spread across his pasty little face, "Then we make sure you don't."
    I dove to the side, I felt the air whoosh as 8-Ball’s fist flew too where my head had been. I rolled to my feet and came up running as I made my way to the kitchen, This way if Cue-Ball and 8-Ball came after me they’d have to go single file to get me, deal with them one at a time.
    I hit the door frame and rebounded into the room, instinct made me look for an exit which I know wasn’t there. All I had was a small window that led to a long drop and a sudden stop; let’s think about this.
    TC + six stories = Pavement Pancake
    I’m not very good at arithmetic but I know that that that’s the entirely wrong equation.
    I turned to face the door, normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but I left my gloves in my desk when I left; how much trouble could I get into tonight? Anyway, we’ll get into it about my gloves later; right now I have a huge black man making his way towards my kitchen with malicious intent.
    I then went for the next best thing and opened my cutlery drawer and pulled out a steak knife then faced the door again to see 8-Ball’s bulk filling it. I looked at him then down at my little knife and shook my head.
    Time to improvise.
    I snatched up the hall-full bottle of cream soda and launched it at 8-Ball’s bald head. It was unexpected and 8-Ball was way too slow. I connected with huge coconut and it snapped back. When he brought it back he found me jumping into the air towards him and my palm flying towards his face.
    It impacted with his nose and I felt the cartilage shattered and my hand was now covered in bloody snot. Then my body hit and we came crashing into my living area. I then kicked off 8-Ball and dove sideways over my couch as I took aim at Cue-Ball and let my little knife soar. I hit the floor and rolled to my feet close to the wall.
    As it turns out, Cue-Ball was slightly faster than his counterpart and moved, but the knife still sunk into his arm. He slowly looked down and dulling stared at the thing that was sticking out of his bicep. He looked stupidly at it for a moment then pulled it out and decided to give it back to me.
    Being faster than both of the giants I slid to the side and the knife imbedded itself in the wall right behind where I had been standing. I reached up to retrieve it so at least I’d have some sort of weapon and found that it wasn’t coming out with one hand. So I turned and tried using both and found that I couldn't do that either. I put a foot up on the wall to try and get some leverage, but the damn thing just wasn't budging!
    During this short time period Cue-Ball had made his way across my living room and took a swing at my head. I had just been lucky enough to turn my head and see the monstrous fist heading my way and dropped into a crouch as I pushed off the wall to send me spinning around. I came up a little and sent four punches straight into Cue-Ball’s stomach.
    And if he noticed he gave little indication save for a small grunt of discomfort.
    The kind of discomfort you would rate…say…a gnat?
    Well, he decided to swat it.
    I went sailing a few feet and collapsed a small table beside my bedroom door. Cue-ball came charging after me, I quickly glanced around and grabbed a broken table leg. I rolled to the side and swung the leg into the side of Cue-Ball’s knee.
    I heard the tell-tale crack, snapple, and pop as the damage was done. Unable to slow his momentum, Cue-Ball fell face first into my wall and I heard his nose break on impact.
    Frak, I have a huge mess to clean up.
    Then I saw the gun I kept in the table’s drawer laying there underneath some splintered wood. I quickly seized it and jumped to my feet. I turned and went into the Weaver stance as I aimed it at The Jester’s pale face.
    He still hadn't moved from his sitting position, his elbows still propped up on my desk and hands still in front of his face.
    Then I felt the ham-like fist come down on the back of my head and I went down to my knees.
    "We'll let you think about it," said the Jester as he placed his hands flat on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. That's when I fell over onto my back and saw 8-Ball standing over me.
    "You have 48 hours."
    Then everything went black…