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The Mob Boss

Updated on December 09, 2016

Joined: 3 years agoFollowers: 66Articles: 141

He had worked his way up from petty thief of candy bars and comic books to slick-fingered pickpocket to community organizer to head of the mob. Eventually, he ruled over every block of the city he could see from his guarded pent house apartment. Friend or foe, they called him many things: The Mobster, The Kingpin, The Boss.

He preferred the latter term. He wanted every tout, every dope dealer, every pimp, every gunslinger, to acknowledge him as The Boss. From time to time, others had foolishly attempted to wrest the title from him. Each of them had come to a sudden, sad end, a few by his own hand, the rest because he had ordered it done.

Now, he faced another challenger. From the ranks, a new name had come to his attention. A smart kid they called The Bull seemed bent on taking over certain outlying districts of the city. The Bull had assimilated and made excellent use of inside information about how the organization ran. He and his small band of faithful followers had duplicated, then absorbed, a dozen neighborhood cells heretofore under control of the organization.

The Automatic Loomed Large

The Boss reluctantly made made his decision. He called in twenty professional hit men from as many cities. Even now, the squad of gunslingers, led by Jacko and ten of his most trusted lieutenants, converged on The Bull's headquarters. The Boss waited for his secure telephone to ring, for Jacko to relay the welcome news that The Bull no longer constituted a threat.

A knock came on the apartment door.

"Yes?" The Boss turned a puzzled frown toward the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Boss, Jacko," a muffled voice replied.

The Boss strode across the carpet, turned back the three dead bolts and opened the door. His eyes widened in surprise.

Jacko's forehead sported an ugly welt, blood caked below a nose leaning somewhat askew and his face displayed a chagrined expression. Behind him stood The Bull, automatic pistol much in evidence.

"Hello, Dad," The Bull said. "Thanks for sending your hand-picked gunnies in one convenient package. They're feeding the fish in the river as we speak. Unless you agree to clear out and go home where you belong old man, you can prepare to join them."

The Boss studied the automatic. He sighed deeply. "I guess your mother will be glad to see me at home for a change," he said at last.

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