You're Nobody 'til Somebody Kills You
“He was big, and was wearing a sports jacket. Even though I was used to the heat—being from Vegas—I had taken my jacket off and left it in the car.
“Who owns this joint?” Jerry demanded loudly.
“Um, um, Mr. Cohen,” the frightened girl replied.
“Where is he?”
“Um, he’s in—in the back.” She jerked her finger toward a doorway.
“Thanks.”
He stormed past the girl toward the doorway.
“Uh, you can’t—” she started, but I stopped her.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “You’ll just make him mad.”
I followed Jerry t...hrough the door, found him facing a guy in a tank top seated in a leather lounge chair. The guy was in his sixties, with buzz-cut white hair and white stubble. He had good biceps on him for his age, but his gut hung over a cheap belt.
“What the hell—” he started.
He tried to get up but Jerry put a massive hand on the guy’s chest and shoved him back down. He kept his hand on the man’s chest. The guy grabbed Jerry’s wrist with both hands and strained, but despite the good biceps he couldn’t budge it.MoreLess
“Who owns this joint?” Jerry demanded loudly.
“Um, um, Mr. Cohen,” the frightened girl replied.
“Where is he?”
“Um, he’s in—in the back.” She jerked her finger toward a doorway.
“Thanks.”
He stormed past the girl toward the doorway.
“Uh, you can’t—” she started, but I stopped her.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “You’ll just make him mad.”
I followed Jerry t...hrough the door, found him facing a guy in a tank top seated in a leather lounge chair. The guy was in his sixties, with buzz-cut white hair and white stubble. He had good biceps on him for his age, but his gut hung over a cheap belt.
“What the hell—” he started.
He tried to get up but Jerry put a massive hand on the guy’s chest and shoved him back down. He kept his hand on the man’s chest. The guy grabbed Jerry’s wrist with both hands and strained, but despite the good biceps he couldn’t budge it.MoreLess
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