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I have some sad news. Dennis Argento is dead. Stick-up from what I hear, right outside a steak house in Vegas. Probably had a bad night at the tables and wasn't really in the mood to be inconvenienced. Well, now he's gone.

If he had been fucking my wife, I would have bought them a state room on a cruise ship with champagne every night and fresh flowers in the morning. But he was fucking with my money. I loaned him plenty and then he stole the rest. Goddamn degenerate. He forced my hand because his hand was up to his shoulder in my till.

Did I pop him? Absolutely not. Did I push a button? Damn right I did. He had his chances, more than anyone else has ever gotten from me. We were old friends until we weren't. I hired one of the desperadoes from back in the day, Louie Double Eagle who used to ride with the Queensman, to set up the hit. Dennis hated those guys but I never had a beef with them. The minute I saw Louie walk into the bar, I knew the job was going to be done properly. I could rest easy, like when a plumber comes over to your house cause the dishwasher is fucked up and you only watch the guy get out his tools and start making his moves to know things are going be beautiful very shortly. Dennis would appreciate that even from where he is now. Which is in the fucking turf. God bless and good riddance.

Story by:

Stirling Noh

3 February 2015