Krackorn had confirmed my suspicions... He found only two of my three guns, missing the ankle holster. We got to the beach, found the boardwalk and strolled toward the pier. It was dark, Zynga’s single nod to keeping Y Town interesting was its recent nightfall each evening, but it was still a balmy digitally-enhanced 72 degrees. Foggy and damp in Yoville alleys, but here, a pleasant night except of course that I was supposed to die at the end of the pier. At the docks next to the pier an 09 Mafia V. Police henchman automaton stayed at the entrance, stringing yellow police tape to keep the curious out of the way and I suppose lending local law enforcement a hand for a possible murder investigation in the morning. Thoughtful. A digital moon was reflecting off 2D waves. I could see the lights of the S.S. Oscar Wilde, a gambling establishment anchored in Zynga Bay. Sounds of laughter, shouts of wins, groans of losses as Yo cash was tossed on gaming tables like confetti at a New Year’s Day parade. We got to the end of the pier. I pulled out my flask, two cigars. I took off my jacket and laid it on the bench. “No reason not to be comfortable,” I said to Jimmy, handing him a cigar. He smiled a little, obviously pleased I might be keeping my word. I loosened my tie, kicked off my shoes, and put my feet up on one of the large cleats that used to tie up ships bringing materials to the Sweets Factory. I opened the flask and took a long, slow pull of Old Noob Kentucky Whiskey, handed it to my companion. His smile broadened; he drank and handed the metal bottle back. “Look, Jimmy,” I began. “Forget it Spade. You seem a nice enough guy, but don’t spoil the moment.” “Right.”
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 15:47:33 +0000
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