CHAPTER TWELVE:  THE BIG FUCKIN' PLAN

     They were back at the hotel, near the pool, the sun dappling off the crystal water, sunglasses hiding their eyes, shirts off, some fruity drink with a fuckin' umbrella in sweaty hands.

     Natch told Nick the plan, Nick smiled thinking it just might work.

     "We know the prick goes to his mother's for dinner every Sunday.  We don't know what the fuck time he goes, when the fuck he goes, other than it's Sunday."

     "Yeah, so that's the plan, we do what we gotta' do what I said and we wait for him."  Natch smiled, the plan was solid fuckin' gold.

     "We take him out right in the fuckin' street, his douche bag wife right next to him."

     "That's how it rolls.  Sorry lady, but we gotta' plant a few slugs into your ever lovin', seeing as he tried his very best to choke the Old Man to death.  And we start blasting, put a few fuckin' holes in the prick, sorta' like fucking air conditioning"  Natch was tapping his fingers on the frosted glass of the table.

     "He's gonna be short a few ticks when we get done with him."  Natch took a sip of his fruity drink, made a face.

     "Yeah, he ticked his last tock, fuck him."

     They signaled for another round of drinks, Nick pinches the cute ass of the waitress, who gave him the evil eye, which shortly brought the hotel manager to their table.

     "Mind of I have a word, fellas?"  He looked pretty good, nice suit and tie, what the fuck, sneakers?  His dark hair was combed straight back, a slight  recess in the hair line, brown eyes and a glued on fuckin' smile, which after a few seconds steamed up Natch pretty more than somewhat.

     In normal situations the Hotel Manager would probably be asked to take a seat, but this was hardly anything normal.

     "What's on your mind, Jose?"

     "It's Joseph, Joseph."  A silence.  "The cocktail waitress said one of you fellas might have pinched her rear end."

     "Nobody likes a fuckin' stoolie."

      "Be that as it may, please, fellas, hotel policy is designed to preclude these types of events."

     "Whatever the fuck preclude is, we don't give a rats ass about no fuckin' policy, unless it's one we are runnin'."  Nick smiled, took a sip of his umbrella adorned drink.  "And these drinks suck."

     "They are on the house, and thanks for your cooperation."

     "Hit the fuckin' road, Jose, before we get ourselves steamed up, your dippy fuckin' smilin' face is already got me annoyed."  Natch took a sizeable slurp of his umbrella adorned drink.  "This is shit and you shouldn't charge for this crap anyway"

     "So, if ya' don't fuckin' mind, why not drive those fruity sneakers of yours outta' my sight."

     "Thanks again for your cooperation."  The Hotel Manager, wiping sweat from his brow, turned and headed back to wherever the fuck Hotel Managers hang out when they are not annoying peaceable citizens having a nice fruity fuckin' drink at the pool.

      Where he went was the hotel security office.  He stepped inside, told his Chief of Security about the two barbarians at the pool and please do your very best to find a workable excuse to toss both of them out of the hotel.

     Yeah, right.