A guy named Travis Evans got in touch with us, wanting to figure out who was laundering money through his union. Keep me out of any industry where a guy like this is the clean one. Anyway, we had a day to figure out who, and I’ll skip to the end: it was the Black Hand. You know, the group whose leader I’m building the armored car for? Yeah, my life sure is something.
The Black Hand wanted us to know they didn’t appreciate their laundry being aired, so they roughed up our favorites. A Mom-and-Daughter duo of bakers just trying to live their dream. The man that informed us of their plight is a total asshat by the name of Emilio Brassie. This is a man that would improve the world by playing in busy traffic, I’m thinking.
Maybe I’ve seen too many people cross the veil lately, but the thought of killing another human being doesn’t have the same weight I know it once did. A wiser man might talk to a preacher about that.
Claude was complaining about some family get-together he wasn’t looking forward to. I can relate to not wanting to spend time with the Family, but at least he’ll probably be able to bring home leftovers and the knowledge he won’t have to go back for a few months. Lucky sap.