It was a shame that we arrived in Tahoe after nightfall. The mountain vistas and alpine would have been a glorious sight to see before death. But the limousine descended into obscure wavy backroads before arriving at Randy’s rocky sprawl and the driver exited the vehicle with a Ruger ready. “Welcome to the Furie estate,” he said after opening the backseat door. “Please step out of the vehicle or be shot.”
We complied with his demand and stood in a row in the late night mountain air and the driver waved us in through the immaculate entrance. Inside the mansion, the walls were adorned with bear skins and moose heads with a few human skulls for added effect. But before I could take it all in we were pushed through the house and down the stairs into a padded and soundproofed basement where on the other end Randy was yelling racial slurs through a microphone while playing Baldur’s Gate. We stood on one end of the basement while the driver shuffled to the other end to inform Mr. Furie.
“Your guests sir,” the driver said.
Randy swiveled around in his chair and when he laid eyes upon us he smiled. “Welcome! Welcome!” he greeted.
“Randy, if this is supposed to scare me then you’re doing a shitty job,” I said.
“Scare you? Why would I try to scare you?” he asked.
He stood up and flattened out his maroon smoking jacket and the Madam stepped through a hidden door disguised as a book case and handed him a glass of scotch. He took the glass then sniffed and swirled it. “The real reason I asked you here is to beg for your forgiveness,” he informed us.
“Why should I forgive you?” I said.
Randy squinted to bear through what seemed to be his internal torment. “Oh why can’t you see the burden placed upon my shoulders?” he posed. “The whole world pleads for forbidden contraband and services and those screams fall into my ears like cries in the night.”
“I can’t imagine the pain you must be in,” I said sarcastically.
“No man can imagine it,” he said, not picking up on my sarcasm. “I come from a long line of service providers; an ancient lineage we are.”
“No doubt,” I said. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“I’ve always desired you to be a part of this proud tradition,” he said with a tinge of mournfulness. “There’s no greater honor than a son following his father’s footsteps.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I replied.
Randy stepped a little closer with scotch in hand to look us up and down. He could tell something was amiss. “Where’s the fellow among you who destroyed my desert fortress?” he asked.
“He died in the wilderness weeks after,” I told him.
“A tragedy for you no doubt. But a fitting end for a warrior.”
“He got what was coming to him.”
“A fate that we all must face.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 