There he goes, the mighty don. The chief of chiefs. All used to
bow down to him and look at him now.
The takeover is almost complete.
The old don let out a piercing howl, “I’ll kill you, you son of
a bitch! You won’t get away with …”
He gurgled and drool came gushing to the don’s mouth. The
supremo’s caporegime, Colonel Amado Luna, had his favorite weapon, the wire
garrotte wrapped around the don’s feeble neck
The don only looked at the supremo with surprise. His old eyes
bulging red, his face gradually turning pale, and his tongue out gasping for
air. He tried to claw his way out of the garrotte but the more he struggled,
the deeper the wire sunk into his flesh, eventually cutting in the skin of his
neck.
“Please, please …” the don tried to speak and implore for his
life.
“Now, Don Rodrigo, you have been judged to be insufficient. You
shall be rewarded… with DEATH!”
The supremo pulled out a switchblade, opened it up, and revealed
a sharp double-edged, silver blade. From the glove box, he pulled out brown
surgical gloves. “You know, whatever you think about me, you have to give it me
that I like to keep it clean.”
The don, seeing his life fleeting in his eyes, gave one last
attempt at defiance. “Go fuck yourself…”
With an underhand thrust the supremo stabbed the don in the
stomach, he withdrew the blade and saw a pool of blood in the don’s white
shirt. Again, he stabbed the don. Again and again. With great agony and
anguish, the don squealed like a pig in the butcher shop.
“…and now, you will die.” With one last thrust, he stabbed the
don and dragged the blade from the lower left abdomen up to the upper right
portion of his body. The incision was ugly but it was his. It was his work of
art. He withdrew the blade and signalled his capo to release the don from the
garrotte.
The don was barely alive but the supremo would not allow them to
kill him.
“Let him bleed to death,” he said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t
just order the death of the once famous don and personally carved him up.
