A Swell Lot Of Thieves

Hatchett squatted to look Dennis directly in the eyes. “OK pal, now were going to have a chat, and one way or another, I will get a straight answer out of you. Who killed Jack?” “I…” Dennis stammered and sweated and gibbered. “You knew where the money came from which, meant you knew who had put it there,” Hatchett said. “You suspected I had taken it because you thought I was working for Shannon, and the cops think I shot that guy in the motel parking lot. But none of that explains your spontaneously growing a set of balls to stick me up.” Hatchett wiped some of Dennis’s blood on the man’s pants, which were still unzipped. “So, you either tell me who’s ordering you around, or I’m going to knock out what teeth you’ve got left.” “I can’t talk, man,” Deniss blubbered. “The Major will fuckin’ kill me” Hatchett gripped Dennis by the throat and squeezed just hard enough for Dennis to feel the mounting pressure on his lungs. “What you think I’m going to do, give you a facial?” Hatchett felt a pair of hands on him and he was pulled into a standing position. He turned around and saw the man in the dark tank top looking at him, two of his thugs holding each of Hatchett’s arms. There was a malevolent glint in Tank Top’s eye, and he was holding Dennis’s gun pointed low at Hatchett’s gut.