Obviously since you're reading about this I made it out there alive, but that was some pretty poetic shit I wrote at the end, huh? The hail coming down on to my trailer was from the mine that exploded when Reggie stuck her shovel into the top it. The fucking thing was packed with hundreds of stainless steel ball bearings. Since Reggie was standing directly over it when the mine exploded, the force of the blast practically vaporized her. The key word there is explode. Since the mine exploded not imploded, and the briefcase was under the mine, it survived almost without a scratch. The sound of blast alerted Javier who got to me before I nodded off into the Big Sleep and I was whisked off to the mainland by boat where I was laid up in the hospital for almost a month. It was there that the Feds finally caught up to me. It was quite a wild scene in my room. Javier had rounded some of his old buddies up from his days in the police department to watch over me. Big dudes with bad fucking attitudes, brandishing shiny long knives and automatic weapons, and they had the Feds shitting in their knickers for a while. Of course, they still ran the whole line of bullshit at me. I was going to be arrested. I was going to do the hardest time imaginable. I was going to the Super-Max prison in Colorado where I was going to get turned out by the Black Panthers, the Mexican Mafia, and the Aryan Brotherhood. I was going to be a bitch with an asshole so big you could drive a Ford pickup through it. One dildo even threatened to send me to Cuba where they have all the terrorists locked up.
But they were missing one crucial item and they knew it.
The briefcase! The briefcase was gone. And the only person who knew where it was, wasn't fucking talking. Me! When it was all said and done, they didn't give a hot shit about the NIS agent killed all those years ago, or me breaking out of the nuthouse and shooting those dirtbags in that trailer, or even Reggie - one of their own - blowing her sweet ass to hell digging up that mine. They wanted that goddamn briefcase. Not even the whole briefcase. Just the photos and the negatives showing ****** **** (my agreement with the Feds negates me from writing HIS name), all coked up, naked except for black dress socks, getting a hum job from a beautiful hooker.
I had them by the nuts and they knew it.
They could send me off to prison. They could even kill me. But that picture. That fucking picture would still be out there. It could resurface anytime at my command. So they cut me a deal. They'd give me a new identity (the third one of my life) and shoot my ass straight into the Witness Protection Program.
Give me protection from the skinheads and the Nazis. With one condition. Keep your fucking mouth shut and never let that photo or it's negatives see the light of day or your ass will be deeper in concrete that Jimmy Hoffa.
I guess I can live with that.