September 9, 1992
11th Street Hotel Basement
Cold water splashed his face, getting his black suit drenched under the ten feet of rope tying him to a chair. A man stepped out of the shadows.
“Our counterfeit money was taking up a quarter of the money in San Francisco alone. Imagine how much more it woulda taken up if you hadn’t busted us. $500,000. That’s how much we lost in a DAY.”
He punched him in the nose. “We’re gonna hafta make a pretty clean heist job to get back the money you lost us, McDougal. The Mafia is watching you now.” He turned around and turned on a light. Two men with clubs were standing behind him. “Conk him out and put in his bed, make him think it was all a dream.”
The thugs obliged. “Poison ALL the drinks in his refrigerator. Send his kin flowers the next day. As always, leave no evidence and you get paid extra this week. Heck, I’ll even speak to the boss about promoting you.”