Free Scale of Justice by Dani Amore Page B

into the chair across from him.
     
    The Machete nodded for Villanueva to begin.
     
    “I’m very happy to report on the success of our mutual programs,” Villanueva said. “In fact, we’ve done so well that I am able to provide a significant bonus to my usual contributions for your administration.”
     
    The Machete smiled inside. Whatever the fat man was going to ask for, it was going to be a big one. No one ever offered more than the usual tariff.
     
    “With your blessing, I would like to hand over my organization to my very capable staff, and move into more of a consultancy role.” The big man took a quick breath before adding, “In Florida.”
     
    The Machete steepled his fingers together. Acted like he was thinking about it. The fat man didn’t move, nor did The Machete’s men. Several long minutes passed in silence. At last, The Machete spoke.
     
    “You claim your enterprise is running so well that you can give me a bonus, yet you also ask me to let you change the whole thing,” The Machete said. “That is a bad business principle. To change something that is working so well. If I do as you ask, maybe next year it won’t be doing well and I will lose money.”
     
    “I would not let that happen,” Villanueva said. “I have a very good organization in place. It is like a machine, it runs very smoothly. As you can see from my bonus.” The fat man took out a thick brown envelope and handed it to The Machete who tossed it onto the table next to him.
     
    The Machete contemplated Villanueva for another long minute before speaking. “I see, I see,” he said. “So you are not important to the organization? That you can just leave and it will run fine by itself? What do you do, just sit back and eat donuts?” he said. His men laughed softly behind Villanueva’s back. The fat man’s breath caught, and The Machete could see the anger held in check.
     
    While the fat man struggled to answer his question, The Machete thought that maybe he should toss this fat pig out on his sow’s ear, maybe even have him beaten a little bit. Have someone rape his wife to remind him how ugly the world can be.
     
    But it had been a long day and he was in a surprisingly good mood.
     
    “How much do you weigh, big man?” The Machete said.
     
    Villanueva’s face became a stone.
     
    “Too much, jefe,” he said.
     
    “No fucking kidding,” The Machete said. “Your sense of humor is as large as your belly. How much?”
     
    Vilanueza’s big body seemed to cave in on itself. He glanced over his shoulder at the silent men behind him, then turned back.
     
    “Four hundred.”
     
    “Ayeeyah!” The Machete shook his head in amazement. “You’re a cow! If I squeeze your titties, will butter come out?”
     
    More laughter behind Villanueva’s back.
     
    “I tell you what, Fat Ass,” The Machete said. “I will grant you your wish on one condition.”
     
    “Just name it, jefe, and I will make it happen,” Villanueva said, his face grim.
     
    “Artemio!” The Machete called out. “Bring me the scale from the bathroom!”
     
    Villanueva stood, trying to keep his shoulders straight, but his head sunk lower.
     
    The man called Artemio put the scale next to Villanueva’s feet.
     
    “Stand on it,” The Machete said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t break.”
     
    Villanueva stood on the scale.
     
    Artemio bent down and looked at it.
     
    “Four hundred and twenty-seven!” he said.
     
    “Dios mío!” The Machete said. “Do your men drive you around in a livestock trailer?”
     
    Villanueva stepped off the scale. He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the laughter continuing behind him.
     
    “I tell you what, Fatso. Come back in one month, and if you weigh…” The Machete stared at the ceiling for several moments. “…four hundred pounds or less, I will let you retire to Miami.”
     
    The Machete could see the uncertainty in Villanueva’s eyes.
     
    “Do you think you can keep the bacon out