Two work vans pulled up outside the service entrance to the PaLargio.  Theo Pizzano, Kray Russo, and Balls McGarrett, along with five more of Theo’s men, were in the first van; but he had the second van, filled with eight additional men, on Speaker.

“Remember what I said,” Theo said to all of his men, “I don’t want any improvising.  We stick to the plan.  This ain’t no Sharp shit.  Milt Sharpton ain’t running this show.  This Theo shit.  I’m running this.  And it’ll work if we stick to the plan.  You keep your head down, with your caps over your forehead so nobody can recognize you, and it’ll work.  We get where we need to go, do the shit we need to do, and get out.  Just like that.  One two three.  But your asses better not move until I say move.  We can’t go in too early, we can’t go in too late.  The timing has to be just right.  And I’m the only one who’ll know when that time comes.  Got it?”

“We got it, Boss,” Kray said.

“Any questions?”

Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody had any questions.

Theo exhaled.  “I don’t want any of you idiots to forget what I said about Gabrini.  That fucker is mine, you hear me?  All mine.  I have to be the one to take him and his family out, just like he took my family out.  I get Gabrini.  Got it?”

They all nodded their agreement easily on that pronouncement.  They didn’t want to be on this suicide mission to begin with, let alone be the one to take out the great Reno Gabrini.  Theo, they all inwardly thought, and they thought it to a man, could have that particular job.

“Let’s go,” Theo said, and the vans began to empty, not with what looked like mobsters, but with what looked like uniformed painters, ready to join the legitimate painters that were already working in the PaLargio’s South Tower.

“You are the talk of the town, girl,” the woman on the cellphone said.

“I know, darling, I know,” Tory responded.  “What can I say?  I would kill for this kind of press!”

Her friend laughed.  “I believe you!”

“But let me go,” Tory said, “I’m expecting a call from my agent.  He says we’re getting tons of interest now that I won’t be going back to the PaLargio.”

“Of course, dear, you will never go back!  That brute treated you like a sex slave, based on your account.  I don’t know why the police department doesn’t open a probe and arrest his butt.”

“They’re afraid of Reno,” Tory said.  “Everybody in this town is.  Except for me, darling,” Tory said with a smile.  “But bye now,” she added, beyond ready to get off of the phone.  “I must take care of some business.”

“Ta ta, sweetie,” her phone mate responded.  “Talk to you later.”

Tory gave a goodbye, too, and ended the call.  She was on the patio, at the pool of the private home in Spring Valley, and all she could think to do was check her Twitter feed.  Which she did constantly.  Which was the real reason why she wanted to get off of the phone.  So many tweets of support!  So much love!  It had been a long time since she was the talk of the universe on this larger scale.

But as she sipped her wine, and gushed over her Twitter feed, and jerked her long, blonde hair around, she suddenly had company.  Reno and Trina, without so much as a by-your-leave, walked out of the house, and onto the patio.  Tory didn’t see them immediately, but when she did see them, she jumped.  And then jumped up.

“Reno?  Reno?”  She was shocked.  “Oh, hell, no.  I know better than this!  What are you doing here?  Where’s my security?”

“Still where he’s supposed to be,” Reno said, as they calmly walked toward her.  “He’s still out front.”

“Then how did you get in my house?”

“It’s not your house, number one,” Reno said.  “Your security has enough sense not to fuck with me, number two.  Unlike you.”

Reno and Trina walked over to her.

“Get out and get out now!” Tory yelled, pointing.  “You aren’t supposed to have any contact with me and you know it.  Get out or I’ll phone my lawyer, I declare I will!  I’ll phone my lawyer!”

“Phone the motherfucker,” Reno said with a frown. “You think I care about some fucking lawyer?  Phone your lawyer.  But you’re do better phoning your priest,” Reno said.

That comment brought a chill to Tory’s spine.  But she kept digging deeper.  Especially when she realized Trina had smiled at Reno’s comment.  “What are you laughing at?” she asked Trina.

Trina just looked at her.  It was easier, Trina knew, for Tory to try to make it about Trina.  Going against Reno was a taller order.  Going against Reno, in Trina’s view, was a losing proposition.

But Tory didn’t let up.  Women like Trina always had it easy, in her book.  They marry rich men, usually rich, white men, and retire.  While working women like Tory had to scratch and claw for every piece of the pie they got.  Trina was more than just a convenient foil to Tory.  Trina represented everything Tory despised.  “Why did you bring her here?” she asked Reno.  “She’s just jealous because you wanted me.”

“My wife jealous of your ass?” Reno asked. “Give me a fucking break!”

Trina smiled.  “I know that’s right.”

Why did Trina say that?  “You know it’s right?  Who asked you anything?  Who do you think you are?  You’re nothing!  If it wasn’t for Reno, your black ass would be exactly what you are: a piece of black ass!”

Reno was about to tell Tory something real good, and more than that, but Trina beat him to it.  “Kiss my black ass,” Trina said.  “Do that.”

“Oh, I’ll do better than that,” Tory said, and before anybody realized anything, hauled off and slapped Trina hard across her face.

Trina couldn’t believe it.  She was ready to strike back even harder.  But Reno, this time, beat her to it.  He punched Tory so hard that she fell over the chair and rolled against the patio’s brick wall, slamming against it.  She sat up in agony.  Stunned and hurting.

But Reno didn’t let up.  He tossed the chair aside and hurried to her.  He bent down and grabbed her up by her flimsy blouse, ripping buttons.  “Nobody’s playing with your stupid ass,” he said to Tory.  “You hear me, Tory? Now who made you do it?  Tell me who and tell me now!”

“Nobody made me do anything!  What are you talking about?” 

“Who made you tell those lies?  You know that shit didn’t happen yesterday.  You know that tape was recorded years ago.  Why you recorded it, who the fuck knows?  But you recorded that tape years ago.  Why did you get on social media and tell those lies?”

“I don’t consider them lies.”

Reno was done.  He pulled out his gun.  Tory screamed and began kicking and flailing, trying to get up and away.  But Reno grabbed her by her long, blonde hair and put the gun to her head. “Cut the crap, Tory.  You hear me?  Cut the fucking crap!  Now who told you to tell those lies on me?  Who made you do it?”

“I’m struggling and he knew it,” Tory said, with tears in her eyes.  Reno and Trina weren’t sure if she was giving her life story, or telling them what they needed to hear.

“Who knew it?” Reno asked her.

Tears were pouring from her eyes.  “This Vegas gig was all I had.  And he knew it.  I wasn’t as popular as people think.  He knew that, too.  He threatened to take my Vegas gig away from me.”

“Who threatened to take it away?”

“He said if I didn’t do it, he was going to blackball me.  He said I’d never work in Vegas again.  And Vegas is all I have right now.”

Reno’s patience was gone.  “Look, motherfucker.  Tell me who you’re talking about or I’ll fuck it and put a bullet through your thick skull!  Now who are you talking about?”

“Your man,” Tory said.

Reno frowned.  “My man?  Which man?”

“Mike,” Tory said.  “Mike Witherspoon.  Your talent director, aka, shakedown artist.”

Reno was stunned.  He looked at Trina.  She was stunned too.