It was already dark when I arrived in Casper, Wyoming. I burst into the Flaming Mongol restaurant, pushed the Maitre D' against the wall, and snorted, "Where is he?" Stunned, he acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. That's when I raised him off the floor and pressed my elbow into his Adam's apple. He pointed a shaky finger towards the back of the restaurant to the door marked "Private."
I kicked the door in and surprised the three Asian men. They were gathered around a desk covered with drugs, guns and money. The two younger men went for the guns. But before either could pull a trigger, I emptied my clip into their torsos. Stepping over their bleeding bodies, I walked towards the older man. He cowered behind the desk. I changed the clip in my pistol as I stared menacingly at him. I reached over and pulled the old man up by his shirt until we were eye to eye.
"You remember this man?", I asked. I shoved a picture of my brother in his face. Trembling, he muttered, "No."
"Take a closer look. Last night. He ate here." That's when I saw the look of recognition come over his face. I punched him in the nose. The blow knocked him into the wall and he slid down. Fearfully, he held his nose, blood covering his hands and shirt. I caressed my pistol and stared down at him. I turned and started walking out.
"The next time he asks for duck sauce and you give him sweet and sour instead, I won't be so nice."