IIDD, June 9th

Dearest Del Vecchio! (I address you thusly even though there is little probability that you will reach ripe old age, given your persistent death wish mentality.) For your information, I have had little opportunity to respond to your more than pestering emails, given the fact that I have had to devote a certain amount of my valuable time and energy to dealing with your bumbling, would-be assassins, the highly over-rated, and now defunct, Obregon Brothers. I am sorry to inform you that the Obregons have done gone away, with a little help from my friends, but I get ahead of myself, Goofy Gustavo. The picture of you with your eyes closed at last Sunday's soirée, gave me an idea for dealing with the above-mentioned hit men. Enlisting Maggie's help, we waited on the patio, in the dead of Wednesday night, (pardon the turn of phrase), for the two punks to arrive. When I heard them stalking up the path I gave the command, "Dog", to Maggie and instinct took over. She leapt onto their backs and with four fearless slashes of her razor sharp claws, blinded the oafs before they could utter so much as a "Madre Mia" or "Holy Enchilada"! I immediately stuffed lye-soaked rags into their mouths to further silence them and then bound their arms behind their backs using plastic slip ties that Lars at Reckless was happy to supply, especially when I told him what good use I planned to make of them! I took special pleasure in tightening the restraints to the point that blood welled up from the ligature marks on their wrists, and then proceeded to walk, or more correctly, stumble, the stumble bums towards the marina where Barnacle Branymir moors The Inside Passage. By this time it was 3:00am and nary a soul was out, (although two souls, given the fact that the Brothers Obregon do indeed possess souls, were about to be launched towards Hades), and about so I had no fear of being observed as we three made our way, two more reluctantly than some, down the walkway to the marina. Ragin' Bull had given me the key code, (Last Monday Whirlygig and I stopped by the marina in Steveston to see what progress Barnacle Man was making on his hull repair. While chatting and inspecting the scraping already completed, I asked for the password, suggesting I would need it if I was to be there when he returned, the following week, to help him berth the Inside Passage.), so I had little difficulty gaining entrance, and walked my sorry companions down the plank, so to speak, to the berth, now empty, where Branko's Folly is ordinarily to be found. I whispered into each right ear of the strangely acquiescent Obregon Brothers, telling them to kneel down at the edge of the floating dock. Moaning pitifully, for that was all the sound that escaped their blocked mouths, the lye obviously doing a rather nasty job on their mouths and the lining of their stomachs, they obeyed forthwith. Once they were positioned to my satisfaction, I took out my trusty Swiss Army knife and sliced off most of each of their left ears. Not much left of those aural appendages after two quick swipes. I'm happy to report that the blade is so sharp that I fully believe they felt but little discomfort, or else the almost surgical nature of the cut was such that it probably caused little pain, compared to that which continued to be generated as the lye continued on its merry way, having at the linings of their throats and bowels. I took out my Nagant, the standard-issue sidearm for all Russian army and police officers during WW II, together with its important modification, a Bramit silencer, (I had saved, from a vicious shark attack, a member of the Medellín Cartel who was lying low in Mexico, this past February, while he was swimming at a beach near Guayabitos, close to the house we had rented and to show his deep appreciation and gratitude, he presented me with the weaponry. I concealed it in the two K's of coke he included as part of the thank you gift and told the boarder officials, both US and Canadian, that it was special pastry flour and we were waved through!), and placed the cold barrel against the back of the head of one Obregon Brother, (Juan, I believe, was first, then José), and then the other. Each, in his turn, turned to look up at me, (as if that did any good given the fact that their bloody orbs were sightless), and gave me such a beseeching look that I can only surmise that they were thanking me for the bullet about to scramble their brains so bringing an end to their internal agony, so to speak. As to their eternal agony, I leave it to you, Del Vechio, to cogitate upon, for you sent these vermin to their maker as surely as I squeezed the trigger of my silenced pistol. Two barely audible hiccups later and the once cocky Brothers Obregon didn't look quite so jaunty with most of their faces missing and much of what little grey matter they possessed, now showing a rather nice pinkish tint, speckling the still water beside the dock. I had had the foresight to wrap a piece of rope around their ankles, after they assumed the kneeling position, (I sincerely trust they used the few minutes it took to lash their ankles to make their peace with Lucifer, given that they were in the perfect position to ask for forgiveness.), and lowered their now lifeless bodies into the drink, a few bubbles breaking the surface as the last air escaped their lungs. Tying each rope to a different bollard, I rinsed my hands in the cool brine and walked cooly away, back to the Island Inn, where I was pleased to find that Maggie had removed all traces of the blood which had leaked from the ruined eyes onto the patio deck. Once I'd shepherded the captives onto the path leading to the Seawall, I had glanced back to see my feline accomplice licking, with obvious satisfaction, the shiny droplets which flecked the deck surface like a Jackson Pollock drip painting. Good Kitty! I wasn't worried that the bodies would be discovered. In fact, I assumed that their bloated carcasses would rise to the surface by the time Barnacle Branko returned The Inside Passage to her home berth and would make for rather good dock bumpers and certainly, if nothing else, rather interesting topics of conversation for those aboard, as well as grim reminders of what awaits those who choose to play a deadly game of cat and mouse, so to speak, with Maggie the Malevolent and her partner in crime, Il Conductore. I remain, as ever, your Obsequious Servant, Patrizio, Diavolo Rosso con la Barba! PS: I have included copies of your original threats so that if anything untoward should befall either The Maggster or I, those receiving this email, (CC), will seek revenge in a most cruel and unusual way. In short, you will dream about being dispatched like the Obregon Brothers. Furthermore, you won't be able to spit on my "Insurance Policy' for you won't have a tongue by then! PPS: You will be receiving a parcel from FedEx in the next day or so. In it, you will find two left ears, floating in a jorgum of bourbon. I advise you not to drink the fluid as it is two parts strychnine, one part mash. PPPS: On sober second thought, it probably wouldn't hurt you, given the chain cleaner you usually knock back! PPPPS: I "feel" fine about the Obregon Brothers, especially when they "fell" on their knees! PPPPPS: "Sorry"! I spit on your "sorry"! You don't even begin to know how "sorry" you will be, my friend! Maggie likes fresh blood but I think she is even fonder of Chinese stir fry and not with soy cubes either! Sorry to bother you again, as I know you are very busy man, but I forgot to ask you about the Obregon brothers. How do you fell about the Obregon brothers? - Cici ("Da Cheech") Del Vechio ---Original Message----- > Date: Wed Jun 08 13:22:57 PDT 2011 > From: "Milton Kiang" > Subject: RE: Tuesday Morning Greetings from The Island Inn! > To: "'Patrick Dunn'" > > Since I haven't heard back from you, I'm assuming: a. The Obregon brothers > have gotten to you b. You've run away from home c. You've joined the Rosato > brothers. > > Yours truly, > > Gormest Gustavo Chu > > -----Original Message----- > From: Patrick Dunn [mailto:pdunn@interchange.ubc.ca] > Sent: Tuesday, June 07, 2011 11:18 AM > To: Milton Kiang > Subject: Tuesday Morning Greetings from The Island Inn! > > Hi Walrus! > > Thanks for alert regarding Rosato Brothers but they will be The Blood Red > Brothers if they try to mess with Il Conductore, with our without my > spectaculares! Cheers, Grigor "The Weasel" Allende-Peron, from Il Conductore!