Harold knew that his time was up – he just hated that it was the middle of July, during a quarantine on laundry day. Harold got a tip and slipped out the back while the FBI swarmed into his cookie-cutter home in the suburbs.
Harold drove the hook route. He had ten different local routes because there were his friends on the block and they knew enough about boring Harold that if he was getting chased it was for a major bust and they could get ready to do gang activities ensuring that their tracks were cleared – gangsters, like everyone else, must look out for themselves first. The idea of Harold becoming a snitch was a topic on the street gossip channels for years. He was a bad ass but he was still a square.
That day came one dog day afternoon in California. Harold took the hook route chased by an undercover. FBI scrambled together – they figured a few of his routes. This route took him to Costco. He figured that at this stage, the only way to go out was hope for a Light Plague because many gangs would faulter if he flipped and he knew these new FBI interrogating tactics were brutal. He had a good life all told and provided enough instruction for his young son to thrive. He didn’t want his son to see his old man in a shoot-out – contracting the Light Plague was the most gangster way to go out – he hoped his death would happen soon enough do that he could set up his enemies and protect his thoughts, dying a natural death. In this way, he could take out some FBI with the Light Plague which will only broaden his street legend appeal.
Harold went straight to the water section – he knew that infected citizens would gravitate to water as it was naturally healing. The police were hot on his tail. Harold stood next to the people wheezing and coughing and looked up with a beatific smile. Special Agent Jones grabbed pathetic Harold with his jean shorts, protruding belly and Tommy Hilfiger polo that barely reached his belt. Harold was done – the professional hit man responsible for over 850 gangland murders was done. They grabbed him by the arm, crashed his portly little arms together like celery stalks and took him through the emergency exits. Vlad TV and TMZ were outside with the cameras – they were alerted by the gossipers and comments section. Nobody knew that this short, dumpy man out quickly he was a sociopathic gangland murdered and that getting the inside scoop early was the most profitable way to go.
Harold was squeezed into the FBI van – they treated him as gold because he had the potential to shut down over 850 sets, take out shot-callers and make so many RICO cases that would put a lot of FBI children through college. He wasn’t treated like the sociopath he was – he was a golden goose of potential information and Vlad TV, TMZ and the other presented these details quite scrupulously. Harold cared less about this – he was excited to get this investigation under way.
Harold was placed in a quiet room. He didn’t want his attorney yet – he had to take out his enemies. The first question from the officer was standard. Harold didn’t care whatever about the question – all he cared about was his paperwork. He had to string this investigation along – he was a 59-year-old dad – he didn’t care about anything except for Tennis and raising his son. He had to make the paperwork flawless so that he could take out his enemies and ensure that his people would profit. He hoped that the coughing taking place were Light Plague symptoms and not allergies. That was his only hope – he knew that every prison he would get stuck in had a goon ready to shank him to death.
“First off”, Harold spoke, “I apologize for all of the resources that you have used to apprehend me. Let it be known that I’m a loving father and husband and I only became a murderer after seeing my father kill my uncle and cousins”. “So, are you admitting to the murders, sir?” “Yes, all of the murders that have taken place south of Fresno were my murders”. “Sir, you are not being arrested for ALL OF THE MURDERS!” “I am and I’ll tell you what I know – if I did not commit the murders, I know who was responsible”. The FBI knew that this was a set-up – there were murders going on every day. As Harold sat there, a man had just been killed for stealing someone’s parking space in Rialto. This is the kind of idiot Harold was pretending to be – the “I did every murder murderer”. “I want to refrain from any more questioning so that I can have my attorney present for any further questioning”.
The headlines on Vlad TV were obscene and completely disrespectful of gangs, the street code and Harold’s family. “Soccer dad assassin!”, said one headline. “Costco shopper demon” read the other. Vlad TV found Harold’s High School girlfriends and did a 10-part interview for each of them – there were only five but Vlad the 10th figured if he stretched out these interviews for the next year, his profit margins would skyrocket. He had interviews set up with Harold’s Tennis instructor.
Harold had his attorney handle the rest of the investigation so that he can buy himself time. Luckily, his hunch was correct, and he contracted the Light Plague infecting several people. He was quarantined with a high fever and the Correctional Officers were not friendly laughing at this pathetic, sickly man. He balled up and cried thinking about his son and replying in his mind the controversial 2018 US Open women’s final. The world never knew the full extent of Harold’s crimes because he slipped into darkness on June 27th, 3021, a few days before Wimbledon.
THE END
