CANNON
LEONARD ARKINSON was the type of man to show up with ill fitted pleated khakis and a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches at a beer party.
On this fine morning however, I had spotted the dick and his SUV right before he could cough up that lazy Brad fucking Pitt smile that must have worked on a ton of women in this town. Throwing off one of those British Vogue looks of ‘best dressed men’, Mr. Tailored suit stood by his car waiting for my wife.
Can’t lie that I thought about how fast it would be to put a bullet through his head from where I was standing. It would take like what? Two seconds? Two fucking seconds to end the moron before he even knew what hit him.
Nicole showed up a few seconds later and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to use my god damn Swiss knife to pop the eyes of the smarmy bastard. If him licking his lips wasn’t a fucking sign he liked what he saw, then his pants tautening at his crotch was a clear fucking indication he was turned on.
