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It's been a hell of a week. First, I get the news that my superiors want me back in El Paso. Which is great news, really... great news. Nothing I'd like better than to kick ass and take nombres down El Paso way. Lord knows, they could use the Hankster down there -- cleaning up the Cartel spillover at the border. I know Gomie's gonna miss my handsome mug here in Albuquerque, but he's just gonna have to deal. I'll be sure and send you a care package now and then, buddy (Mezcal with the worm in it)!
In between getting the good news about Texas, and dealing with the endless family drama (we're up to home invasion now, for all you who are keeping score), I was involved in a little incident the other day. I was having lunch with my partner in some shithole bar downtown when I see these two scumbags doing a drug deal right in front of me. Ballsy bastards.
That crap just pisses me off -- at least have the decency to do your deals in some dark corner of the bar... hell, use the bathroom -- use your CAR! Don't pass your contraband in plain sight over the table. I don't care how gross and seedy the bar is, someone will notice. And, lemme tell you, this place was seedy. The regulars? Definitely some real daylight and hygiene deprived slimeballs. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw that Gollum guy hanging out in the back corner.
So I step up to these degenerates, ready to bust some heads. They didn't take too kindly to my inquiry about their little business transaction, and things got ugly fast. Of course, you can pretty much guess how things turned out. Two more low-life drug dealers off the streets of this fine city, thanks to Agent Schrader. You're welcome.
Now, I don't get into fights very often anymore (the wife's not a big fan), but I've had my share. My first real fight was in third grade against Robbie Parker. Kid had failed third grade at least three times, so he was a brute. He'd gotten his panties in a twist after I wasted his ass at dodgeball, so he challenged me to a fight after school. Now, I was looking to impress this fourth grader, Janie O'Dell, so I was pumped and ready to go when Robbie showed -- chest all puffed out. He was all talk, though. His punching skills ranked right up there with his math skills (but luckily not his booger-eating skills, or else I'd have been in real trouble). Fight was over pretty quickly, and the little bastard never messed with me again.
Of course, the kicker is... Robbie and Janie? Hot and heavy item all through high school. Pretty sure he knocked her up right after graduation, too. Guess there's no accounting for taste.