In this she would not bend.
“Mr. Franklin,” Branson called out in a friendly manner, as the man stumbled out of the bar.
The rest of them were hiding behind the corner, waiting.
“Yeah. Whaz it to you,” he slurred out.
“I’m your ride man. You don’t remember calling me?” Branson smiled and gestured to his truck.
Franklin frowned, as if he couldn’t remember the phone call, the one that really hadn’t happened. But the bar tender was a friend of Branson’s and didn’t like Franklin any more than the rest of the town.
The little something that he slipped in his drink guaranteed that the man would perform just like he needed. Like just another drunk that stumbled out of a bar to disappear and never return.
Kind of like Vegas, what happened in small towns, stayed in small towns.
“Sure, man come on over here,” Branson said, gesturing to the truck. Playing the friendly neighbor.
Drunk and drugged was a bad combination.
It created a sense of trust that a person shouldn’t have.
Take Franklin for example.
With Branson’s words he simply smiled and stumbled to the side of the truck with no more thought to his safety.
The side that was hidden in shadows.
The shadows that he stepped out of, letting the fear that crossed Franklin’s face fill him, as he smiled.
“Hello, Franklin.”
Danny stepped up behind the man and stuck him with a needle before the man could say anything.
In a matter of seconds Rick and Danny had him in the truck, Dominic at the wheel ready to take off.
He gave one last look over his shoulder to Branson.
Branson nodded to him.
He was headed home to look out for his little bird.
But also, because this wasn’t what he was here for.
This was Familia business now.
