Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

When everything is finished up, I decide to take one last spin down the Strip. I want to catch a glimpse, get photos in my head of the places where I fucked around as Aces. I was acting a part then that I know now I never really was. It ain’t all bad, though. Actually, it feels damn good.

I stop at a light by Caesars and look in my mirror to see a truck with blacked-out windows, and the fucker is so close I can almost smell his breath. Next light, same shit.

It’s getting under my skin a bit when I hang a right to head out of town and Shitbag is still there.

Letting my temper get the best of me, I hit the gas, and then the light ahead turns red. I stop on a dime and look in my mirror. The fucker is there again—and he ain’t slowing down. I look at the light, still red, and then at the cars coming through the light in both directions. I have nowhere to go.

I brace myself right before the collision of metal, the fucker still spinning his tires and literally climbing up my ass. I smash the brakes to the ground, realizing whoever it is, they are pushing me into the intersection. The only thing I can do is hang fucking tight.

When I hear the rear window smash, I know the crazy fucker isn’t gonna stop, so I open the door to get the fuck out. As I do, the driver’s side to the truck opens, and who is it?

Monte fucking Timmons, holding a tire iron in his hand.

While he comes toward me, I notice a patrol car in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart on the corner.

“You fucking kidding me, man?” I yell at him.

“I decided you don’t get my kid! She owes me.”

“The kid doesn’t owe you jack!” I jump back as he swings the tire iron on me. “That all you got? My old man swung harder than that.”

He swings again, and I duck, the swipe too fucking close for comfort. Then I see the cops sprinting from the convenience store. One runs over to us and the other to their car. I hear them yelling, but don’t pay attention to the words they are saying outside of the word “Stop!”

“You owe me now.” He swings again, and I let it connect with my side.

Numb, I am fucking numb to pain.

“Come on, man. You gotta have more in you than that. Oh, snap, that’s right, you don’t. A woman like Hailey wouldn’t have left if she were satisfied.”

A swing, a connection, and I am down. Perfect. I think this is working.

“I’m gonna kill you, motherfucker.”

“Give it your best shot.”

He swings again, and I roll as tire iron hits pavement; then he drops it. No sooner do I kick it out of the way than he dives on me. Then it’s a flurry of fist-to-face connections, one right after the other.

I laugh. “Pussy.”

“Freeze,” I hear before I roll to my right, avoiding the last jab I planned to take before striking back.

Monte’s fist hits the pavement, and he cries out like a little bitch before being taken down by the two Vegas police.

I hop up and think for just a second that I should have lain there, let them think this fucker hurt me. Then I walk around my car, and what do I see? Well, that is fucking pain. The blows my ride just took were a perfect play in a game he may have started, but that I finished.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Aces!” he screams as they cuff him and shove him in the back of the squad car.

What do I say? Not a damn thing.

I am surrounded by people who’d witnessed his attack on either my vehicle or on me, all asking if I am okay. I say nothing.

Am I okay? Hell yes, I am. The crazy fucker was unprovoked, and I didn’t lay a finger on him. Hell, no one even heard me say a word. I made sure of it.

Sean “Monte” Timmons is going away for a long fucking time.

The ambulance takes me to the hospital, where I find out I have two broken ribs and a concussion, and then I get a couple stitches near my temple. Afterward, the police interview me and I file a report.

I have to stay the night since I have a head injury and they want to observe me. I get shot up with some killer drugs, then pass the hell out.

After two days, they finally release me, and Wheels gives me a ride to Hailey’s car. Then I take it to where my Porsche has been towed, only to find out she is a mangled mess. I have Monte’s insurance information and have sent in the police report and pictures. I will hear back from the insurance company in a week. I am offered a rental but decline.