Joe V. Waste Management Mafia

Not three months after my wife, Fina, started working as a secretary for Waste Management Mafia, she knocked me up the side of the head with, "Joey, you know I love you, right?"

Fina is a lovely creature; not beautiful in the classical sense but alluring enough to attract the attention of unsavory men like flies to a steaming pile of shit.

Her first husband was a turd, at least in her eyes, having forced her to accept an unfavorable divorce settlement under duress by way of blackmail. He had threatened to show friends and family a salacious video in which Fina played the part of a house mother teaching young, virginal sorority sisters the earthly delights of female flesh.

The family court judge granted Fina full custody of her two daughters, Adeline and Zita Gadzinka. Both are spoiled, narcissistic teenagers, and their father dodged a bullet in the battle for custody to which he intentionally brought a pocketknife to Fina's Thompson submachine gun.

But I've seen the video and if I'm honest, it's partly why I married Fina.

"Fina," I said, "up until just now I was sure you did love me, but my certainty has somewhat diminished."

"Joey, I love you and I know you love me..."

"Buuut..."

"But my boss wants to take me to Las Vegas this weekend..."

"Aaand..."

"And I know you love me enough to let me go with him..."

"And I thought you loved me enough to tell him no."

"Well, I've never been to Vegas and Mr. Moretti wants to take me and I want to go, and you don't own me and we're leaving Friday morning and I'll be back Monday night ready to be reclaimed by my loving husband and our marriage will be better than ever."

"Fina, I cannot restrain you but if you go, you

will

regret it."

With an angry harumph, she stomped into our bedroom and slammed the door.

Moretti, Fina. Flies, shit.

I spent the night in the spare bedroom but not before I conducted extensive research on the nefarious Mr. Romeo Moretti and discovered the structure of his massive financial portfolio. I didn't realize waste management was so lucrative.

Mid-morning the next day, the phone rang on my direct business line. Few people have that number, Fina amongst them.

"This is Joe."

"Listen, Miller, this is Romeo Moretti, Fina's...boss. I

will

take your missus to Vegas this weekend and we

will

have a good time. I don't want no distractions while I 'entertain' her, so you be a good boy and let her know you are on board."

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Macaroni! Say, have you checked your financials lately? You'll find you're missing twenty million dollars as of midnight last night."

"What the fuck..."

"Go ahead, consult with your accountants.

"While I'm waiting, let me ask you, do you remember the story a few years back about the kid who hacked into the Pentagon? They tried to keep it off the radar but an anonymous source, ahem, leaked the story. Remember he negotiated amnesty and assisted the Feds in identifying and neutralizing cyber-attacks from sources, foreign and domestic?

"Guess what he does now, Mr. Manicotti."

He must have heard from his accountants. "You fucking bastard!"

"I am he, Mr. Spaghetti, dues to society paid, and I am now the master of your domain. I could erase you with a single key stroke. I could delete every account, every transaction in your name. Anything that hints at your miserable existence. Your name would be Mud.

"That twenty million? That's the price for my wife,

Romeo

. Non-negotiable, non-refundable. Take her daughters too. On the house.

"There's more. Every dollar you make, illicit or otherwise, I redirect 20% into my own untraceable accounts. Automatically. In perpetuity. I won't have to lift a finger. You can't hide your money, but I can hide mine."

"Miller, I swear to god, you are a dead man."

"That reminds me, Cannoli, let me tell you about my insurance policy. At random intervals, I get a ping from a dark web server. If I don't respond within a specified time, your accounts are drained, and you are erased. Pray I always have Internet access, Vermicelli."

With that, I hung up on the slimy bastard.

I shouldn't hope Fina (now Mud) and her daughters (also now Mud) are passed around amongst Moretti's associates, but so help me god, I do.

And what am I supposed to do with all these cocktail umbrellas?