It was a great business, profitable and a way to hide plenty of cash because of all the expenses you could put against the houses.
One night [my husband] came back from the bar, walked in the door and said, “How many do you want?”
“How many what?” I asked.
“Bullets,” he said.
Oh no, I thought, he’s drunk.
He went into the bedroom and started loading a rifle.
I’m thinking this is bad, so I grab Josh and go running out of the house and hide behind the car. I kept my head down because I knew he would shoot at me.
“Come on, Floyd, don’t shoot.”
And he started calling me a gook. He was having some kind of flashback.
He chased me around, then shot at me, bullets bouncing off the car. “Oh my God,” I shouted, “you hit Josh.”
He hadn’t, but my lie made him stop.
spilon: So.... we really are reading Playboy for the articles now?
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