"So we drive to another village, walk in with a gun pointed to the one brother's head, and they take us straight to the warlord. Dude's sitting in this room, looks like something out of 'Aladdin.' Hand-dyed carpets and little statues, literal stacks of cash everywhere, and he's got 10 guys protecting him while he's sitting on a throne." Woody laughed. "A goddamn throne.
"The first thing I do, when I see this shit, is I blow the brother's brains out, then me and the boys kill the guards. The guy, once the smoke has cleared, he's cowering behind his throne. I pull him out into the middle of the room and tell him he will let this pipeline get built, or he will die right there. He shakes his head and says 'never,' so I slit his throat, and he bleeds out all over this rug.
"My crew walks out, grabs a flight home, and an hour after we’re back on American soil, we get paid and the pipeline gets built, and I drink until I black out and someone hires me for another gig. At any time in this process, this guy could have conceded and let the pipeline through and have made a few shekels from the deal, but the motherfucker had so much pride, he wouldn't let any Western dogs force him an inch. All these people died, and we wiped out this man's entire bloodline, so gas could be two cents cheaper on the gallon."
Woody finished the last of his coffee, set the cup on the table. He looked out the kitchen doorway. There wasn't anything interesting to see, but I don't think he was looking at anything that was there.
"My point is," he said, "is that sometimes you have to know when to let go."
He rested his fingertips on the envelope and pushed it across the table toward me.
A Note from the Author
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