In Lassiter's world the truth hurts and sometimes it's fatal.

Lassiter didn't look back. He mounted Blaze and road East for five days and nights arriving in Valdosta, Georgia at sunrise on Monday morning. At 10:00 AM, Southern Union Bank's opening time, he walked through the lavish doors and asked to see the Bank's President, a Mr. Balfour Bagette. Mrs. Genivieve Easley, the prim and proper receptionist looking over her nose saw Lassiter with five days of trail dust and dirt covering his black leather vest, pants and boots and said in a self important, fake English accent, "Is Mr. Bagette expecting you." Not answering, Lassiter proceeded forward and kicked in the doors of Mr. Bagette's expensively decorated presidential office suite. Mr. Bagette, the pink moist skinned, bald, fat, gout inflicted from years of over eating and excessive drinking bank president was sitting at his palatial desk enjoying a platter of pouched eggs smothered in Hollandase sauce and fried clams. As he washed down a gluttonous mouthful of the greasy food with an expensive French Claret he looked up to see Lassiter starring at him with stone cold, steely gray killer eyes. All the color drained out of the bank president's face accentuating his grease and spittle glistening frothy double chin as Lassiter said, "Mr. Bagette, my name is Colton Lassiter, Minerva's father." Mr Bagette struggling to his feet said, "Mr. Lassiter, I can explain everything." Seconds later, the corpulent man keeled over and dropped dead of a massive heart attack as his cholesterol laden blood terminally occluded the left anterior descending coronary artery, better known to those in the profession as "The Widowmaker." It seemed that the stress and anxiety brought on by confronting Lassiter, the man he cheated, in addition to a life of excess was just too much for the greedy, self absorbed fat man. Lassiter turned around and walked out of the office. As he passed Mrs. Easley he mentioned that Mr. Bagette may need some assistance. Having heard the loud crash as Mr. Bagette's massive body collapsed scattering food, wine and fine expensive china shattering on the marble floor, Mrs. Easley said, "Should I call a doctor?" Lassiter, this time looking down over his nose at her said, "No, call the undertaker." To be continued.......Sláinte, Tommy Maaltman