DRATS, FOILED AGAIN!!!
Whistling a little tune as he skips down the backstage hallway, Tony Gamble seems quite pleased with himself after quite practically annoying Anna Daniels into submission… he thinks, but isn’t quite sure. He’s taking the opportunity regardless, and will deal with the blow back later.
To hell with the threat of owls!
Pushing open a set of doors and walking through as if he was ten foot tall and owl proof, our hero of the moment has a grin the size of Texas on his face.
Tony Gamble: Pack them up boys, we’re taking them inside!
It is then that he realizes that the canopy and tables have been taken down, and Domingo Cruz is closing the back door of the van. He glances to the right and finds Frank Pastore talking with a few guards and police officers.
Tony Gamble: What the hell is going on, Dom?
Domingo Cruz: Pinche juda shut us down. Some shit about not having a permit to sell merch on arena grounds.
Tony Gamble: Well, I got the green light from Anna Daniels… okay, maybe more of a yellow, but definitely not red. So let’s grab some boxes and take them inside, they’re going to sell like menudo on a Sunday morning.
Domingo Cruz: They took all the boxes.
Tony’s chin drops to his chest as he sighs out loud. There’s always something. The skip gone from his step, he makes his way over to the cluster of men assembled next to one of the police cars.
Frank Pastore: Look, that’s Tony Gamble right there.
Whispers amongst the officers and guards can be slightly heard, but not enough to decipher who exactly was saying it.
“Holy hell, that scar’s bigger in real life.”
“It’s creepy as shit.”
“You think he’s single?”
“For fucks sake, Lou, keep it in your pants. Besides, he’s not a real celebrity.”
Tony Gamble: What seems to be the problem here, officers?
Officer #1: Can’t be selling bootleg merchandise outside of an event like this without a permit.
Frank Pastore: I told them they wasn’t bootlegs, boss, but they’s wasn’t listening to me.
Tony Gamble: It’s cool, Frank. Who’s in charge?
One of the officers steps forward.
Officer #2: That would be me.
Tony leans forward and reads his badge.
Tony Gamble: Well, Officer Sasso, what my associate here was telling you is true. These aren’t bootlegs.
Lou Sasso: That’s funny, because I’ve never seen them on the website or anything. They don’t even have a PRIME logo printed on them.
Tony Gamble: They’re Gamble Adoration Syndicate shirts, and I had them made personally seeing as how I am the Gamble being adored by the syndicate… which are not only my associates here, but the millions of my fans.
“He said millions.”
Tony turns to glare at the other officer, who along with the two security guards is snickering.
Lou Sasso: Look, Mr. Gamble, I’m sure you understand that we’re just doing our job here. Those shirts have nothing on them that prove they are affiliated to PRIME in any way, and this being a PRIME event we have to follow procedure.
Tony turns back to the officer speaking to him.
Tony Gamble: I get it, but since they’re not bootlegs, I’m going to need you to release them back to me so I can take them to the PRIMEPORIUM.
Officer #1: About that. You see, since there was a report made already we need to take them in and file them into evidence. Then, once you can prove that there is no crime being committed and show us that permit we mentioned… Then you can get them back.
He rips a sheet off of the booklet he has in his hand and offers it to Gamble, who takes it in frustration and turns to walk away.
Officer #1: You have a good night now, you hear. Don’t forget to go swimming with the Manatee’s, it’s better than swimming with the dolphins by a country mile.
Frank Pastore: Sounds like he wants to go swimming with the fishes, boss.
Tony Gamble: Morty’s been wanting to get on my goodside, maybe he can pay this wiseass a visit.