Stake And Steaks

Back when the historic area staged a legendary garden state revolution, instigated by seeing the whites of their eyes, featuring immature fist fighting over properly wearing red coats made Joey Jim Hintman hungry. Carrying his information flag reporting important details to the pub frequented by many local squires, the rebellious future knight accomplished his community contribution obligations.

“There are no words,” one waterhole customer took a second, commentating and editorializing regarding the invading tax issues, ruining their independent fraternity, “I know we can show our forever souper power defending this great firm turf, which we walk and patrol daily.”

“That should be run,” Joey Jim breathless, politely corrected, handing over double-spaced handwritten typed cursive sheets, “hear ye, hear ye, a winner who they call data man now possesses the purse.”

Suddenly appearing from nowhere, the proprietor holding glassware added his opinion, “you think he’s pure gold? He’s out of the money.”

“Excuse me,” Joey Jim defended, “I have a lot at stake, do not make your private thought reviews, a cliffhanger.”

Putting the drink cups down the establishment’s owner continued spinning a tale where a Greek royal had idealistic generous personality qualities, but her wallet was bare due to British showing them ‘tax implications reality’.

“You see the Elounda Queen was out of the money,” he explained, “and she went over to that Alpha Bella’s place across town.”

“The lady who turns the letters and makes money?” Joey Jim wanted clarification.

Not to be distracted, the innkeeper did not miss a beat, “that is why everyone around here waits until they see the whites of her eyes,”

“Wow,” Joey Jim responded, fascinated about the scene.

“Actually, a girl named Charlie, sat peacefully counting her winnings,” the owner proceeded entertaining his patrons who love one brew after another, “Standing firm on her turf, she hid what she had at stake, and that my dear Joey Jim is why they call Madame mistress Charlie, Miss Liberty.”

Deciding this issue needed checking out, Joey Jim disguised himself using a Mr. Prospector mask and trustingly listened when a mythical message advised, ‘take a stake’. Feeling secure and confident, he headed out to combat the sloppy track conditions intent on sealing the problem.

Confronting mudslinging annoyances all over, the proclaimed courageous courier protagonist arrived, meeting gate monitor Little Vic standing at attention, waiting to show Joey Jim around Alpha Bella.

“Follow me,” Little Vic escorted the inquisitive squire wanting promotion.

“Go through these doors,” instructed Little Vic.

Adjusting the Mr. Prospector facial camouflage, Joey Jim ventured into the darkness and a single spotlight illuminated the tempting tease, Miss Liberty Charlie.

“It’s Mr. Prospector,” Charlie attention hit one hundred percent, “I have not seen anything that delicious in years.”

Coming closer Joey Jim locked the target staring the antagonist down, “why don’t you take that mask off Mr. Prospector, I want to see the whites of your eyes.”

Fulfilling the request, Joey Jim slipped off the mask honestly, presenting all his cards including the wooden weapon, deadly in these type situations.

“We always knew in these parts that the girl named Charlie was not a winner,” he declared before performing the bump n run stabbing technique, “she was truly out of the money.”

“I have a Hollywood jet in this place,” Miss Liberty Charlie’s dying plea came from the decomposing corpse feeling the timber knife and fork utensil results.

“Then go south,” Joey Jim suggested, escaping before noticing Little Vic.

“Why are you laughing?” Joey Jim inquired, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Don’t you squires know down at the pub, Dean delivers nice winning steaks,” Little Vic mentioned, “no need risking everything for a beefsteak Charlie.”