Susan Roberts was close to retirement, she sat on the board of directors at Saint Paul’s Hospital and had spent the last ten years overseeing the design and construction of a new wing that would treat young children with varying illnesses.  The money for the extension had been provided by Bronson Riddick.

On this particular evening, Bronson Riddick sat in a large and elegant ballroom at The Hazlemere Golf Club.  The large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the green of the eighteenth hole and filled the room with light.  He was being given a humanitarian award for his financial contribution to the hospital.

There were about 200 people in the ballroom, all of them dressed to the nines in fancy dresses and gowns, most of the women were the wives of doctors and surgeons.  It was an upper-class group and the signs of Botox and fake boobs were everywhere.

Riddick was sitting at a large round table close to the stage next to his latest girlfriend.  Ashley was a young brunette with dark eyes and long wavy dark hair down to the small of her back.  She was wearing tight black leather pants that accented her muscular gym-built legs nicely.  She looked out of place.   

Riddick was dressed to the nines in a Ralph Lauren suit worth more than a thousand dollars, he was bored and had no desire to be in the spotlight but knew his attendance wasn’t optional.  His donation to the hospital had to look official, he had to play the game because he never knew when he was being watched by the FBI.  He had lived this long because he didn’t give anyone any reason to suspect him for any of his criminal dealings.

Everyone in that ballroom knew who he was and what he did, and his reputation as a kingpin in the cocaine trade was well-known throughout the city.  Over the years, he had built a reputation for being a feared gangster with a long history of raining terror down on his adversaries in the drug trade.

Several tables away, two doctors were sitting next to each other and were looking at Bronson Riddick with disdain.

“What a world we live in, when a man like Bronson Riddick is being given a humanitarian award,” the one doctor said to the other.

“Who cares where the money comes from? If it helps the children, what difference does it make?” replied the second doctor.

Susan Roberts looked and dressed like an old librarian.  She made her way to the center of the stage where a microphone had been set up as quiet polite applause filled the ballroom. She pulled a small pair of reading glasses out of her pocket and placed them on her nose, cleared her throat a couple of times, and began her speech.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming this evening.  We here at St. Paul’s Hospital are thrilled to announce the recipient of this year's prestigious Humanitarian Award: Mr. Bronson Riddick.”

The applause that filled the ballroom was weak and muted.  Everyone hated Riddick and it was obvious.

“Bronson's tireless dedication to improving the lives of sick kids has left an indelible mark at this hospital. His unwavering commitment to funding this new wing in the children’s department will benefit families for years to come,” she said with a subtle tone of disdain.

“Bronson's journey as a humanitarian has been characterized by resilience, innovation, and an unyielding belief in the power of human kindness.  Mr. Riddick's impact extends far beyond the realm of philanthropy. He serves as a shining example of how one person's unwavering dedication and passion can bring about profound positive change in the lives of those in need. We are honored to recognize Mr. Bronson Riddick as the recipient of this year's Humanitarian Award,” she concluded, as the audience again applauded politely.

It was of course ridiculous to those in attendance that these words were being spoken about a man who had spent his life moving cocaine and illegal weapons across the Mexican border.   He was a man who lived a corrupt immoral life of crime, and yet here he was being given an award of the highest order that the hospital board bestows on anyone.   Not even a surgeon who saves lives every day was honoured with such accolades.

Riddick's financial contribution to help build a new wing at St. Paul’s Hospital was pure money laundering plain and simple.  He cared very little for the children it was designed to help.  He was nothing more than a cold, selfish human being doing what he had to do to hide the profits of his crimes from the tax man.

Susan Roberts was well aware that Riddick's contribution was pure blood money, but she had learned to swallow her moral pride long ago. The hospital was struggling and needed the money,  and as long as it helped sick kids, who cared where it came from?

“Ladies and gentlemen, Bronson Riddick…”

As Riddick went to stand, the young brunette sitting next to him put her hand on his thigh.

“Congratulations, baby,” she said.

Bronson kissed her on the lips and made his way toward the stage.

Riddick walked to the center of the stage toward the microphone and shook Susan Robert’s hand.  He could sense the disdain she had as she avoided eye contact and handed him a small trophy of a crystal dove.

Riddick looked suave in his suit and tie, his bald head freshly shaved with several days of stubble on his face, in this light, he looked a lot like Jason Stratham.  The low dose of steroids he took made him appear strong and healthy.

He adjusted the microphone slightly before he started speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, and fellow recipients of this prestigious humanitarian award, I am profoundly humbled and honoured to stand before you today. This recognition is not just a personal achievement but a testament to the collective power of compassion and empathy that resides within all of us. I accept this award with profound gratitude, knowing that it represents the tireless efforts of countless individuals and organizations dedicated to making the world a better place.”

Bronson sounded intelligent and well-spoken, but it was all a ruse. His speech had simply been pulled off the internet the night before, and he read it almost word for word from a piece of paper in front of him.

He continued, “Throughout my journey in the realm of humanitarian work, I have been privileged to witness the resilience and strength of the human spirit. From supporting communities in times of crisis to championing causes that uplift the marginalized, I have seen firsthand the profound impact that small acts of kindness can have on our global community. This award serves as a reminder that there is much work to be done, and I am committed to continuing my mission to alleviate suffering, promote justice, and spread love and compassion to every corner of the world. Together, we can create a more equitable and harmonious future for all. Thank you for this tremendous honour, and let us strive for a world where empathy and humanity prevail.”

As Bronson Riddick finished his acceptance speech the crowd once again gently applauded as he made his way off the stage and back to his seat next to Ashley.

He felt nothing. No sense of love, no compassion, none of the human emotions that he had mentioned in his speech were a part of his being.  He felt a smug sense of accomplishment that he had just hidden twenty million dollars made from moving cocaine throughout the city over the years.  Everybody knew this, including the authorities, but he was untouchable.  Charitable contributions are tax-free and are a great way to hide money.

Bronson Riddick was smart, and considering what he did, the fact that he had made it to the ripe old age of fifty-eight was a testament to that. Most men in the cocaine trade don’t live past the age of forty, but he lived with eyes in the back of his head, and he never left the house without his trusted 9 mm Glock in his waistband.  He was a survivor.

Bronson and Ashley didn’t stick around long after the ceremony.  A few doctors briefly thanked him for his contribution to the hospital as he left the ballroom.  The irony that Riddick was surrounded by men who committed themselves to saving lives while he was committed to taking them wasn’t lost to anyone in that ballroom.

Once in the parking lot, he and Ashley hopped into his topless Porsche and drove off back to Bronson's yacht.

*****************

As per usual, there was no shortage of attractive women walking around the Elysium.  There were buckets of ice everywhere with expensive champagne in them and a large, well-stocked minibar in the main living room.  The sun was low on the horizon and starting to turn red casting its glow onto the ocean, it was a beautiful evening.

Jimmy Chen and Clayton Radcliffe arrived at the Elysium together, they saw Riddick standing in the living room with a drink in his hand talking to Ashley.  If there was any benefit to sitting high on top of the cocaine trade, endless access to beautiful women was surely one of them.  Riddick knew this and enjoyed it fully.

Jimmy and Clayton made their way across the living room to where he was standing and Jimmy said in a playfully sarcastic tone, “Here he is, the humanitarian of the century. Bronson Riddick.”

A very slight smirk came over Riddick’s face, and he gave a small nod of approval to the joke but didn’t seem to be in an overly humorous mood.    

Riddick's mind drifted back to Ann Boleyn and the fact that her husband had her beheaded simply because he was tired of her.  The idea of a man having that kind of power was intoxicating to him, the way a king could wave his hand and order for a man to be carried away and beheaded was the kind of world he wanted to live in. And in this moment he realized that in some way he was.  If you were to change the dates and the names, substitute a castle for a yacht, and an executioner's axe for a gun, and the story is pretty much the same; but he wasn’t King Henry VIII, and he wasn’t ordering the execution of Ann Boleyn.  He was ordering the execution of Julie Koop.

Jimmy Chen and Clayton Radcliffe knew that they had been invited to the Elysium for more than just a party, they knew Riddick would be looking for an update on the contract killing that was underway, Riddick was impatient and wanted it done as soon as possible.  He turned to Ashley and politely asked her to give the three of them some privacy. She smiled approvingly and gently ran her hand across the small of his back as she turned to leave the living room.  Ashley knew that they were talking about something deathly serious, she didn’t care.

Once Ashley was out of earshot, Riddick spoke, “All right gentlemen. Where are we on the Julie Koop situation? I want her dead within twenty-four hours.”

“And she will be,” Jimmy replied.

Riddick nodded in approval.

“Good,” was all he said.

Clayton chimed in, “Our point man at the casino gave us our leads.  He gave us everything we needed, even her phone number.  It’s amazing how much information casinos keep on their customers, he practically knew her bra size.  It’s like the fucking CIA over there.”

“How much is she into you for?” Jimmy asked.

Riddick looked slightly troubled by the question.

“It’s hard to say. Jason Leather was a low-level coke dealer who worked for me.  He had a side business that consisted of him borrowing money from me at two points, and lending it out to gamblers for ten points.  He was making a small profit, but getting in over his head.  I’m not sure what I was thinking, lending him the money in the first place.  I should’ve warned him, that gamblers never pay back debts! To make matters worse, he was snorting more of my cocaine than he was selling. He was getting high off his own supply, I had no choice but to take him out.”

“What is it? Ten grand? Twenty grand? Maybe a hundred?” Clayton asked.

Bronson didn’t respond right away, the look of hatred towards Julie Koop was obvious.

Riddick continued, “You know, I bet she thinks she’s gotten away with it.  I bet she thought her debt died with Jason Leather. That big-ass bitch probably thinks she won the lottery.  You guys are gonna have to tell me what her face looks like when she sees you coming up on her with your guns drawn.  She’s going to find out what it’s like to die in a hail of bullets, her blood is going to trickle down the street drain.”

Jimmy and Clayton were giving Riddick their full attention.  His energy changed a little and his face grew slightly softer.

“You know guys, I’m not getting any younger here let’s face it, in this line of work I’m a dinosaur…”

After another brief pause, he continued, "Julie Koop is going to be the last hit I ever order.  Once that big ass bitch is dead I’m going to retire. I’m going to disappear.  I have big plans.  I’m building a mansion in Mexico….”

Both Jimmy and Clayton had heard Riddick talk about getting out of the game, but lately, he was sounding more serious about packing it in and leaving the gang lifestyle.

“I have plans, big ones,  but I can’t let Julie Koop live, that bitch is going to die.  I just can’t let it go.  I can’t let it go.  Let me know when it’s done, and make it soon!”

“You got it, boss!” Jimmy replied.

Riddick simply turned and walked away.  He went out onto the side deck of the yacht.  Ashley, the young attractive brunette that had accompanied him to the award ceremony was standing there watching the sun go down. It was a beautiful view.  She was still wearing her tight black leather pants and had her hands gently resting on the railings.

Bronson had taken off his suit and changed into something more comfortable, jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a light black zip-up hoodie.  There was a chill in the air now that the sun was getting close to sinking below the horizon.

He came up behind Ashley and slipped his arms around her, and kissed her neck.  She smiled but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll never get tired of this view.  You know, I pay a fortune for this birth at the far end of the marina like this, but it’s worth it.  On this side, you can’t see any other boats, just the wide open ocean.”

They both stood in a moment of silence enjoying that view.  Bronson was starting to like Ashley.  He had always had a weakness for brunettes.  Ashley was twenty-five.

“Tell me about your day, your week,” she asked.

She had a rough idea of who he was but rarely had deep conversations with him about the details of his criminal lifestyle, and she preferred it that way.  Bronson felt slightly uneasy about the question but saw it as an opportunity to test her.  If she wanted to be his number one girl, she’d have to be okay with the realities of his lifestyle.  She would have to be comfortable with the fact that he was ultimately a killer.

“I’m heading to Texas tomorrow,” he said.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Maybe, don’t worry about it,” Bronson responded.

The truth is, Riddick had a crew building a tunnel underneath the border between Texas and Mexico, it would be used to smuggle drugs.  Riddick was heading down to make sure that the project was on task.

Ashley was indeed bothered by the reality that Bronson‘s contribution to the hospital was blood money.  She thought about where that money had come from, and how many lives had been destroyed by Bronson Riddick, but she wanted the yachts, the cars, the glamour and the wealth; and most importantly the power that a man like Bronson Riddick held.

He was like a king.