I met The Boss, he needed a chauffeur, I drove him everywhere, I flew with him all over the world and drove him when we got there.
The Boss was big, large even and certainly larger than life. Charm, charisma and chutzpah just flowed out of him. But his business was the wrong side of legal, I think it was gun-running, it was getting dangerous and he wasn't getting any younger.
It was going to be the big deal or the biggest deal, we were in a hotel in the mountains north of Bologna, I didn't like his business partners, more OK than OK if you know what I mean. No, I was unhappy, I was really worried.
I took the rented limo back and got an armoured limo. I took it for a test run – not so easy to drive – and emptied the tank. It drove like a pig and drank like a sow.
That evening I persuaded him to leave the business talks in the hotel, just for a moment, to sign a very important and secret fax that had just been printed out in the limo. As soon as he was on the back seat I hit the panic button – the doors locked and the windows closed – and I floored it.
I heard the sound of automatic gunfire hitting the back of the car and headed for the autostrada. No one followed us, somebody had removed all the car keys and air from the car tyres in front of the hotel.
I drove at top speed north to the Swiss border. There we had to tank up. I showed The Boss the bullet holes, I expected him to laugh, but he turned away and emptied his stomach onto the verge.