Marco Belinelli 19 Points/4 Threes Full Highlights (11/29/2013)

My phone rang. Taking a break from splitting and splicing clips of Mirza Teletovic, I answered. “Mr. ToBuck speaking.”

A nervous-sounding Italian man was on the other end. “DTB, this is Marco,” he started. As soon as he said his name, I knew what he was after. “I understand you have a video of me doing some embarrassing stuff in my kitchen.”

Bringing up the relevant video on my computer, I couldn’t help but laugh as I replayed, for the hundredth time, Marco singing opera and pretending to have his own cooking show as he prepared his dinner. “Yes, I am in possession of such a video. You can thank your friend Timmy D for that. I never knew what a talented singer you were.”

Marco sounded annoyed by my mirth. “Shut up man. That’s some private stuff – I could have you arrested!”

Oh. So he wanted to play hardball. I promptly switched to my “serious” voice, the one where I sound like I’m about to murder somebody. “The police will never go after me. I have them in my pocket. You could go after Duncan, sure, but I’m untouchable, Marco. Untouchable.”

The acquiescence in Marco’s voice was almost pathetic. “How much do I have to pay you?” he asked, defeated. He didn’t even need to finish the question.

“Fifty thousand. In twenties. Personally delivered,” I responded. The twenties weren’t really necessary, but it made it seem like I was some kind of drug lord. In a way, I was, but my drug of choice was not cocaine or meth, but highlight videos.

Marco was indignant. “Fifty thousand!? You dirty scoundrel, you-”

I interrupted his petty tirade. “If the press got their hands on this video, your career would be over, Marco. I shouldn’t need to remind you.” Silence on the other end. “A flamboyant Italian man prancing around his kitchen? It wouldn’t just be your career. It would be your life.”

It sounded like Marco was crying. “Okay, fine. Fifty thousand. I’ll get the money and bring it over. And then you delete every copy of that video.”

Marco had no idea the scope of my backup system. I could delete the video on my computer to ease his mind, then quickly recover it from the magnetic tapes sitting in my basement. “Agreed. Oh, and Marco?”

“What now?”

“Congrats on the 19 points,” I said with a laugh, hanging up the phone. Then, sitting alone in my study, I said to myself, “Damn it feels good to be a gangster.”

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