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Description
Fat Stan was not someone you wanted to mess with. A balding, tubby, 40ish-looking guy with big ears and a bent squished nose, which was acquired during a drunken punch-up. Sure, I guess you could make that mistake. But not many did or lived to tell the tale. Although he didn’t acknowledge it, Stan was fat. Hence, Fat Stan. I guess he had his Mom to thank for that, always feeding him and saying she fed him, because she loved him. Maybe if she had loved him less, he wouldn’t feel tortured in his own skin. In spite of the fact that he was abundant, if you even mentioned the word ‘diet’ in Stan’s presence, you could just as well stick a bullet in your head. Or maybe one of Stan’s bodyguards would take you outside because Stan had expensive Persian rugs high and low about his home. Why waste a perfectly good rug when you could just stain concrete?
Stan believed in a tidy appearance, manners and curtesy. Highly unusual for a Mafia Lord. Church on Sunday, black steam-pressed suits and no “disposin’ of people in fronta the ladies.” When clients hired Fat Stan’s services, they relied on it being done quietly and cleanly. Although the disposal of a target was brutal and morally challenging, Fat Stan insisted on manners. Jobs couldn’t be carried out from behind but had to be done, face-to-face and personal. But it wasn’t personal, just business.
So what made Fat Stan become the tyrant he was? A childhood of seeing people get shot sure grows a boy up in a hurry. I guess you could say he was born into the business. But his mother made sure that church was a regular occurrence as well as a hot meal. But Stan had ended that luxury when he had discovered his dear old Mom had been cheating on the memory of his Pop. A bullet in her heart and a tear on his cheek.
This tragedy made up everyone tremble in fear. If Stan didn’t hesitate to shoot his own Mom, there was no hope for anyone who crossed him. It seemed no one could stand up to the juggernaut, which controlled the Mafia underworld. But one night, there was a mutiny. Stan’s most trusted advisers got bored with waiting around for Stan’s natural disappearance.
And so it was taken care of. Face-to-face and personal. But it wasn’t personal, it was just business.

Description
Fat Stan was not someone you wanted to mess with. A balding, tubby, 40ish-looking guy with big ears and a bent squished nose, which was acquired during a drunken punch-up. Sure, I guess you could make that mistake. But not many did or lived to tell the tale. Although he didn’t acknowledge it, Stan was fat. Hence, Fat Stan. I guess he had his Mom to thank for that, always feeding him and saying she fed him, because she loved him. Maybe if she had loved him less, he wouldn’t feel tortured in his own skin. In spite of the fact that he was abundant, if you even mentioned the word ‘diet’ in Stan’s presence, you could just as well stick a bullet in your head. Or maybe one of Stan’s bodyguards would take you outside because Stan had expensive Persian rugs high and low about his home. Why waste a perfectly good rug when you could just stain concrete?
Stan believed in a tidy appearance, manners and curtesy. Highly unusual for a Mafia Lord. Church on Sunday, black steam-pressed suits and no “disposin’ of people in fronta the ladies.” When clients hired Fat Stan’s services, they relied on it being done quietly and cleanly. Although the disposal of a target was brutal and morally challenging, Fat Stan insisted on manners. Jobs couldn’t be carried out from behind but had to be done, face-to-face and personal. But it wasn’t personal, just business.
So what made Fat Stan become the tyrant he was? A childhood of seeing people get shot sure grows a boy up in a hurry. I guess you could say he was born into the business. But his mother made sure that church was a regular occurrence as well as a hot meal. But Stan had ended that luxury when he had discovered his dear old Mom had been cheating on the memory of his Pop. A bullet in her heart and a tear on his cheek.
This tragedy made up everyone tremble in fear. If Stan didn’t hesitate to shoot his own Mom, there was no hope for anyone who crossed him. It seemed no one could stand up to the juggernaut, which controlled the Mafia underworld. But one night, there was a mutiny. Stan’s most trusted advisers got bored with waiting around for Stan’s natural disappearance.
And so it was taken care of. Face-to-face and personal. But it wasn’t personal, it was just business.