Remember Allison, the Manhattan bombshell who works at a Chicago ad agency and wants me to be a model?

It’s bullshit.

What she did to me, she did to at least a dozen guys. Sure got us seeing dollar signs and stardom.

But it’s all smoke and mirrors — like Tom Horn Smokeless.

Joey from Skokie, a bear of a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, his old lady sniffs something foul when Joey brags about his modeling job. She knows it’s a scam.

The real sting is when Allison and her accomplice, Mr. Jones (surprisingly his actual name), tricked us into signing those forms and revealing our Social Security numbers and bank details for supposed direct deposits.

Joey and the rest of us find Allison and Mr. Jones, and we’re hot on the trail of justice.

Allison bolts, legs carrying her into the night like a scared rabbit. Mr. Jones ain’t so lucky.

We drag him into the alley behind Main Street and tune him up till he’s singing like Sinatra. Promises to torch the papers.

Joey’s smart, though, and tells Mr. Jones he knows our info’s likely in the wild, sold to the highest bidder. So we tune him up until he falls on his ass.

I kick Mr. Jones in the nuts twice, and he screams like a bitch, but Joey makes me stop. Says it’s best to beat a guy only when he’s standing.

“It’s too easy to kick and stomp a man to death,” Joey says.

Copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon