AN ARMPIT SMOTHERING AND A CONTRACT ON MY LIFE

Life comes at you fast in the newspaper business. One minute you're publishing the 6th new newspaper to hit the Streets and the next you're under attack from the armpit of the person who claimed they were going to publish the 7th new newspaper to hit the Streets on Monday, and even though it is Thursday, they still haven't. 

That was the scene befalling this senior newsman on an otherwise uneventful Thursday afternoon in a local coffee shop. I was minding my own business, trying to stay one step ahead of StreetSheriff and his vendetta against investigative Mafia Journalism, when BAM! Outta nowhere I'm getting fed an armpit sandwich by Gillian.

I had heard from a pretty brunette waitress in a now-closed restaurant that Gillian often took her lunches without washing for several days at a time before struggling her way through the menu. Was this to be one of those occasions when my person was not only violated, but it was to be by a sweat-drenched, unshaven mess, with traces of lobster ravioli leaking from their pores? Would her cleanliness be better before an attack where it wasn't before lunch? I could only pray that it was as I endured the humiliating beating with all of the good grace you would expect of the most senior newsman still standing. Or in this case, barely staying upright.

Fortunately after 5 (the same number of times she studies a 3 line menu) embarrassing minutes, she released me from her saturated embrace and cut me loose onto the street. Barely alive, struggling to breathe from the unprovoked assault and desperately asking passersby if I smelt of fish, I felt a tug on my sleeve. Was it her again, come to finish the job (not her paper) and put me out of business? Frantically wiping my eyes, I realised it was just one of the kids on my payroll. "Word on the street is that someone wants you dead with the quickness," he said, before running off, hopefully because he was busy and hopefully not because I now smelt like an aquarium. 

Someone wants me dead? Me? The most senior newsman on the Streets and second most prolific publisher of news. Outrageous. Who could possibly want me dead? Especially now whilst I was tending to my wounds. I suppose there is the equine obsessed self-proclaimed StreetSheriff who seems to have a fierce dislike for journalists. And there are my many competitors (not Gillian, currently unpublished) in the publishing business who could be trying to force me out of the saturated media hotbed. After that though? Tough to say.

I guess this is the $1,660,000 $5,000,000 question: "Who would want to silence SaddleFlashing?"

This gave me seafood for thought. I thought that it wouldn't be Gillian because she would be hard at work (all of last week) becoming the 7th new newspaper on the Street this Monday (3 days ago) and the fact the hit followed her smothery and tirade was probably just an unfortunate coincidence.

No, there has to be another explanation and I'm determined to find out what it is. I'll be looking long and hard into this mystery until I find the answer. Sheriff, Vitale, Chance, Harold; consider yourselves on notice. Everybody else, any information that leads to the apprehension of the hitlister will be gratefully received. 

SaddleFlashing did I suddenly find myself 10 million big boys richer yesterday after a pickpocketing consent accident was inflicted upon my pockets in the hallowed streets of Detroit? Yes I did.

Did I then proceed to spend a large part of it to force my competition out of business? No I did not, and I am SHOCKED that you'd even imply such a thing.

My alibi is rock solid: the 10 million dollars have already been used to pay off a small part of the large outstanding debt my ancestry has had for generations, much to the dismay of my crew leader and acting Godfather-chairman who salivated at the thought of me rising to the #1 spot in a future earnings-competition.

Every monobrowed ancestor of mine had a tough choice to make: do I walk a free man and settle for a life of mediocrity? Or do I inherit both the universally acclaimed newspaper brand 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻 AND 80 million dollars of outstanding debt? I made my choice, as did those before me.

Unfortunately I did not know the debt has a weekly-compounding interest rate up front, but sometimes life gives you lemons (and other times lobster-ravioli).

I was familiar with your recent windfall, Harold and your jealousy is well documented, not even by just me. This made you seem an obvious candidate to try and stifle an old news hound such as myself.

I thought covering the unprovoked attack on me might bring sympathosers to my cause. Unfortunately, since this announcement the bounty upon me has tripled. The reward for a slice of Saddle now stands at $15,000,000.

Who would do such a thing? Who has an axe to grind against me like a black pepper mill over a bowl of lobster ravioli?

Gillian is clearly too tough for such antics, declaring the hits cowardly and below her. But she also said she was compiling evidence of my slander in order to kill me, so it was very much a window opening as a door closed in terms of that avenue of questioning.

Who else might be out to get me?

Do they think $15,000,000 will make me stop asking the tough questions like who paid a $1,660,000 retainer or shining a spotlight on who died almost a year ago (It was Fluffy_Tummy in Issue I, RIP)?

Well let me tell you, Harold, I plan to cover plenty more 'nearly on this day deaths' in my future issues whether you like it or not.