Late Night Drive

After getting my hair cut, I decide that I would like dinner. I show up, without a reservation as is my M.O. (thinking of M.O. in this respect makes me laugh a little), to the Stratosphere tower and head to the top where the Top Of The World restaurant is. In the elevator, since I am the only one in it besides the operator, I ignore the young man who tries to talk to me with a friendly tone of voice. I have seen him at this time of night a few times, and the fact that he does not remember me offends me. Once out of the elevator, where I took turns during the thirty second ride to the top freezing the operator with a murderous stare and gnawing on a finger I kept from one of the escort girls decaying in my guest bedroom, I head to the podium, where maitre'd looks at me once, and then, I'm quite sure, mutters under his breath, "Oh, fuck," before smiling at me brightly with his mouth. His eyes are cold, but I like his jacket so I don't stab him in the eye with my switchblade.
"How may I help you, Mr. Ridgway?"
It is, of course, not my real last name, but it fits, and makes me smile.
"A table, of course. Long day, Ronald." Ronald is not his last name, either, but I know damn well this will upset him.
"I'm so sorry, sir," he smiles smugly, the bastard, "but we are all full at the moment.
"Oh," I say, wanting to prolong this, not wanting to play my trump card yet, "are you really?"
"Yes sir," he says, still smiling patronizingly. "Completely booked," he adds unnecessarily.
"Do you think," I ask quietly, "that you can find a table for the new owner of this restaurant?"
The maitre'd looks confused. "Come again?" he asks, uneasy now. His smile fades slightly. "New owner. Under new management. Me ." His smile fades completely, then comes back with a laugh. "Oh, sir, you had me going for a minute there." I laugh a little too, and then pull out my wallet with my real name on it and take it out and show it to him, grinning the whole time. "You're fired, Ronald." I had purchased the restaurant a few nights ago for the hell of it, maybe to improve on the service, I am not sure. I walk past him without looking at him again while he sputters, face blank. After being seated, I frostily order some chicken tenders, which I then send back to the chef with a screaming note to make them again, or look for employment elsewhere. God, I am so tired. The chef does so, coming out to my table to personally apologize and deliver the meal himself. I, the gracious emperor, forgive him, send him away smiling, hating him to death. After I leave, I take out my Desert Eagle and make sure the safety is on (I forget), that the weapon is fully loaded, and pick up my car from valet. In my car, I drive morosely, until I am struck with a sudden lust, and I call an escort service and order a devastatingly gorgeous brunette, whom I plan on raping and murdering later tonight. I pay with my corporate credit card, call my secretary and have her call AmEx to erase the charge immediately. She does so, asks if I need anything else, I tell her no, thank you, good night, she tells me to wear a condom. I giggle as I hang up and drive to pick up the escort. Once I have her, I take her out to the desert for a late night drive, and I have her.