Dirty Donnie by Betty Banks

They used to call me Dirty Donnie because of my… controversial actions in the ring.
I hung up those champ gloves years ago.
Now, they call me Dirty Donnie because I’ll take your filthy money and scrub it cleaner than a priest on Sunday.
You see, I’m the Wells Fargo of the underworld. But I don’t waltz on Wall Street, I tango in towns you couldn’t point out on a map.
I rip through the ass-end of America like a wildfire, building bars, clubs, strip joints. Serving martinis and Cuban cigars with one hand, washing my clients’ money with the other.
And when the FBI comes-a-sniffin’, I just burn the business to the ground and move onto the next.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
I should have sent Windy Creek up in flames the second I laid eyes on Sheriff Stella.
A cappuccino pocket rocket with more sass than I’ve had hot dinners.
Too sharp to bribe. Too justice-seeking to look the other way.
A squeaky-clean girl trying to make sense of my dirty world.
Don’t dig too deep, officer.
Because otherwise I’ll have no choice but to make you filthy.