Mad Dog = Bad Ass
Mad Dog sat impassively, smoking a Camel, as DeShawn finished the tattoo, a snarling, evil-looking bulldog. Even some of DeShawn's hangers-on were frightened by the sight of the cur, which seemed ready to leap off Madoff's sinewy forearm and rip out their throats.
"Who knew that you could make a tattoo gun out of an old Nintendo," Mad Dog said.
"Nushawn's lookin' fo' you, man," said LaTonda, one of the prison bitches that Madoff runs as a part of his growing prison enterprise. "He say he gonna cut you."
"Fuck him," said Mad Dog. "That, by the way, is rhetorical. I don't actually want you to fuck him."
LaTonda giggled, handed Mad Dog a carton of Newports, then scampered off to take care of the next of Mad Dog's growing list of customers. "At least you didn't rat nobody out, Mad Dog."
The inmates respect a man like Mad Dog. He had the balls to screw everybody, then take the fall, like a man. None of this pussy-ass shit where you sell out your co-conspirators to get a better deal. He was a stand-up guy, and for that, he has become the boss of the prison. He is the man, more powerful than the warden. He handles investments for the guards, he controls the cigarette market, and he has a string of prison bitches that he farms out like so many...well, prison bitches.
And, Nushawn don't like that one bit.
As Mad Dog makes his way to the shower, he is cornered by Nushawn, still smarting from the ass-whuppin' he got just days earlier.
"Yo ass is mine, Jewboy."
The bulldog seems to grimace, then snarl, silently, as Mad Dog's body switches itself on. His muscles ripple--he is, after all, trained in Omnite--and his hand tightens on his soap-on-a-rope.
There is a shiny, black flash as Nushawn seeks the advantage. Mad Dog, however, bends like a reed, allowing Nushawn to overshoot his objective. Grabbing the rope, and pulling, Mad Dog pulls eighteen inches of thin wire out of the soap--his cleverly crafted garrote--and moves behind Nushawn. There is a gasp, and a sickly moan.
In an instant, it is over, blood flowing freely from Nushawn's almost completely severed head. Mad Dog walks away, calmly, and to the shower, where he disposes of the wire in the drain. As the warm water beats down upon him, he lathers away the dead man's blood, leaving him clean and new.
"Don't fuck with me!" he says, to no one in particular...but, they hear him. Loud and clear.
Next, Madoff makes his first million (cigarettes)...