My Cousin Vinny 2077

“Well a deal is a deal, and you ain’t held up your end of the deal,” Judge Gorbo said, then nodded to his henchmen.

“Whoa, just one minute,” said Vinny Gigabino. “I’m thinking over here.” 

Vinny wished his gal was with him. But she got pissed, like she did, and ran out, like she does. She’d wanted to help Vinny on his first actual contract but he’d told her to buzz off, and… well, she did. 

Even then, through his sub-cranial connection, he tried to ring his girl. She didn’t pick up. He left a message: Mona, babe. I need you.

Gorbo’s two lackeys approached: Jix, was a synth-muscle bound borg and the one eyed Tiska, a waifish little samurai with two pistols cross her belt, giving her the look of an old-time sea pirate. They pushed past Vinny, to where Bhilly was trussed up.

“Vinny, what the fuck? You said you could take care of this, that you was this bad street samurai!” Bhilly croaked as Jix lifted him bodily by the head. 

“I know, I know Bhilly, just…” Vinny was out of ideas. He just needed a little more time. “Listen Garbo…”

Garbo raised a gelatinous eyebrow at him. 

“Sorry… your honor.” 

Garbo wasn’t a judge and sure as shit wasn’t honorable. But Garbo ran this block of Night City, and if Garbo wanted to drape his corpulent body in black robes, and drape himself in honorifics, there wasn’t much Vinny could do about it. What Garbo said, went.

Bhilly—Vinny’s knucklehead nephew—discovered what happens when you get on the wrong side of the Honorable Judge Garbo. Bhilly, the poor mook, had the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the right time. Garbo erstwhile lieutenant Mason-Dixon got zeroed while Bhilly was passing some time at one of Garbo’s holo-peep show. Mason-Dixon was poked up with a Transvaser Flechette gun. Bhilly carried a Transvaser flechette gun. So they picked him up and presently were working to hang poor Bhilly, hand-cuffed and all, out the window of Garbos 73 floor penthouse. 

“Vi…Vi…Vinny!”

Vinny ignored his nephews pleas, turning to face Judge Garbo. “Your honor, I need just a moment more. I have some circumstantial evidence that proves my nephews innocence.” 

Garbo stroked one of his many chins. Never a man to skimp on theatrics, he smiled. “Jix, there is hanging that little snot out the window, as you can see.”

Jix smiled, his synth-muscle forearm bulging as it held the chain of Bhilly’s handcuffs. Meanwhile Bhilly was yelling and screaming so loud he nearly overpowered the din of the city below. The rail thin Tiska just watched, her face covered by a bandana, but Vinny could tell from the wrinkles in her one eye that she was smiling. 

“Jix has got some good augments. Top-o the line shit. Isn’t that right Jix?” Grabo continued. 

Jix grunted, neon light glinting off his stainless steel teeth. 

“I bet he can hold little Bhilly out there, for at least 20-30 minutes before his arms get sore, before his fingers get weak. Before…” Garbo made a little falling motion with hand, twiddling his fat fingers as if they were flailing limbs. “You can go Vinny. And if you come back before Jix loses his grip—and with proper evidence on who killed Mason-Dixon—the boy lives. But if you don’t? Well…” He peered out the vast windows of his penthouse. “I would just avoid taking the south exit from the building. It might rain cats and fuckheads.”

Vinny left the penthouse, the sound of Garbos baritone laughter echoing in his ear.

The elevator seemed to take the floors at half speed. Vinny needed to come up with a plan. He knew Bhilly was innocent, but how to prove it? 

Finally, the elevator dinged open on the ground floor. Vinny’s jaw dropped. 

Standing there, in her patent leather skirt and low cut top was his gal: Mona Lisa Overdrive Vito.