Tuckamore Bay

wilderness

"If you can't act like a man, the fucking least you can do is drink like a fucking man."

He shoved the bottle in Simon's hands.

"Now drink the fucking scotch."

Simon took a deep drink, as Jackson walked back toward the fire.

"Whatever came into that fucking peabrain of yours, anyway. You go into Tuckamore Bay with a bunch of oversized goons and try to intimidate them."

"You told me to use whatever I had to, to get the job done."

Jackson turned slowly.

"I thought you would use your fucking brain. Use it for some good, instead of simply filling that hollow space in your skull."

He laughed, as he drew hard on his cigar.

"I should have known fucking better. You are a fucking failure, in every way."

"I do the best I can, Jackson. You just set your sights too high."

"You are married to my daughter. I worked all my fucking life to give her the best of everything. All I wanted was for her to meet some decent guy, pop me out a couple grandchildren and when I die, take over my business empire."

Jackson laughed as he, once again, drew heavily on his cigar, turning it in his mouth, as he did.

"And who does she choose. Of all the men in the fucking world, she chose you. A fucking loser, who can't get shit right."

Simon stood up.

"I have done okay. Look how well the businesses were doing, before you sold them all off."

Jackson shook his head.

"They weren't sold off, you dumb fuck. I set up a dummy company and bought them myself. I had to buy back my own fucking companies.

And the only reason they were doing as well as they were is because I made sure that competent people were running them.

Do you honestly feel you had anything to do with the success of those companies.

You're not even man enough to get my daughter pregnant."

Simon took another drink of scotch, spilling some over his chin, in his angered haste.

"Well maybe if you weren't always putting pressure on me, I would have done better. 

But no. I had to be always reminded that I was not as good as the almighty Jackson Lamont.

The king of the prairies. Jackson Lamont.

The man who turned fucking cow-shit into an empire worth billions."

Simon shook his head.

"Do you know what it is like, standing in your fat fucking shadow?"

Simon took another drink, his words starting to slur.

"Fucking cold and fucking dark.

And maybe the only reason you don't have a grandchild is because, even in fucking bed, I was compared to the great Jackson Lamont. As sick as that sounds."