🥃🖤Everybody Wants Rob Dead🎶🎷

They called him Rob. Owner of the finest little speakeasy
on the wrong side of the law. Gambler.
 Bookmaker. 
Bootlegger. 
Soon-to-be mob boss... if he lived long enough to collect his debts. And tonight? Everybody had a reason to kill him. Rob owned the room where the bad money went, Every crooked dollar knew where it was spent. Dice on the velvet, cards on the bar, He'd bet on the devil if the odds weren't too far. He wore a silk tie and a gambler's grin, Called himself a king before he'd learned how to win. Every loan shark from uptown to the docks Had a little piece of Rob's ticking clock. One owed him money,
 One wanted his name, One wanted his woman,
 One wanted his game. And every man whispering underneath the smoke Had a reason to pray that Rob would choke. Everybody wants Rob dead, Everybody's got a reason. Money, murder, jealousy, Tonight is hunting season. Raise your glass and place your bet, Watch the shadows circle round. If Rob makes it past midnight, I'll be damned if I know how. Then Velvet walked in wearing trouble like perfume, Black velvet dress and thunder in the room. She had Mae West lips and a devil's little smile, Could make a married man forget his name for a while. She sang the blues like she'd invented sin, And every lonely gentleman wanted to get in. Rob called her sweetheart, she called him a fool, She could make the whole room dance without breaking a rule. “Rob, darling... If you're going to gamble with your life, at least wear something worth burying.” Rob loved Velvet. Everybody knew. The trouble was... everybody loved Velvet too. The bartender hated him,
 The gambler wanted revenge, The cop had a grudge,
 The bootlegger wanted the ends. The loan shark wanted his money,
 The rival wanted his crown, And Velvet's old lover
had just come back to town. There were bullets in the back room, A razor in the bar, And somebody slipped poison inside Rob's best cigar. One wanted his fortune,
 One wanted his throne, One wanted Velvet,
 One wanted him gone. But Rob just laughed and raised his glass, “Gentlemen...you'll have to get in line.” Everybody wants Rob dead, Everybody's got a reason. Money, murder, jealousy, Tonight is hunting season. Raise your glass and place your bet, Let the jazz band play it loud. If Rob makes it past midnight, I'll be damned if he knows how. Eleven fifty-nine... and the room was getting thin. Rob counted out his winnings, Velvet poured another gin. She leaned against the piano, Sang a low and dirty blues, While six different killers watched him choose. He looked toward the doorway. Someone had moved the chair. He reached inside his jacket... There was nobody there. The clock began to tremble. The band began to slow. Velvet stopped her singing. The room went cold below. Ten...Nine...Eight... Seven...Six...Five... Four...Three...Two... One. The lights came back. The room was still. The piano played one crooked note. Rob was sitting in his chair... but Rob was dead. His cards were on the table. His glass was in his hand. His eyes were fixed on Velvet like he finally understood. Nobody screamed. Nobody ran. Nobody called the law. Because everybody in that room had wanted Rob to fall. The cops came through the cellar. The newspapers came at dawn. The gamblers gave their stories... and every story was wrong. They found the empty bottle. They found the missing gun. They found Rob's blood on Velvet's glove... but Velvet had never fired one. “Darling... you should never trust a man who thinks he's the smartest gambler in the room.” Everybody wanted Rob dead, Everybody had a reason. Money, murder, jealousy, Love was just another weapon. He built his kingdom on a bet, He gambled everything he had. Rob thought he owned the city... The city thought that was cute. Because the funny thing about owning a speakeasy... is everybody knows where you sleep. So pour one out for Rob, boys. He finally paid his debt. The only question left tonight... is who gets to collect?