I stand in front of my father with a satisfied grin on my face, hoping that he coughs up a lung and fucking chokes himself to death. One can dream, right?
That’s what years of chain smoking and consuming too many cheeseburgers will do to you. It’s a travesty a heart attack hasn’t taken out this sack of shit yet. Not that I am one to talk, I arguably smoke more than my father does, but other than an addiction to nicotine, I take care of my body. I work out, eat decently, and can run laps around his sorry ass.
“Jake was mugged when going to transport the remaining product we are pushing tomorrow night.” Again, I can’t help but notice the eerily calm way my father states what should appear as a catastrophic problem.
Except, I am always ahead of my father, and have had my suspicions that there may be a loose kink in our midst. So, the drop he is referring to only contained a fraction of the drugs that are set to be run tomorrow evening, coming directly from the brownstone. That way, I can see the face of anyone who dares try to steal from me, and they will have to answer to me. While this setback and loss of product is concerning, yes, it only solidifies my growing suspicions that we have a kink loose in our operation. One I intend on eliminating.
I grit my teeth, with a tense jaw, playing along. “When did this happen? Jake was supposed to go into transport hours ago,” I say, looking at my watch to confirm the time.
“I don’t know?” my father says, stumbling over his words.
“I’m sorry, is that a question or a fucking statement? You either know or you don’t,” I snap at him. “And why is this the first I am hearing of this? I’m Jake’s direct line, not you,” I say, reminding him of his place.
“First off, you will fix your tone when you speak to your father. Secondly, you are being careless with arranging these drops. This was bound to happen.” His anger is still not convincing me, he clearly rehearsed this. Why, I don’t know, but I’m going to fucking find out.
“Thing is,Father …” I let the sarcasm roll off my tongue. I hate that I share DNA with this piece of deplorable scum. “I was the one who suggested switching up locations each time we have a drop or pickup. It’s the system that I implemented that has made this operation run smoothly for as long as it has. Don’t forget, when you were running this ship, these kinds of mishaps happened all the time before I stepped in,” I remind him.
“Yea, well, I never had a mishap happen on the eve of one of our biggest nights.” He spits at the ground near my feet. A dangerous move, one I am in absolutely no fucking mood for.
I step to him now, asserting not only my size over him but reminding him of the power I have that he does not. That he never had, because he couldn’t gain the respect of a fucking fly, let alone an entire operation, like I have.
I flex my palm at my side, resisting the urge to kill him right here and now.In due time, fucker.
Through tense teeth, I lower my brow to him. “Spit at me again and I will tear your fucking tongue out of your mouth so fast you won’t know what hit you. Then I will slice you to shreds, providing Nada with enough food to last a fucking lifetime, Father.” I spit back at him. Except, where he aimed for my feet, I aim right for his pudgy fucking cheek.
I step back in satisfaction, admiring the way he winces at my words. Fear strikes his face because he knows, deep down, that I will follow through. I’m a man of my word, unlike his sorry ass.
One of his minions grabs a handkerchief from his back pocket, as he goes to wipe the spit that drips down my father’s face away. Flustered and clearly embarrassed, he grabs the cloth from his little helper’s hand and cleans up my smeared saliva on his face himself.
“If this happens again, Son, you will have a price to pay, you hear me?” He tries to warn me though his tone is already drenched in defeat.
“Name your price, Father, and I will pay it because I have nothing to apologize for. This is an obvious setback, but this isn’t on me. Instead of patronizing me, you should be equally as concerned about the obvious rat we have in the operation.”
“Yea, well, listen, smart-ass, if you are so all-knowing and wise, fucking fix it.”
Oh, I will.
* * *
I have my driver, Rufus, drop me off at the brownstone I now call home. It’s taken me years to make it exactly as I want, and it is my true oasis from the hellish day-to-day that makes up my present existence.
I light up a cigarette, and as the smoke billows out of my mouth, I notice that the lights are on in the living room. Which is odd, because I wasn’t expecting any company this evening, and I know I did not leave any lights on when I locked up this morning. I let my cigarette dangle from my mouth as I reach for the pistol secured in my waistband. I approach the door with caution, my weapon aimed upright. Taking slow steps toward the concrete steps that lead to the door, I inch up, when I realize the front door has been left ajar.
Gripping my pistol tighter, my mind begins to swarm, wondering if this uninvited guest has anything to do with tonight’s failed drop. I use the end of my pistol to open the door wider, continuing to lead the way with it.
I scan the entryway, ready to kill whoever broke in, when I notice music playing faintly in the background. Taking another step forward, I detect that the music sounds like it is coming from the study.
The music grows louder as I approach the outside pocket doors of my study. Technically, it is a den, but I converted it into my library and office area when I had renovations done to the place.
Even standing in the hallway, I can feel the heat from the fireplace that, judging from its vibrant glow, must have just been set. Seriously, what the fuck is going on today? Someone breaks into my house to what, read a book and cozy up by the damn fire?
I can hear “Limits” by Bad Omens playing through the Bluetooth speakers I had installed recently. Ironic song choice, being that I have coined it as my unofficial anthem. Much like the lyrics express, I too have been fed to the lions however death, doesn’t scare me so much as it highlights the mission I must embark on.
With one hand, I quickly slide the remaining part of the pocket door open. Entering first with my pistol, I am met with the distinct hues of shiny auburn hair that belong to Lizzie.
Fucking Christ, I forgot she still has a key.
Startled, Lizzie lifts her gaze to mine. She is seated on the loveseat in front of the fire, petting my loyal pit bull, Nada. “Jesus Christ, Car, you scared me,” she says, oblivious to the fact that she let herself in without letting me know.
