Scott pulled up the driveway and stopped the car in front of the Family house then switched the engine off, but sat back in the driver seat instead of getting out. He was almost ready to risk taking the rap on a phony trumped up drug charge rather then face Brian and ask him for the money to buy off the cop. Suddenly he couldn't but laugh at the irony of the situation, Brian probably had half the Police force on the payroll and here he was getting harassed by the one dirty cop not in Brian's pocket. Finally with a deep sigh he resigned himself to asking for the money dispite the ass chewing that was sure to follow about how he needed to be more aware that because of his last name and whom his older Brother was, he was going to draw attention of unsavory characters.

Scott finally got out of the car and looked around, by the looks of the house, Brian wasn't one for renovation and remodeling. He looked up to see the pane of glass in Brother Ben's old bedroom window, still cracked and on the verge of falling out, it brought back to memory one of the rare times all three of them had spent any time playing together. Naturally at Brians insistence, they were playing catch with the football when Brian got a wildhair to kick the ball, which angled off the side of his foot, straight up and at the window, Scott paused a moment and wondered why it was that none of them had caught hell from Father for the broken window.

He gave up wondering way when he was suddenly in the middle of an attempted gang tackle by the housemaids two sons, Jaun and Carlos, Scott chuckled as the two boys tried to pull him to the ground and he wrestled the two of them before Maria came rushing out the door with a flurry of Spanish words in a tone that caused both boys to jump to their feet with heads bowed and eyes downcast. In sympathy, he rustled both boys hair and looked at Maria, giving her the puppy eyes look,"Now Maria, no harm done", he further distracted her by wrapping her up in a bear hug and giving her a twirl much to the amusement of her sons, of all the house servants that took care of him, in place of his Father, Maria had been the most understanding, he kissed her cheek as she slapped him across his biceps in mock protest.

He sat her down then asked, "So any chance of getting some breakfast, before the chupacabra comes downstairs?", he asked with a chuckle at her reddening cheeks caused by his use of the childhood nickname given in reference to Brian.

Before leaving, Jack grabbed a few spare magazines for his pistol and filled them up with bullets. Just as he was about to re-set his traps however, his phone buzzed; it was a text from Mr. Chang. “Mr. Ferryman. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I am going to need you to be coming to my workshop instead of the Café. The address is 23 Warden Street; it is a warehouse near some low rises just outside the projects. Thank you for your cooperation.”

That didn’t make sense, Mr. Chang had been very clear that under no circumstances was anyone to ever come to his workshop. Something was wrong, and it didn’t take a master criminal to figure it out. The Cartel had already gotten to him, and even worse, his new identity was already compromised. Turning back to his supplies, Jack put on a pair of grey leather gloves, grabbed a spare 9mm and threw it in his backpack along with a black ski-mask, a grappling hook, and a handful of zip-ties. Next, Jack pulled the suitcase out and emptied the contents of the suitcase into a plastic bag and dropped it back into the bag. Then, The Ferryman grabbed a second suitcase off the back table, strapped it to his motorcycle, re-set his traps and headed outside. “Fine,” Jack texted back, “But it’s going to be an hour before I can get there.”

Within twenty minutes, Jack arrived at an empty alley three blocks down from the warehouse and parked his bike. First, he removed his suit jacket and tie, draping them over the bike, he definitely didn’t want to get it wrinkled after all. Next, Jack pulled the ski-mask over his head and opened up the suitcase he had brought. Inside was a brand new Dakota Longbow, bolt action sniper rifle.


Carefully assembling the rifle, Jack attached the adjustable scope and a silencer. This isn’t what he had been hoped for upon retiring. He thought that he would finally have been able to just exist in peace, but it seemed he would never be afforded that luxury. Not for now at least. Jack loaded the five round internal clip and locked the bolt in place, chambering the first round.

As he climbed up the fire escape, gun in hand, The Ferryman prepared himself for the gruesome task that stood before him. Once he reached the roof, Jack surveyed the warehouse, noticing that there were literally zero windows, and the only visibility to the outside was by cameras. Then, he caught sight of the Cartel’s two lookout men, as they checked in with the team. If he could take them out, there were enough holes in the security feed to allow him to slip inside undetected. The Ferryman lay in wait for another 20 minutes, confirming that the man with the radio was checking in every 10 minutes. It was a short window, but certainly not impossible.

One… Two… Three… Jack took the first shot, hitting the man with the radio square in the head. Flick the bolt up, pull, eject the shell, chamber the second round, push, flick the bolt down. The second man dove for the radio that his companion had dropped, but before he could grab it a bullet pierced his right side and passed straight through his heart.

Go time.

Jack pounded down the fire escape, took apart the rifle, and re-strapped it to the bike. After grabbing the rest of his stuff, he hopped back on the motorcycle and moved it out back of the neighboring warehouse, which contained significantly less security. The police response times to this area were a lot less rapid than where he had been earlier that morning, so he would have time to break in and destroy their security tapes anyways after he was finished anyways. According to his watch, there was roughly five minutes left before Cartel’s men would be checking in. Moving into position alongside the workshop, out of sight of the cameras, Jack pulled out the grappling hook from his bag and threw it up to the roof. Once on the roof, he quickly stowed the hook in his bag, put a silencer on his pistol, grabbed the radio, and slipped inside the roof entrance.

The Ferryman pulled out his gun, and quickly swept the second floor, and noted that it was clear. “Attention, pendejos. I have your men hostage on the roof. Send up Mr. Chang, alone and unarmed, and I promise to spare their lives.” Spanish curses rang out from downstairs and one voice began giving orders, followed by footsteps storming up the stairs. Once they had passed, Jack quickly headed downstairs.

“What the hell are you doing, puta?” The leader shouted, hearing his footsteps. Once Jack came into sight however, his eyes grew wide, moments before a 45-caliber slug tore into his right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and crash down to his knees. Rushing to his side, Jack quickly kicked the gun away and threw a boot to the squad leader’s face. Swinging his backpack off his shoulders, The Ferryman grabbed a zip-tie and fastened the man’s hands behind his back and pulled him back on to his knees, howling in pain at the rough treatment of his shoulder.

“Any other guys than the ones upstairs?” Jack called out to Mr. Chang, who was tied to a chair a few feet away from him.

“No, that’s it. A five man team. They have a man watching my wife and daughter tied up in my house, too. Please, you have to help them!” Mr. Chang answered. At that moment the men who had been sent to the roof came running back down the stairs, funneling them straight into Jack’s sights; they never had a chance. The Ferryman opened fire, killing both men almost instantly.

“You fucking did it cabron, you’re fucking dead! You hear me! My men were nothing compared to the hell that is going to rain down on your stupid fucking face, puto!”

“Shut up.” Jack ordered, kicking him in the back, forcing the man to go down face first into the floor. “So you’re the one they put in charge of capturing me then? Yes?”

“Fuck you, maricon! My boss is going to eat your fucking balls for breakfast, and- Ah, fuck!” The leader shouted, before being interrupted by a kick to the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… pull out my eyeballs, cut off my limbs, feed me to a pack of dogs, whatever. I’ll take your answer as a yes, though. Seems like some pretty rough people you work for, huh? What do you think they’d do to the shit-brained idiot who couldn’t catch one measly gringo? Huh?” Jack asked. Silence hung in the air a few moments, as his prisoner contemplated the horrors he would be forced to endure at the hands of his employers for his failure. “Yeah, I thought so too… So this is how things are going to go from here. You’re about to call your man and tell him to help Mr. Chang’s family pack their bags, and then bring them here, unharmed. Mr. Chang is going to make me a brand new identity, and then I am going to kill you.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Well, then after I torture you until you comply, I’m going to drop you right on your boss’s doorstep for yet another round of torture, which I suspect will end in your death anyways. In the end, I am going to get what I want, and you are going to die. Your cooperation buys you a bullet.”

Brian & Scout

Brian was stewing in his own rage. He sat at his desk in his little office, fists clenched in a ball together, the veins pulsing out of the side of his thick muscled neck. Nobody would have the balls to disturb him at present. If anything was certain in this life, it was that anyone who crossed paths with a pissed off Brian Jagielski wound up receiving the beating of a life time.

Scout slipped from her car and walked quickly into the small makeshift office in one of the warehouses, her eyes pealed for Brian in hopes of seeing what she could do to help. She almost felt the heat coming off of him, so she stopped in the door and leaned against the frame, her heart beating fast, but her persona completely calm and cold.

"What do you want me to do to help clean this up? Say it and it's done." She whispered with care and determination to help.

Brian ran his hands through his thick brown hair and let out a great sigh. “He may have been a dick but Stevie is…was one of ours. We need to take care of his people. Get in touch with the lawyer, Caballero. He’ll make that right and make sure the money goes to his kids. Then get down head over to Stevie’s apartment, the cops will have already swept it by the time you get there but they’re too stupid to make a connection between us initially. Make sure there’s nothing there that can pull us down with this.” He leaned back in his chair and let out a great sigh. "This is fucked up, Scout. What was he thinking? We're gonna have to slow operations down, just pull legitimate cargo for now. Maybe a week and then we'll start distribution again."

She felt helpless for the man in front of her and yet she knew Stevie was jacked up on something from down south. He was in and out of drugs so often that to depend on him was a risk, and one that Brian was now left holding the bag because of. She walked across the room and placed a hand on his thick shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"I'll get to Caballero tomorrow, but will make my way to the police station now to see if there is any word that might be leaked from a few of our friends." She squeezed his arm once more and left, driving carefully, her mind lost in the why's...

Ben

The night had closed in, it had been a very long day. Ben closed his locker and threw on his thin grey hoodie. It was after all still California and ridiculously hot. He glanced down at the slip of paper he had scribbled on and crumpled it up in his hand before leaving the changing room and the hospital. Climbing into his car, a rather plain looking 1988 Chrysler New Yorker, he flicked on the radio and turned off into the street. With his families money, Ben could easily afford a better car. Hell he could afford not to even work but that wasn’t his style. He liked to hide in plain sight, it was the best way to do business. Having memorized the route just before leaving the hospital, Ben pulled up outside the block of apartments in a nicer part of town called Hillcrest. Turning off the engine, with cold blue eyes he looked up into the open window of Apartment 21b. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he watched Rose through the glass…

DAY TWO



Brian & Tomas Caballero

“Sí, Don Arias. Según tengo entendido. Jagielski le haré saber que es el doble de la expedición y voy a dejar mis ojos abiertos para el holocausto. No hay problema señor. Usted tiene mi palabra” Tomas hung up his cell phone and through it onto his desk. His bright eyes turned to look at Brian who was seated opposite him. “Don Arias is willing to continue on the deal, even after your man Kowalcyzk’s stupidity. However, he’s also made it very clear that if you and yours fuck up again, then you’re dead. You. Your brothers. Your daughter. Dead. The only reason he’s continuing on with this is because I vouched for you. And the only reason I did that is because your cousin Isaac married my sister and because of that girl he gave her. Screw this up Brian and even I can’t help”

Brian looked at the lawyer and sighed greatly through his nose. It still irked him that his late cousin had gotten into bed with the dirty Mexican cartel, worse than that he married one and ended up having a half latina kid. Fuck knows where that girl was, she was in her twenties now and last he heard she was hopped up on Eyeshine. “I won’t fuck it up” He growled. Tomas nodded. “Good because it’s double the shipment next week. Don Arias can’t afford it miss any time” Brutal got to his feet and stared at the man. “It’ll get done” He turned and left the office. Tomas looked at his phone. That was one problem down. Now he had to find the burned man.

Well, this was one of the perks of working for the Russian Mob and a fighting agency at the same time. They were putting him up in a five star hotel, all expenses paid, until they could find him a suitable apartment. His agent was still negotiating the Gym that he was going to be sponsored by, but the man told him that the best deals would only come out if he won the fight, and won it convincingly. The Russian had little doubt that he would be able to do precisely that, but until then, well, he supposed it was time for him to start hunting his brother. He knew he wasn't supposed to be doing that, but he wanted that out of the way as quickly as possible. If there was any way that he could help, he would. He didn't owe that bastard anything anyway.

But, as it turned out, he didn't have any connections in the States. If his brother had been hiding in Russia, Alex had made countless friends and acquaintances in prison, most of which were out by now, and could prowl the streets for any sign of the man, but here in The States his moves were limited. The first idea that had struck him had been maybe putting it out in the media that he had a long lost brother living in the country, but he had quickly done away with it. Far from attracting his brother to him, a man that had been on the run from some of the most ruthless gangsters in history would quickly go to ground, and Alex guessed that when a man like his brother went to ground he would be impossible to find. He finally came to the conclusion that the best way to find his brother would be for him to do absolutely nothing. While he wasn't doing anything, he was an electric light, drawing his brother in like an insect. He would know that it would a trap, but knowing was better than not knowing, so he would come close, take a risk. One that Alex hoped the mob would make him pay for in spades.

A knock on his door while he was watching TV. His eyes flickered upwards, turning the television off as he stood, stretching, wincing a bit as he pulled a bit at his tricep, worked a bit too vigorously by his trainer and maybe stretched a bit. They would hold off on exercising that muscle for a bit, until it recovered. He hoped it would be in time for the fight for, while he had the highest confidence in his abilities, if there was one thing that he learned in prison was that overestimating your opponents and being pleasantly surprised was better than he alternative.

He looked into the peephole, seeing three men in the hallway. All bulky, all overdressed with overcoats, long and to their knees, easily concealing weapons. It was a bit early for another Mob visit, so he smiled and opened the door, ready for anything. The three men entered, without a word said with Alex standing across from them. Nothing was said for a few seconds, and finally, the man on the right opened his mouth. Their eyes barely registered the hulking Russian flickering forward, his body arcing as he hammered the man with the open mouth with a thunderous hook to the man's jaw. He fell back, the crunch that Alex had felt on his knuckles indicating that his jaw was broken. He was either stunned or unconscious as he fell on the floor with all the grace of a rag doll, and Alex counted him out of the fight for the moment. The others were already reaching inside their coats. The Russian moved lightly to the side, catching the man in the middle over the ear with his left elbow, followed by a right to the kidney, and Alex grabbed inside the man's jacket, pulling the Uzi out and wrapping the strap around the man's neck, spinning him around to be between Alex and the third man, who already had his gun drawn. The injured man's Uzi was pointed over the same man's shoulder, at the third man.

"Anything stupid done here will be paid for by you," Alex growled.

"The Lawyer that came to see you at the Gym. He disappeared right afterwards. You have anything to do with that?" The man asked.

Alex chuckles," I must be criminal mastermind. I arrive in America one week and I already have contacts that can kidnap lawyers."

"You do have a contact. Your brother."

"If I was still in contact with that Slovoch I wouldn't have accepted your bosses' proposal. I have something called honor, and loyalty to family. You should try it sometime."

"We had to cover all of our bases," The man said by way of an apology," You were the last to see him, after all."

"Tell your bosses that if they try something like this again, I will follow my brother's example."