 
### Screaming Bloody Murder

Screaming Bloody Murder

By Michael McGowan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Michael McGowan

The night is alive with sex, violence and sin. The streets are a public display of the scum of humanity. Pimps, Killers and Hookers are all in attendance. Drugs fuels their actions and alcohol clouds their judgement, or as their lawyer would plead once they go a step too far and commit a crime; insanity. The gods condemn them with a storm that Noah himself could not prepare for. The rain crashed on the rooftop tiles like a large ocean wave against the rocks. The glow from the streetlights and neon signs made any clear vision difficult. The bright purples and yellows restricted my peripheral vision. My hair was pressed against my forehead, allowing bigger droplets to run down my face. The sound of police sirens echoed in the distance, though if you ask me there wasn't much they could do. This city was lost and the world knew it. The law never entered the underbelly of society; it's common knowledge that most don't make it out, but that's where I step in. I solve the problems that no one else can, for a price that is. I can bring the balance when the law doesn't have the nut sack to do so. I have no jurisdiction, no rules, and no remorse. I go by many names, some just call me a bounty hunter, others call me the solution and a few call me the fixer. I prefer the fixer; it tends to make targets piss their pants when they learn that the fixer is after them. I do have a real name, just like everyone else in this feeble world. But if I told you, it would be the last name you would ever learn.

The enticement of a wild manhunt with a hefty price tag is why I'm even in this fucking place to begin with. Money talks, plus I like a challenge. However this challenge manifested itself into something much more personal. It has pushed me mentally to a place much darker than anything I have previously experienced. Ghosts from the past came back to haunt me, to remind me of why I do what I do. Killers, freaks and liars came out to play today. They got in the way of my objective, so I blessed them with vengeance and brutality. My once pristine Hugo Boss suit was now cleansed in their blood, all in a hard day's work.

I looked across at a man, the main focus of my rampage in the heart of this city of evil, my payday. The man who had my wife with a gun firmly pressed against her head. He was cornered, nowhere to run. He gripped his SIG Sauer P226 with conviction and yelled,

"Do you even know who you're fucking with home boy?"

I wiped the bloody rain mixture from my nose and smiled. Then I reached into my pocket.

"Don't smile at me motherfucker! Now you're gunna tell me what you did with my brother Victor or this bitch will get it." he snapped.

I threw a handkerchief towards him, it unravelled and an index finger fluttered out before his badly scuffed trainers.

"You MOTHERFUCKER!!"

The barrel of the gun was now fixed on me. He wasn't playing anymore. I had struck the purest kind of fear into his soul. He knew me now. He knew my face and most importantly, he knew what I was capable of! I gripped the handle of my gun, I had three shots left. The air became dense and my mouth dry. I panned across at my wife. I couldn't guarantee her safety, I couldn't guarantee my own. I had to time this right. She was six feet from being saved but nine inches from an early grave. She shivered like a dying flower in the autumn. Her vibrant green eyes filled with hopelessness, uncertainty and regret. I tell her that she will be fine and that it will all be over soon. I took a deep breath and drew my weapon...

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Earlier...

The living room was dead; the familiar sound of silence greeted me as I woke up. It filled the room with its uncertainty and doubt. They say that silence is golden, that couldn't be further from the truth. Silence is unnerving; it has the ability to leave you with the sensation of being alone, even if you are in a room full of people. Silence is problematic, it makes matters worse. Well for me anyway. The heat from the night before had firmly attached my skin to the surface of the fine brown leather sofa. After five nights of having to peel yourself off, you become used to the sensation. I looked around the room, the opaque red velvet curtains blocked out the rising sun that was trying to creep in through the window. I wiped my brow on my already sweat soaked pillow and looked at the time. It was 7:10, I didn't need to move for another 20 minutes but I'd rather not face the bitterness of the one I chose to share my life with. She will do what she always does when she's in a piss-poor mood for reasons that only she and she alone understands, turn on the kettle which somehow causes the gravity of the room to change because she then slams every fucking thing like it weighs a tonne! Relationships are different when you're young because you don't fully understand each other, so you don't need know what buttons to press to make things right. You just walk on egg shells for a day or two and have great make up sex. When you're older, marriage just becomes a strategic game of battleships. You go at it until one admits defeat.

I left the couch and poured myself a glass of water, the first glass is always the most refreshing. I assessed the roughness of my stubble while I drink; it's just past the sandpaper phase so I should be good for another day or two. I think about why I'm even in this predicament with her for the hundredth time. Apparently, not taking an active interest with regards to what colour the bathroom should be is now the pinnacle of sin! Sometimes, I just want to walk away. Other times I just want to throttle her. One way or another it will come to some conclusion very soon. It's inevitable.

My alarm echoed throughout the house and up the stairs, to which loud thumping footsteps shake the house at its foundations. I take in an unnecessarily long breath. The living room doors open and I am greeted with a look you would give a convicted killer. Her hair was fierce, coiled up like the snakes of Medusa. Her tired red eyes cut right through me as she began her decent to the kitchen. I stood perfectly still as she slumped past. The plug socket is turned on and the kettle is filled, THUD THUD THUD! Stupid Bitch.

To my joy, my phone vibrated. Today's job came through and it was time to do what I did best. If anything it gets me away from this train wreck for a while. I retreated to the master bedroom to assess the assignment in peace. The spiral staircase is a never ending ascension into a new frame of mind. With each step I take up is another step into becoming the fixer. My complacency and compassion is ditched with each previous step until I am the cold killer I need to be. The smell of mahogany lingers as I open my chest of drawers. I take out my black suit and red tie, the colours of a true professional.

I checked out the details of who I need to track. Braga Ramirez, 44 years old, Latino American, has a brother of whom he is close with, drives a Bentley GTC V8, net worth of 250 million dollars and that is just based on his assets and not the dirty money. He has a big hand in in the majority of the drug smuggling and distribution. If any deal went down, he would be somewhat involved in it. This was a biggie. He had a 10 million dollar price tag on him, dead or alive. They are always the best kind of hunts! It is funny really, I carry out whatever hits are posted and capture whoever needs to be apprehended without asking any questions. There is always a good fucking reason behind every bounty. That's what makes me damn good at my job, nothing clouds my judgement. So if I see the shot, I'll take it.

I made my way down to the garage. My footsteps resonated on the wooden floor, I wanted her to know I'm leaving. I walked up to the kitchen; she turned her back to purposely blank me. It would be so easy just to shoot her now and forget this headache. My hands become clammy as I contemplate such a thing. I quickly give her the usual warning.

"If anyone asks if you know me you tell..."

"Yeah yeah I don't know who they're talking about; I'm not an idiot Christ almighty!"

I squeezed the handle of my gun for a few seconds as I bottled-up the urges to shoot her with an entire clip out of my system. She really didn't have a fucking clue what would happen to her if she was ever associated with me. She knew what I did for a living, but couldn't quite grasp the concept of the dangers that came with it for friends and family. I slammed the front door shut and sat in my car. Unlike her, some of us actually had work to do.

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A deep, yet familiar grey was gathering in the west. The sun's dominance in the sky was soon to be in jeopardy. Rumblings in the distance caused by thunder are changed in the echo, when the noise finds its way to me it sounds like the vengeful tone of a wrathful entity. Today wasn't going to be a pretty one. I put my car into gear and begin today's manhunt. DOA jobs are always interesting. Chances are the target probably already knows that there is a price tag over their head. If today went to plan in an ideal world, I'll be done by lunch, wound free and be very VERY well off. But when does life ever go to plan? Even professionals have headache days, and this job had migraine potential written all over it. To warrant a 10 million dollar bounty alone is a cause for extreme caution, one that is usually ignored by the average bounty hunter. The average bounty hunter is far too predictable; they are the kind that would probably go into any situation guns blazing without thinking things through. They would go for the target instantly. A lot of average bounty hunters die to my resounding sarcastic disbelief, they spend too much time working out at the gym and buying into Dog the Bounty hunters 'go with Christ bro' philosophy, instead of preparing a well thought out plan of action and having three back up plans just in case! Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with religion. I think having something to confide in to make your life feel less shitty is awesome, but how can Christ help you when a crazed drugged up lunatic that won't agree with reasoning pulls a gun on you? How can love thy neighbour become a hunters thought process in that situation? He certainly isn't going to love you in that moment or after he leaves parts of your brain on the wall. That's why I don't go with Christ; I go with my brain and my gut. That's why I am the best.

I could go and scout out his base of operations, I could just walk right in and it would end in death. Perhaps even my own death too. I knew that I had to play this one mentally; he needs to want me in a room alone to get in my face. I had to go after his brother. The target is very close to his brother, so if anything were to happen to him then it will royally mess up the targets mentality and he will make big mistakes. Family will always be a huge weakness for people. Messing with someone's family can push them to the brink and make them act out of character. It will make the target want me to find him; if anything he will come looking for me. That's the smart move as well as the right one. If Jesus were in my slick leather shoes, I'm pretty darn sure that he would opt for the same plan too!

Luckily for me, all siblings of those involved in the criminal world linger in the same lawless part of the country as their criminal brothers or sisters, Redwood or 'Deadwood' if you are a member of the law. To say it was a rough place would be a bit of an understatement. Five years ago, a town was sectioned off in order to facilitate the increasing number of detainees. The prisons were over flowing and it was only going to get worse. So to pull them all together and creating one big one immense structure seemed like the right move at the time. It did work for a little while, however having a vast majority of the sick and twisted living under one roof was always going to be a massive target, eventually outsiders attempted to seize it and cause a revolution. The five main powers of the criminal underworld united and forced their way through, Braga being one of the main powers behind it. Prison guards, the Warden and even the volunteer cooks were all slaughtered and dumped outside, left to rot. Every criminal mind, every murderer were now united under one front. The prison was now a haven. The bodies remained outside as a constant warning, a sign to those who wanted them out. They were here to stay, Redwood was under new management. The law stayed out of Redwood for their safety. Some had tried to take Redwood back; they just ended up joining the body count. It was impossible to match the man power that lurked behind the walls of Redwood. However, if you've got business there no one will bat an eyelid which was good seeing as I had big business to attend to! Redwood had become bad guy central. Everyone travelled there to do a deal, launder money you name it. It soon became self-sufficient, that attracted others criminals to join their ranks, some were mean; others just wanted a place to belong.

I looked around at the outskirts of Redwood, its solid grey outer wall stood tall, like a giant stone solider guarding its people. I parked my car so it wouldn't be stolen or trashed during my time here and preceded on foot. It was time to put the squeeze on some of the squealing delinquents and get some information on where I could find Braga's brother.

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The murky decent into Redwood felt like crossing over into another world, smoke and ember acted as a barrier between us and them that progressively descended into an unstable chaos.. It was almost like walking into a visual representation of Dante's Inferno with sin at every corner. Faces stared at me as I entered the main town, some screamed addiction, and some cried suffering but most enforced a blunt expression of disapproval at my presence. Their eyes analysed every strand of my suit, it was far too pristine to belong in a place like this. It demanded respect but aroused curiosity at the same time. I kept looking forward as marched on through the scum and the needles that littered the path. I knew the place quite well; a few targets have lingered about here before. So I knew where to go for information. I headed towards the one place where all the squealers tend to lurk, the Iron Arrow Bar.

I pushed open the iron door slowly; the squeaky hinges pierced my hearing as the door moved. The fumes from the cheap alcohol assaulted my senses as it stole the oxygen from my lungs. The overpowering essence of poor quality and probably counterfeit vodka resembled similarly to that of engine fuel, distinct, forceful and off putting. The light inside didn't stretch far, a cold room encased in darkness to hide the scum and the snitches. I stood tall and intimidating in the doorway, like I was royalty. I examined each and every single face as I walked in until I found one that crumbled at eye contact. In the far corner, the whining sound of western music could be heard. I laughed; every third word was either the name Darleen or something about a pickup truck. Rednecks really are true masters of lyrical structure, got to love them. My peripherals promptly alerted me to this quivering wreck at the bar, spilling his whiskey at my presence so he must remember me from somewhere. I sat on the rotten wooden stool next to him and looked forward. There was a brief moment of silence as the man finished his drink before promptly throwing what little money he had at the bartender and left. I followed. It is so much easier to do my job here as opposed to the outside world in some aspects because most of the people here couldn't give a flying fuck if you had a fight or killed someone right in front of them. That's as long as you don't spill their beer or they know the individual you're trying to kill.

My little snitch had bolted down in the alley. He was hidden and out of sight. I walked on the broken glass to emphasise my footsteps so he can sense how close I was. Each crunch rippled off the alley walls, after seven long noisy steps the dumpster rattled for a split second. That was all I needed. I lifted the lid open and exposed the hiding spot. I hoisted the man out. He did know me, I knew him very well.

"Well fancy bumping into you, little glass eyed Gavin! Where can I find Braga's brother?" I demanded.

Sweat and guilt filtered out of him, we had a squealer!! I gripped his thin worn collar and threw him into the side of the dumpster, bottles and cans rattled about inside. His eyes watered up as he struggled to string more than two words together. He slumped to the floor, rolled about and then started to shuffle backwards until his back hit the brick wall. His face turned white, he had nowhere to go now.

"Ma-man I aint t-telling you nothin'. I-I'm not just about to go and help y-you..."

I pulled out my gun and waved it in front of his face. He shrieked and started crying. Gavin was always a treat to deal with. I had used him for information a few times before. He doesn't look like the criminal type; he had a slender frame with bright unforgettable ginger hair. He couldn't kill a fly if he tried, he was that weak. He didn't belong with the animals that dwelled here; it was just bad luck and unfortunate timing that he is here. He was caught up in the Redwood take over, but he wasn't a real criminal. He was serving a 30 day sentence for vandalism. He saw the slaughter and probably thought he would be better off staying put. He lost his left eye during the takeover and received a shoddy replacement job from a 'surgeon'. Now theat left eye is infected and scabbed over with only a part of the glass eye still showing.

Gavin witnessed me in my element first hand a few months back when I apprehended two thieves (well what was left of them after I was finished) with rope, a large metal shard and barbed wire, it always helps to be resourceful when you lose your weapon. I always enjoy the job more when I have to be creative. Gavin knew what I could do, that's why he will talk and tell me what I need to know before I get really creative.

I fired one shot off upwards and pressed the barrel against his hand.

"Arrrgghhhhhh! Sweet mother of Mary! I don't wanna die I-I wanna I didn't mean no disrespect I-I swear."

I picked up a glass shard from the floor and pressed it on the scab over his left eye.

"You know that the pain receptor cells are more sensitive than normal when they are scabbed over? But even though it hurts you just have to keep going until you eventually have to rip it off because the pain is that intense! Give me a name or a location and I might just leave your face intact."

I twisted and torqued the glass shard until it scratched his glass eye. The sensitive screeching of the two pieces of glass rubbing made my skin crawl. Gavin yelped out to reason.

"Okay! Okay please! I don't k-know his brother but I know who will. His n-name is Roger Garcia. Apparently he is real friendly with Braga's brother. He runs the shipments coming in here by the railway network, tall fella, always wears a white suit you can't miss him."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Everything is so much easier when you cooperate. Did we really have to go through all this?"

I shoved the shard into his leg.

"That's for wasting my fucking time you one eyed prick!"

I dusted myself off and started to walk away with the screams of Gavin acting like a soothing song of a job well done. He then blurted out in his agony,

"You fuck with Braga's b-brother it won't end well for you! Braga will come looking for you and will fuck you up personally until he ends you god d-damn life!"

I stopped in my tracks, he quickly stopped talking.

"That's exactly what I'm counting on!" I said calmly

"You're gunna get what's coming to asshole! I just hope I can be there to see it!" Gavin continued to yell as he pulled out the glass shard. I walked back and pinned him against the wall.

"Well if you are, I will make sure I will cut you apart and feed you to some of the starving scum on these streets and keep you alive long enough to watch! That's after I've killed everyone else! Have a nice day!"

I dropped him and walked away, I think I made my point. I continued to leave the alley when I saw poster stapled advertising a special event from a few days ago, the name of the place was missing. However, it had Braga's name in big black font with a picture of his face. I finally got a good look at Braga, which made me grind my teeth, I stood there scowling. I clenched my fist as tight as possible, I knew that face all too well. I had encountered Braga before.

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I wasn't always the cold hearted bastard; in fact I used to be a right sweetheart. But the world has its way of changing and pulling you into what you are born to be. I used to be a gentle outgoing care free teenager. The only gun I had ever used was the plastic replicas you use on arcade shooter games. You know, the only games that are licenced by eighties action films and take up the back corner of amusements, right next to the over eighteen slot machines. I had my small group of friends and I had my little problems like all teenagers do. Everything was more or less normal for me, apart from my family. They were extraordinary. My younger sister had a bright academic mind and an infectious bubbling personality that every single TV station would kill to have, my brother had just been accepted into one of the most prestigious universities in Europe, my Mother was the face of child protection she pushed forward legislation and inspired millions to make sure child abuse would never occur again. Then there was my father, he was a very smart man, actually that's insulting to his intelligence so ill rephrase that. My father was an absolute genius! He revolutionised science and how we perceive life today. He specialised in creating new compounds and making the rest of the scientific community bask in his excellence. He wanted to push the boundaries to places one could only dare to dream about. His ambition and success made him a celebrity. The world watched in disbelief as he recreated the Big Bang live. The world worshipped him when he created a new compound that could cure cancer without any probability or side effects. However, his desire for knowledge would make him a marked man. Most drugs are compound based, so when word got out of his success in creating new compounds, every crooked vulture within the fifty mile radius wanted him for their own personal gain, Braga being one of them.

Luckily my father wasn't crooked; he was honourable and stood against them. Unfortunately, as he would soon learn though, when the powerful wage war it is the pawns that pay. Braga wasn't having any of it; things became heated and escalated quickly. On August 20th 2009 we were celebrating my brothers last night with us before he set off for Europe. We had a few drinks and played a few games in the garden before settling down in living room to watch a film. That was when Braga and his band of merry men forced their way into our home. The first goon, a big gorilla looking bald man fired wildly into the ceiling. The rest of his goons tied us up. That was when Braga wandered in. His shoes crumpled the broken bits of plaster, his white fur coat sat effortlessly on his shoulders. Before anyone could say anything or tried to reason, he shot my brother point blank in the face, dead in cold blood. The back of his skull shattered like a piñata and his brain matter dropped out like the candy. My father, now an emotional wreck knew why he was here and what he wanted. Not wanting to anyone else to die he, created a new compound for heroin to specifically enhance the effects of addiction, it would make the customer hooked and desperate for more at a much quicker rate. That way, after one try you would be instantly hooked. The effects of being high would fade faster and Braga would have a lot more money to roll in. I watched as my father constructed the formula, he worked slowly. He didn't look at anyone; the guilt had taken over and forced his body into auto pilot. When you take away a parent's child, you truly leave them with nothing else to live for. When he was finished he pushed the formula against Braga's red silk shirt and shoved him, he then turned to contend with my brother. As he began pulling and collecting the pieces of my brothers shattered skull from out of the thick white rug, Braga emptied his revolver into my father's back. It wasn't in quick succession; there was a long pause in between each shot, he took the time to admire every gunshot wound like it was a fine work of art. The sound of the revolver chamber slowly turning and clicking with every shot sunk my soul further and further down into the swirling pit of sickness that was spinning around in my stomach. Braga watched as my father struggled to protect his family. He crawled towards us, his left arm gripping on whatever it could to pull him along. Braga fired the last round in the back of my father's head when he was within reach of my mother. My heart leapt up into my throat and wedged itself there. Braga brushed down his long fur coat and exhaled a huge sigh of relief; he then inhaled the smoke from the shots fired and relished the sweet smell of a flawless victory. He then looked at us with overwhelming pride and accomplishment.

"You see, I always get what I want."

He picked up the formula which he came for and left. His men then drew their weapons and open fired on the rest of us, like good obedient thugs. The flashes from their gun lit up the room like a firework from hell.

It was a strange sensation being shot for the first time. I remember feeling like my chest was on fire from the inside, clawing away trying to force its way out. I knew I should be screaming in agony but not one single sound left my mouth. I remembered the smell of my own flesh cooking from the heat the bullet left, like rotten barbeque. I landed on my side, still strapped to my chair and I watched as my family eventually succumbed to their wounds. I looked forward; all that I could focus on were my father's pebble white stone eyes looking back at me, looking through me. This was the price of brilliance in a controlling world. I wished for a lot of things in that moment, to have been able to have stopped them, to have been able to have shot them first, even to have lived a quieter life without having the spotlight of success constantly on us. Then my eyes started to get heavy and I knew this was it, I would soon see them again and everything would be alright again. After what felt like a really long blink, my eyes were greeted by an overpowering hospital light glaring down at me. By body stiffened as I shot up out of the bed. Tubes were snaking from different parts of my body into all sorts of machinery. I could hear the heart rate monitor constantly rising and alerting the staff about my revival. Footsteps from all directions became louder and the room flooded in a sea of white jackets and latex gloves. I didn't join my family after all. To this day I still don't know how I managed to survive. In all honesty, a big part of me never wanted to. The thought of having to be alone scared me. I soon went through the motions of being interviewed by the law. I saw their faces change when Braga was brought into the equation, their cheeks slumped and their eyes closed at the sound of the first two letters leaving my mouth. At that moment I knew nothing would ever happen and justice would be avoided.

I never went through the mourning process, I still haven't. Maybe one day I will, who knows. I shook hands at the funeral, I listened to so many people tell me how sorry they were and preach to me how it was such a loss to the world. I didn't care. I didn't want their apologies. Their apologies wouldn't bring them back, and it certainly wouldn't apprehend Braga. But I knew that one day I would have my chance to get him, one way or another. That's what gave me solace. It was in that moment I felt something raw first manifest inside, something primal and I was no longer afraid of being alone, Braga or anyone else. Now that I think about it, it was those feelings which turned me towards the path of bounty hunting. Knowing that there was a way I could prevent something like that from happening again made me deal with it better. I took on the criminal world one thug at a time, making the world that little bit safer with each successful bounty. Now fate has thanked me by giving me the task of apprehending Braga, dead or alive. I guess the world works in mysterious ways like that. You put in the hard work and the world will throw you a bone every now and then.

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I soon arrived to the railway network, a towering sight of a steel structure engulfing the area with its vast frame and complemented by coloured glass. There were some pieces that had been potted but that was to be expected considering the location. They couldn't exactly call someone in to repair them now could they? Who in their right mind would? It gave off a strong feeling of possession (both in the spiritual and substance sense). It was hard to believe that this used to be the import bay for the food needed to feed the prisoners. The whole thing looked like a setting for a horror flick. Graffiti had been applied on almost every inch of the ageing brick work. The cargo shipments were in wooden crates and stacked, climbing towards the ceiling. My guess was that it was filled with the drug my father was forced to create. It was always in demand; the modifications worked and junkies everywhere needed it. Its popularity only grew as the word spread through the networks of crime. Dealers around the globe wanted some of the action so they dealt exclusively with Braga, making Redwood the drug capital of the world.

Towards the upper echelons stood a thin skeletal like man in a crisp white suit casting his watchful eye over the place. There was my target. Garcia. He was your typical middle man, but with a twist. Before he did time in Redwood, he would acquire dirty money from a client and do 'something' to it, then it would be clean and good to use. He was a man that was good for business, but double cross him and you would soon learn your lesson the hard way! When he was finally arrested and convicted, it wasn't for the money laundering. Oh no, those were additional charges that came to light once he had been caught. Garcia was caught stripping the skin off a man and forcing him to eat it while his family watched. Turns out he had lost a couple of thousand pounds that belonged to Garcia, so instead of giving him your traditional warning like a punch to the face or a brick through a window, he put a bib on him and made him eat himself instead. Extreme and grim, but it would indeed get the point across. Ironically, it was the screams of pain from his victim that alerted a passing patrol car to what Garcia was doing. Everyone has a dark side, Garcia probably had the darkest. His white suit screamed elegance and class to all those that saw it. However, it was a contrast to what potential evil that was dwelling within. I was excited by the task at hand. It was time to have a little fun, get the information I needed and give Garcia the same respect he gave his victims! I buttoned up my black suit jacket, that way my white shirt wouldn't become stained in the blood I was about to spill.

I scouted the area from the bottom right corner to try and find a good place to observe the area; a good vantage point is always vital when it comes to navigating an unknown area. It can reveal many different routes as well as any potential dangers you might encounter. I veered off to the left of Garcia's overlooking gaze and climbed up a stack of boxes. I perched up and began to plot. I could see four men actively patrolling the yard, their paths never crossed so taking them out wouldn't be much of a challenge. However, getting to Garcia would be a lot harder. There was only one way up towards him on the balcony and that was via the ladder behind him. That wasn't an option, he would see me instantly. Luckily most of the structures were on its last legs, the balcony had one beam propping it up. That was my target; all I had to do was cause a bit of chaos to get it. I worked my way back down and picked up a heavy wrench to take out the guards. The cold feeling from the wrench energised my body. I swung it to feel how much momentum it could generate. It will do the job and the cries will unsettle Garcia and the other men, exquisite. I pressed my back firmly against the crates and counted the approaching footsteps, five...four...three...two...one. I swung my hips violently towards the guard which gave the wrench more than enough momentum it needed to ravage his forehead apart. His head bounced off the wooden crates as the force from the initial hit threw him backwards. Blood trickled down as the body slumped to the floor. One down, three to go.

I darted across the corners, the noise from my shoes were just an after echo of where I had been. The fast tapping from my footsteps enticed guard number two to investigate with its melody of mystery; the price of his curiosity was a precise clubbing to the jaw followed by an intentional throw head first through a crate, just to announce to the remaining few that were not alone. The Create crunched open and the powdered drug dispersed out like an unforgiving cloud, a psychedelic mushroom cloud for the other two guards to walk into. I could hear Garcia squawk faintly in the background.

"What the fuck is going on there! Call in! Report zone 2! The rest of you, check that out now, stupid little fucker. Braga is gunna be pissed!"

I took the guards mask so I didn't breathe in any of the drug by accident and I took a few steps back to become invisible amongst the cloud. Soon enough, the two pawns emerged and reported their findings.

"Ah, the silly bastard must have tripped and gone through a crate Mr Garcia."

He must have started to yell as he moved the walkie talkie away from his ear and stared blankly at the other guard who returned the favour. You have to take a second to really appreciate the low level of intelligence that your typical henchman has these days. It's always a pleasure to see. No regard for the blood splatters, the fact he managed to make up that much force to go through a crate that thick also they haven't noticed that the other guard hasn't arrived yet. They make it too easy sometimes. A buck tooth hick could assess this situation better. Despite their entertainment value, I had to take them out now. I threw my wrench at the lurch with the walkie talkie after he had finished talking, clonking him on the back of his head. Yelling in rage he turned around and pushed the other guard, to which he retaliated and pushed him back. Fists soon followed, idiots.

Once the dust had settled I pounced onto the back of the winner and I squeezed his neck in a rear naked choke. I choked him unconscious and picked up the body; I had bigger plans for him. A properly applied choke can cause a man to pass out and remain immobile for approximately six seconds, for every extra second the hold is on for; an extra two seconds are added to the time they spend in unconsciousness. I held it on for at least thirty seconds so I had about a minute until he regained his senses, if he was even capable of doing so. I picked up the guard and made my way towards the balcony. I could hear Garcia yelling on the radio as to why one guard was being carried. The body hid my face. It worked as the perfect cover until I was close enough. My eyes latched onto the post in all of its unstable glory. I braced my legs and launched the body into the support. The beam snapped with relative ease, like a brittle twig in someone's hands. The balcony crumbled and began to consume the guard with bits of rubble and stone. Garcia wobbled and fell right at my feet. He gazed up at me in a fearful confusion. I dusted off my suit and grabbed him by his now dirt ridden white collar. Now the fun could really begin.

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"No please don't, what do you want with me?"

I shoved Garcia further down to keep him moving, his hands were tightly bound and his sight was constricted by a blind fold. His knees buckled with each step. His feet plodded about randomly like a pathetic lost entity walking towards his final resting place, the only thing he didn't do was piss his white trousers.

"I'll give you money, women, whatever you want just please don't kill me." I ignored his pleads and bribes and just kept marching him further and further. The ripples of thunder in the distance made Garcia jolt stiff like a plank of oak. It really was such a beautiful sight to see this feared criminal reduced to crying like a small child. I then halted his movements by sweeping his feet from underneath him and introduced his face to the harsh ground. I tied his arms so they are outstretched in front of him. I fired two shots into his legs, just be sure that he couldn't run away. I stood above him and pressed my shoe firmly into the back of his neck. I could feel the heel lodge itself into his visible spinal column.

"Braga's brother, where is he?"

He whimpered as I pressed harder, putting most of my weight onto him. The pressure must have been excruciating, it wouldn't be long now.

"I don't know anything, I swear." He squirmed.

"See, I really don't like liars Mr Garcia so if you could just cut the shit I would very much appreciate that."

He remained silent. The ground began to tremor slightly, right on time. I laughed a little to add to Garcia's uncertainty in his head, I knew what was approaching.

"You don't have long my friend. If I were you I would tell me what I asked you before things are beyond my control."

The ground shook more vigorously. I nearly lost my balance at one point.

"What's making that happen?"

"Tell me what I need to know and you will see it."

"I-I can't do that."

I started to feel vibrations from the floor work into Garcia and up my leg and rattle my bones slightly. Now was the time, I removed his blindfold.

"TADA!" I shouted

His Italian green eyes glazed over, crispy and smooth like glass. His mouth hung open at the very sight of what was on the horizon. His lips trembled before pointlessly screaming for help as the sight of the next train shipment of Braga's drugs was relentlessly heading for him. The cold steel tracks underneath him sectioned him off, head torso and legs. And the train would make sure that it was a clean cut when it hit him. Now Garcia had pissed his whit trousers.

"Fine I'll talk I'll talk! He will be at the betting office right now so you can catch him there."

"What if he decides to up and leave?" I snarled

"He won't go anywhere; he watches over that joint for Braga personally until six O'clock every day and takes the earnings to him. So he will be there. But just know this, if you mess with Braga he will kill your family and make you watch."

"Is that so?"

I smiled at him; I felt my left eye twitch slightly before my eyes refocused on him. He was about to beg me to help him up, a small grin emerged from the corner of his bruised mouth he moved his head towards his hands as to signal to me that he wanted to be untied. The fear had evaporated out him, thinking he was now safe. My breaths became deeper and longer and my smile vanished, so did his. Blood splattered up my face as I forced my heel into the lower end of his spine repeatedly. I slipped into autopilot as he roared and shrieked ungodly sounds of anguish that sounded like an imperfect symphony that only the devil himself could truly appreciate; I buried that fear bluntly back into his torso. The skin ripped away, making more room to shove more anxiety and hopelessness into his chest. I picked up a large piece of metal and bludgeoned him several times over, but not enough to kill him. Not like he promised me Braga would do to my family! Shame I didn't have much of a family left to watch die wasn't it! Unfortunately for me the train had the luxury of dicing up this slimy piece of shit. It was one less heartless fiend to worry about. I looked back at the shipments all stacked up full of what he killed my father for and looked back at the train. I dropped the metal bar across the track beside Garcia, hiding it from sight. I took a few steps back and allowed the train to do its job and for Garcia to fulfil his new secondary purpose, sending a clear message to my fucking payday.

"You'll pay for killing me! Do you hear me! When Braga finds out no one is watching his supply he will come for you!"

"You mean when Braga finds out his supply has gone up in flames and you've vanished?"

Garcia stopped talking, I don't know if it was from the visible blood loss escaping from his now ruined white suit or if he just managed to piece my new plan together. Regardless, the sound of the approaching train was the only noise I wanted to hear in my brief moment of triumph. The noise form the train was now deafening, the smell of the approaching doom was refreshing as well as satisfying. Garcia shuffled somewhat onto his side. He stared at me in a somewhat bloodless weak confusion, unable to focus on anything yet still whimpering, a lot like how he left people who crossed him. Now a train was about to cross him.

The train tore through Garcia effortlessly, like a paper going through a shredder. The metal bar twisted and lodged itself in the train, causing it to become unstable from the impact and lose control. It bounced on the rails like a raging bull, swaying left and right without any relenting mercy towards the rail yard. The front cart tipped over admitting defeat which caused the other two carts to launch in the air, they crashed through the glass and shattered the crates, and then the fire took hold and melted away Braga's drugs. I looked back at Garcia; his arms were all that was left, his fingers still twitched every now and then. I wonder where the rest of him ended up.

I took out my red velvet handkerchief and wiped away the scarlet red splashes of blood from my face. All was well; I had the location to Braga's brother whereabouts. But then I saw sense.

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It has often been said that letting your emotions get the better of you for a split second can have disastrous ramifications further down the line. Getting emotionally involved can start off a chain reaction of vengeance like in the Old Icelandic days where every murder was avenged with a murder until a family bloodline no longer existed. I could have just killed Garcia, I had the information I needed, but my emotions took hold for a split second and I trashed Braga's shipment. So chances are his brother will be guarded at all times or worse. Moments have a funny way of affecting someone in the long run. Moments are the usually the difference between doing a job unscathed or going through hell just to get paid. It is almost as bad as saying 'go with Christ!' Even though I finally felt some form of satisfaction of knowing that Braga will be suffering financially, I went the wrong way about it professionally. I felt ashamed, angry at myself that I allowed myself to make such an amateur mistake. My arms became heavy and my sweat turned cold. I knew then that I would pay in some form for this. But personally I knew deep in my heart that I didn't care, it felt very satisfying to send a Braga a big fuck you! My time with Braga would soon come and I'd make him pay. Emotion and logic are two strong entities to keep in line, but that line was starting to become really obscure. Ever since I saw Braga's face and realising that he was actually the person responsible for killing my family, I knew there was no way I would be able to keep a cool head throughout. I took in a deep breath to stop my stomach churning around the guilt, anxiety and anger long enough for me to think logically and prepare mentally for taking Braga's brother. I knew I could get to him quickly now I knew where he was. Braga will be one step behind me; I had to play the advantage while I still had it.

I took one last look at the ever climbing flames from the rail yard. The fire licked the structures and swallowed it whole, leaving it in a glowing, warm enticing orange colour before it all finally collapsed under the heat. I left one flaming inferno and turned to begin my decent into another, an inferno of blood, bullets and pride. I had four clips and one in my gun just in case things got a little hairy. Good job. Someone once said that it is the human condition to make a task as hard for them as possible to find their breaking point. That finding ones limit will always be at the forefront of what we do. How fast we can do something or how much we can do something plagues us on a daily basis. I don't know who first said that but I know I am about to become the perfect subject for this. How far am I going to go in order to get this job done now seeing as I have made it much harder for myself? I guess time will tell. I took the long way round back into Redwood.

I arrived back at my car; I took out my flask from the glove compartment and took a nice long drink. A few sips of whiskey could give anyone that extra boost they crave. I centred myself and plotted the next sequence. I opened the boot and stared at my tools of my trade. Their well-kept metal glow gave me many ideas, but this one had to be special. I dug deeper, until the shine and the pristine edges were replaced with rust and jagged teeth of immoral torture. Some shit could spin; some had spikes just for the sake of having spikes but it wasn't what I was looking for. Then I found them, my precious set. My unique objects that really got people talking were at the very back, patiently waiting to get my attention. They were always the most fun to use; it would be rude not to use them. I opened up a duffel bag and threw in my unique objects, the thought of what was about to transpire gave me an all too familiar sinister chill.

My footsteps somewhat quickened as I began to walk towards the betting office. News travels fast in this place. The fire wasn't exactly subtle to begin with, but word of mouth can always put a dangerous spin on things. Things get lost in translation, and things get added in translation. Someone could very easily just point out that I had something to do with it just because I wasn't from around here. They wouldn't be entirely wrong either which is funny when you think about it. Imagine that, someone making a tall tale only to find out that it was true; it would be like the time when Big Foot just waltzed into a rally that was there to prove his existence. That was pure genius!

I kept my head down until I approached the betting office. The windows were all boarded in so it was impossible to scout. However the doors were heavy so a lock in would be very simple. I twisted the handle and swung the door open. I looked at my new environment, it had screens with odds on (not that you would ever win) my eyes were drawn to the ceiling; the dim blubs coated the room in a dull, dirty yellow glow. I could just about manage to see the smoke from the cigarettes as it hovered above my head.

My eyes slowly moved to a normal level; I counted three men amongst the smoke, all which were looking at me in a state of confusion. Behind them sat a few small canisters of gasoline, probably for a generator or something but they were obviously dumb enough to smoke near them. One of the men had to be Victor. Luckily for me, Braga hasn't sent any additional men to protect him yet.

"Hello there, which one of you is Victor?" I inquired politely.

This fat, bald, tattooed Latino gangster put down his greasy sandwich, stood up and adjusted his scraggy looking goatee, probably trying to get rid of bits of bacon lodged in there.

"Yeah I'm Victor, who the fuck are you home boy?"

I dropped my duffel bag and threw a knife into the faces of other two men. The knives made a muted thump as they embedded into the skull of each man; I walked forward and stepped over the mixing streams of blood. Victor froze as he attempted to process everything that had just transpired. I clenched my fist as I picked up the pace and punched him with a harrowing left hook to his jiggling jawline. And just like that, the lights were out in Georgia!

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Victor was tied down across a solid wooden table; his clothes were taken and he was still out cold. Maybe I hit him too hard? I slapped his face a few times. The fat on his face rippled from his cheeks and merged with the ripples from his neck and chin. He started to come to, finally. He tested his strength against the restraints. The thick rope held him firmly in place, the grooves burrowed into his skin as he attempted to move an arm. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Yo man, the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me? Wait, did... did you take my clothes?! Are you high? Untie me now you fucking freak!"

I grabbed his skid marked XXXL boxer shorts and rammed them into his mouth, inside out. I could feel my heart beat slowing down as I looked at him. He stared right back, he had no idea who I was or why I was here. He didn't know what Braga had done to my family in the past. But I did, I hadn't forgotten and unfortunately for Victor, I was in a vengeful mood. Despite wanting to keep my emotions in check, I couldn't pass up this opportunity. I felt my facial muscles contract around my eye as everything that Braga did to my family played like a film in the back of my mind. I had held on to this for too long, the beast inside had to be let out. And in that moment, I felt somewhat free. I picked up my duffel bag and cradled it like a delicate child.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go Mr Ramirez. If I did you would miss out on all the fun."

My broken laugh became muted in the density of the room. Victor turned his head and watched as I slowly opened my duffel bag. The sound of the zipper unravelling made a deep growling noise, like a beast had just been awakened. Victor sobbed as I picked out a Scalpel, its slender shape would be more than adequate to get the job done. I continued to reach into the bag, the muted crying from victor continued as I pulled out the small pouch which contained my special items of hell. I walked up to him to unveil the items to him.

"You're in for a treat; you get to meet the ex-girlfriends. Only special individuals get to meet them and feel their misery."

By this point, Victors tear ducts were in full flow. I laughed menacingly as I unveiled them one by one, salt, a candle and rubber tubing. I could see the confusion and relief suddenly set in Victor's eyes; the crying had stopped as he regained his composure slightly, he was still aware of the scalpel though. But the scalpel was the most timid of the selected items. Everyone that had the privilege to be introduced to my special items have all reacted in the same way, some even laughed at them, but they all soon regretted it once I let them do their job! I started with the scalpel.

"This little guy is my right hand man; simply because he is reliable and knows how to get the job done."

I shoved the razor thin edge of the scalpel into the smooth cold skin of victor's eyelids. I etched away at the top of his eye socket just to be sure that the incision was deep enough. Each stroke on the eye socket felt like rusty nails grinding across a chalk board. It was dull sounding at first, until more pieces start to come off and the area was completely exposed. I didn't want him to blink throughout the process I was about to put him through, so it made perfect sense for me to remove them both. It was fortunate for Victor that I was blessed with a very steady hand. One slip and he would lose an eye. I didn't want that. Vision is important. The scalpel had cut through the skin like a hot knife through butter, effortless and precise. Blood ran down the sides of his face, onto the table and dripped onto the floor. Each droplet sounded like a leaking pipe, it was distinct yet alarming to hear, especially for Victor. Victor attempted to mumble what sounded like 'what do you want from me' but I couldn't be entirely sure. Plus if I told him it would ruin all the fun I was having. I then placed scalpel on the webbing between his fingers. I couldn't help but notice that his middle and index finger on his right hand had a much higher webbing in comparison to the rest, it was only right that I started with that one.

"You know, it's always the finer cuts that hurt the most wouldn't you agree?"

I rocked the scalpel back and forth as it effortlessly carved its way through his small deformity until I was just the past the knuckle bone. I then moved on to the next one until all the webbing between his fingers and toes were just flaps of skin.

"Don't you just hate it when you get the fucking annoying paper cuts; you know the ones that won't stop stinging no matter what you try? Imagine if they could cut deeper. That would be uncomfortable, wouldn't it?"

I moved round the table, catching him whenever I felt it necessary to do so. The quick little scratches were going in deep though. Deep enough to leave bits of his skin flapping back like a rolled up top lip. I carved all sorts of accidental shapes into him, from curvy ticks in his arms to pointy shaped spikes on his legs. I also very carefully drew a smiley face, just to make me feel a little better about the whole thing. I mean bringing back painful memories to relive isn't exactly all sunshine and rainbows is it. However by this point, his repeated inaudible moans of anguish had become somewhat annoying. It forced me to use my first ex-girlfriend, the salt. Most people would dismiss the idea of using salt as a method of torture, but the truth is that salt is a poison, one which is irritable and burns when used in the right way. That way when it is applied onto the eyes, (even more so when it is applied to eyes without eyelids) the solution will absorb all the moisture in his eyes and scald through the exposed tissue.

"This little bitch here is called Cynthia. Cynthia will love you and leave you with that fucking intense sting; you know the kind you weren't really expecting to have. She's the love you and leave you type. She keeps you nice and sweet until she gets what she wants and leaves. And boy do you feel it big time when she leaves."

I mixed the salt into an acidic water solution and held it over his face for a moment. I allowed him to watch the salt mix with the untreated water. The trick here was not to cover him in the salt solution, but to drip it on to the exposed areas over his eyes and then gradually add more. That way it easily removes the protective layer protecting the eye from infection and over powers the tear ducts, causing them to dry out. This leaves the area exposed and highly irritable. You can never adjust to the pain like that, the slightest muscle movement sends shock waves of pain due to the pain receptor cells being exposed and damaged. Plus they squeal more too, when you take your time to do things properly. Like they say, nice guys finish last, and I take a fucking long time to leave the start line!

I carefully poured it directly into Victor's exposed eyelids, the exposed flesh silently sizzled as the salt began to dry up the area and corrode. Then I dropped a few into his eyes, three or four drops at a time, until they became plagued with a petulant bloodshot glow that was so red it radiated slightly in the dim light. He started to judder due the intense irritation he was beginning to experience, but he was well restrained. I crouched beside him and held the remainder of the solution near his face.

"Cynthia is a bitch isn't she, wouldn't you agree?"

I poured the rest out over each scratch and cut I had inflicted. I lifted back the flaps of skin, ripping them open a little more, I splashed a little and pushed the skin back over so it could burrow away. His fingers, arms legs and torso had all been given the fixer five star treatment. He had no choice but to let the solution go to town and do its job. It would be interesting to know which wound hurt the most, the brain can only register so many and it was safe to say he had his fair share. After a few minutes the solution had dried up, leaving his eyes tender and raw, like someone had given him a prolonged sandpaper treatment to his face. His skin had dried out and flaked away in large strips, leaving it blotched and oozing. I wondered how much it sting if something touched it. I playfully prodded the sore area to which his cheek jolted. Moving even the slightest inch would cause his body to react to the solution. Now was the perfect time to bring item number two into the fold.

I unveiled to him, a candle.

"Now this short tempered mistress is Bethany. She is the kind that makes you focus solely on her until it all becomes too much for you to handle, and that's when you see the bad side. She burns you up inside and forces you to give in and when you do, she consumes you until no one recognises you anymore. You think Cynthia was bad? You haven't felt anything like this yet."

I lit the candle and held it above my head, the flame flickered in the murky darkness as I began to walk towards Victor, I started to sing the only song that I felt would be deemed appropriate to what was about to happen next.

"And it seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind. Never knowing what to cling to when the flame sets in and burns your fucking balls off!"

I carefully placed the large flame between his legs and under his nut sack. All I had to do now was let Bethany take control and get him all hot and bothered. He wouldn't feel anything at first, the human body hand withstand small flames quite well. However, once the flame grew high enough the consistent temperature on his skin would become unbearable. Our human instincts are to pull away from heat that is around boiling point, but he wasn't moving anywhere. I could tell it was starting to work due to the unpleasant aroma of burnt hair and skin floating around. He was cooking at rare but he had a long way to go before he was well done! The flame started to appear over his inner thigh. It had finally engulfed everything that needed to be cooked and burnt. The smell was now nauseating. The burning fat lingered amongst the smoke which rose up from the flame. I watched gleefully as the flame melted away at his skin until the inside of his thighs started to blister and bubble from the consistency. One can only begin to imagine how bad his balls must hurt right now. The tear ducts in Victors eyes had all dried out by now, so any crying he was able to muster up only made the pain in his eyes worse. The ooze from his skin began seeping profusely. I prolonged the flame a little longer before I used the rubber tubing. I grinned; I knew I had to take off my jacket for this one.

"This one my friend, this is by far the most special lady you will ever meet. You'll love it. As much as I like the other two, this one is on an entirely different level. This is Tania, and she will kill you. She may not look like much, she might appear plain. But once she gets her claws into you it game over. Shall I explain? I think I will explain. Basically, Tania here is going to control your oxygen intake. If nothing blocks the airways then you will be perfectly... oh no, what do we have here, gasoline? Well this would definitely cause problems, especially if use this funnel to pour it in. Oh well accidents happen."

I picked up the scalpel and the rubber tubing. I placed my right hand firmly on his forehead and shunted the scalpel onto the anterior aspect of his neck and made a perfect incision downwards. I opened a direct air flow through another incision in the trachea. Victor just looked at me with his bloodshot eyes. He struggled to cry but the pain he was feeling was plastered all over his face. This tracheotomy was going to be entertaining, well at least for me anyway. I pushed the tube into the incision. I was about to pour water into it until my attention was drawn to the fact I was supposed to use gasoline.

"Look at that, I was too distracted cutting you up that I nearly used the wrong liquid to drown you in, not that it would make a difference. You're still going to drown. I just prefer the smell of gasoline."

I started by slowly dripping the gasoline, Victors head twitched with each drop that entered his lungs. Then I poured a little in. I watched as the realisation that this could actually easily kill him take hold of his face. It left his sore, gunky eyes petrified and fixed on mine. Little by little I continued to pour more and more in. Then the panic settled as he struggled to breathe. His sore eyes widened to the point of bleeding and his nostrils flared in a hopeless attempt to take in more air. Nothing was working for him. He looked up, like he was praying for some miracle to happen. I knew what he was feeling, it's the one sensation I don't particularly enjoy. Panic was something I first experienced at the hands of his fucking brother when he fucking shot me after he had killed my family in cold blood. Victor was drowning and there was literally nothing he could do about it. His fate was in the hands of someone who didn't particularly care if he lived or not. His full body shook as the oxygen was becoming scarce, the restraints held him down, he had been reduced from a Latino hard man to a whimpering coward. I removed the boxer shorts from his mouth and I stopped the gasoline.

"Oh yeah by the way, do you know where can I find your brother? I knew there was something I forgot to do."

"The empire, He's at the empire." He mumbled

"That's the big building in the middle of Redwood isn't it?"

Victor nodded; you could hear the gasoline sloshing about inside him as his head moved. His breaths had become short and fast as he tried to take in oxygen. I rummaged through his pockets and took out his phone to call Braga. A bold move I know, but I knew this would get him riled up and wanting revenge. I do believe that a video call would get my point across; I pointed the phone to the ground at first and put on loud speaker.

"Hello? Victor? What's up bro?" Braga enquired.

I smiled at Victor as I walked towards him in order to unveil my work to his bastard of a brother. I cleared my throat.

"Well hello there Braga, how are we doing this fine day."

"Who the fuck is this, Where is Victor?"

"Say hello Victor; don't be rude to your brother!"

I raised the camera on the phone so Braga could see his brother burning, choking and dying. I love how modern technology can really connect people and make them feel like they are actually there in person! It was incredible. I moved the camera nice and close so Braga could see the full thing as clearly as I could. I said to victor, louder than normal.

"You didn't give me a choice, I had to do this. All I wanted to know was where I could find your brother. He is the one I want. You just happen to be his brother, so you automatically get the same treatment by association. Well this is what having a powerful family member gets you my friend. Even if you haven't done anything at all and are an innocent bystander, there will always be collateral damage."

Braga would know all about that, at the end of the day, he took my family from me! He killed my family to force my father's hand. Victor just whimpered. I could hear Braga going off on one saying all sorts of Latino bullshit. I moved the tube and put it near the flame .I took Braga off loud speaker and took a seat to have a nice casual one to one chat with my living pay check. Braga screamed at me,

"You better not lay another finger on Victor. Leave me brother alone!"

I looked up at Victor. The fumes from the gasoline were enticing the flame to move down the tube and into his lungs. His short breaths would soon make that a painful reality.

"Well seeing as you asked me nicely, I promise I will not lay another finger on him. I will just sit here and talk to you. It's nice to finally talk to you by the way."

I watched as the flame started to move.

"You fucker you wait until I get my hands on you! I'll kill you, your family, your friends and heck even everyone on your street. By the time I'm done you will cease to ever exist!"

"That's all sweet, but there is one small problem."

"Oh is that so?"

"Yeah, you don't know who the fuck I am, but I promise you, we will be face to face very soon."

"You piece of shit! Just you wait until I..."

"Oh wait a sec."

The flame had quickly worked its way up the rubber tubing and entered Victor's lungs. The fire ignited in him and burst through his chest like an alien from a Ridley Scott Sci-Fi film. I took a picture of Victor and sent it to Braga.

"Now remember, you told me not to lay another finger on Victor. So technically this is your fault, I could have stopped it but you told me to leave him. What sort of a brother are you?"

Braga didn't say anything else, he just roared all sorts of funny sounding words at me. His tone promised vengeance, but using his mother tongue to promise such a thing was like being threatened by Pingu, hardly intimidating if you ask me. I hung up and smashed the phone on the floor. I couldn't be bothered to listen to his empty threats. I had Braga now, I was in his head so it was time to move, good job too because it wouldn't be long before his men arrived to look for Victor.

I took out my sweet machete; it was a pristine thing of beauty, sharper than any blade I have wielded, it reflected any light that hit it due to its shiny compounds and the grip was phenomenal. It was a true masterpiece of weaponry, so beautiful and yet so destructive. I named it 'James Cameron' because everything it does is a cut above the rest. The fire had burnt a hole where Victor's lungs used to be and torched the rest of him. Yet his eyes still looked up. It was nice to know that he suffered. It was a shame that there wasn't a little ounce of life left in him so he could feel this bit. I held my machete up high at the side and I disassembled what was left of Victor like a child would break a Lego house, piece by piece as quickly as possible. I saved the legs until last; it is always harder to cut through a leg than it is arms and torso. Femur bones are pretty darn solid! I pocketed one of his fingers that I removed just so I could further mess with Braga. I bagged up the rest of limbs and threw them in with the rubbish outside. The restaurant next door had a pile of gone off meat that stunk worse than Victor did when he was alive, so no one will look there. I took in a very large breath. The room now smelt of death, smoke and gasoline. I packed up my items and left this place. I looked at the charred table and felt some form of justice. It went against everything I usually say not to do, but I have to admit that it felt good. Braga felt my pain emotionally; soon he would feel my pain physically. Job well done for now, time for a quick drink before I kill the big fish.

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Darkness was creeping in the sky from the distance, slowly clawing away at what was left of the sun so it can rule over the landscape with the night. The few streetlights that actually worked started to flicker and prepare to light the way the best they could. I was ahead of schedule. I decided to pay the Iron Arrow bar another visit, but this time for a drink. Time was indeed on my side, I knew I could leave it for a good hour or two and let Braga stir in his anger until he slips up. That will happen when he realises that Victor cannot be accounted for and that will be the perfect time to strike. His mind will be elsewhere and he will be more vulnerable. I will have the darkness for cover. He will make mistakes and I will be there to pounce when he does! I sat on a very cold bar stool; the place had lost all sense of atmosphere, my previous visit must have scared away the customers. The shitty music had stopped too. The barman just glared at me, cleaning the same glass for what felt like an hour. His thick slug moustache twitched at the sight of me. His eyes looked as if he had just plotted my murder from the second I walked in, his pupils were large and he refrained from blinking. He knew better though.

"What will it be?" he snapped

I paused, I allowed him to become even more agitated in my presence, just like my mother used to say, treat others how you would expect them to treat you. So by that logic it was the barman's own fault for my long reply. I scratched the back of my head as I analysed every bottle on display, from alcohol percentage, to the colour of the liquid before I felt he deserved an answer.

"Hmm I think I'll...no actually, no I shouldn't, yeah go on then. Can I have one...beer?" I smiled.

Looking even more agitated that it took me that long to answer, he stormed to the other end of the bar, hopefully to get me my beer. That was when the door opened. The familiar squeak from the hinges moving still irritated my senses, like scratching a knife and fork on a plate. I kept looking forward and tried my best to block out the sensation. When the door had finally closed, I could hear one footstep followed by the other being scraped along the floor. The noise was drawing closer to me. A quivering hand pulled the stool next to me and a body slumped onto it. Not only could I smell his overwhelmingly bad body odour, but I could feel him looking at me, wanting me to turn and look back. I gritted my teeth, this prick was asking for an elbow to the face. I hate it when people stare at me from across the room, so to have someone stare up close was almost unbearable. He started to laugh, albeit via a lot of spit and saliva. I glanced quickly... it was fucking glass eyed Gavin!?

"The fuck do you want?"

He laughed louder. His face looked like it had been ten rounds with a wrecking ball. I know I was pretty rough with him but I only stabbed him in the leg and ripped at his scab. He didn't seem to care though, he looked somewhat happy to see me. I have to admit that it had me a little unnerved.

"Well?" I demanded.

"You picked the best time to start a witch hunt my friend, I owe you one!"

"What are you babbling on about?"

This was the moment where everything would change. All the chess pieces would be wiped off the board. To call it a game changer would be grave understatement. Gavin reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar looking mobile phone, my mobile phone. I felt the life leave my face as I ran every single scenario in my head, none of them turned out well. I felt shame, as well as anger. I should have made sure I had all of my belongings on me at all times, what I fucking idiot I must be to be outsmarted by glass eye Gavin of all people! His somewhat triumphant face now irritated me to the point that I just wanted him dead! His slimy mouth continued to speak, I don't think he had heard of the term 'quit while you're ahead, or if he did he didn't consider it!

"I took it from you when you threw me into the wall, I was just going to sell it and make a little profit. But then you set fire to Braga's drugs. So me being the stand-up citizen that I am, I went to him with it to get a nice reward and put you in the shit! Only it didn't quite work out like that, the guy thought I did it and bashed my head in for a good few hours. But that was when you rang him. Oh how he changed his tone then. He put two and two together and accepted my help. He's taken your sim card and replaced it so he can contact you. He told me to tell you, errm oh yeah, I guess I'm the one laughing now you ingrate."

Gavin proceeded to laugh in hysterics, why wouldn't he. He somehow managed to get one up on me. God knows how. Air came out of only one nostril when he laughed, probably because the other was blocked with blood. You could see the visible strain on his face due to the discomfort, he forced it and then his nose erupted on my face. It was at that moment the bartender returned with my beer, good timing too, I needed alcohol! He handed it to me with Cheshire cat grin. I wiped the blood from my mouth I downed my drink until I could see right into the green bottle. It momentarily calmed the roaring fire inside. I cancelled out Gavin's laughter while I visualised the situation, there was no denying that a shit storm would be heading my way. Do I cut my losses and leave or wait for the eventual phone call and trap from Braga? A gassy burp forced its way out of me as I pulled out my hand gun and shot out Gavin's good eye. His body lost all sense of control as he crashed to the floor and wasn't going to get up. It was finally quiet again. I looked at the bartender, I placed the bottle on the bar put my gun away and leant forward. He winced as I reached out to him; I handed over what I owed him in his front pocket and picked out the pieces of Gavin's skull from his hair. I put my phone back in my pocket and got off the stool.

"Sorry for the mess."

I intentionally kicked Gavin in the face as I stepped over him to head for the exit. That's what revenge will get you, I should know, my small moment of revenge at the rail yard has now put me in a much worse situation, deep down I knew that would happen too. Actions motivated by revenge will never end well, but human nature can sometimes get the better of even the best of us.

I stood outside, the air had become dense. It looked as if there was a storm brewing in more ways than one. The neon signs began to make their presence felt. Yellows, purples, reds and greens dominated everywhere I looked. The neon lights also brought out the nocturnal scum that thrived in the darkness and festered in the corners. The true face of Redwood began to reveal itself. I had to weigh up my options now, fight or flee. I knew Braga had my Sim card but there was no way he could hack my phone to bypass my passwords in that space of time and find out all the information I had on him. There was no way he could confirm that I was here to collect the bounty. He must have known about the bounty though, the man wasn't an idiot, plus word travels fast so he is bound to assume that is why I'm here anyway. He didn't know my face or my identity, but he is bound to set a trap (seeing that I butchered his brother and no one can find him)that I will have no choice but to spring which will most likely kill me. I smiled, it's a good job I love a challenge. Then my phone rang. Each vibration shook my entire body. I looked at the screen; it was indeed my number just under the name of 'your death bringer' which I thought was very cute indeed! I answered but didn't speak at first; I let the silence do the talking for me. After a good twenty seconds Braga finally spoke.

"My friend, you picked the wrong man to fuck with! You fuck with me, yeah I'll probably kill you but you fuck with my family? That's when I get imaginative."

His scare tactics wasn't going to work; I knew I was capable of MUCH worse. I remained silent and allowed him to hear the sound of his own voice a little more.

"I'm guessing that you're some kind of Jason Bourne kind of guy? Walk into a room and kill everyone with a toothpick or some shit? Yeah I bet I got that right didn't I?"

Jason Bourne? I made Jason Bourne look like a spoilt brat with a water gun. Braga continued to talk, the frustration started to emerge in his voice.

"Listen here, you tell me where Victor is or you bring him to me and I will forget this whole thing ever happened. Otherwise I'll have to introduce this pretty little lady sat here to a world of pain, and then I'll kill her right in front of you. Oh and kill you too of course. Hey pretty lady say hello."

The sobbing cries of my wife resonated into my ear.

"She's told me all about you. She was quite the motor mouth on her. We are at the Empire; you have two hours from now to arrive here with Victor. I guess I'll be seeing you soon Mr Da-."

"I'll be there!"

I cut him off; I didn't want to hear him say my name! No one knows my name and lives to speak it out loud!

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It is often said, 'when there is a will there is a way' to me that was a posh philosophical way of saying that you accomplished something you didn't think was possible by accident but don't want to tell people that so you mutter 'when there is a will there is a way'. The idea of just needing the will to do something is a nice thought and if it were true we would all be some form of singer/sports star. If I were to get through this, it wouldn't be down to having the will; it would be down to good preparation. It would be fucking super if I could just will my way through and put everything right but the world doesn't work like that. You need to plan to get your goals and do whatever it takes to achieve them. That's why there are very few singer/sport stars. I prepare for everything, that way I can always have some control over the outcome. Having the will to do something shall never be enough, especially in this situation. I knew that my chances of getting the jump on Braga had gone, so there wasn't a need to take the silent approach anymore. I hid my duffel bag in the bin down the side of the Iron Arrow Bar. I would come back for it once I cleared up this mess, plus the tools wouldn't be much help now anyway. The clouds started to rumble; I checked my handgun and my clips, fastened the buttons on my suit and started to walk towards the empire. The rain started to fall; the hookers ran for cover under anything like vermin, drug deals continued to go down, just a little faster than normal. I just kept walking forward until I arrived at the bridge leading into the Empire.

The Empire dominated Redwood with its modern design in the tattered, rundown surroundings. It was a rare jewel in a sea of pebbles, it just didn't belong there. It was built on top of the site where the old prison was initially overthrown, a condemning tribute to how crime can prevail. At the top of the three tiered building sat Braga. A man of his ego would want nothing more than to look out over the scum and wrong doings he helped introduce to this sectioned off circle of hell. The Empire ultimately was a crooked casino. It was a place where you lost your soul as well as your money. You heard stories about how people could run up debts in a matter of minutes after walking in, and then had the choice of death or making it up to the powers, one way or another, depending on your gender. I was about find out first-hand what other horrors lurked within. I took my first step on the glass bridge that triggered a fountain of water on either side; they shot up towards the rain that fell down. This continued until I reached the black double doors of dread. I gripped both gold plated handles and braced myself. This was it. One, two, three, I pushed the doors open without any conviction or consideration for noise. I wanted everyone to know that I had arrived.

The bright lights engulfed my vision in an overpowering array of confusion. My eyes adjusted to the obscene level of brightness that the Empire produced, my ears were then greeted to the sound of slot machines from every direction. I drew my hand gun and I held it out ready to fire. I then quickly took cover behind the chrome Wheel of Fortune and waited for the welcoming party. Thirty seconds became a minute. A minute became three, nothing. No guards, no guns, no customers, just the monotonous sound of slot machines. I expected some resistance or some trap at the door; I still expected something to happen. Then a familiar voice bellowed out from the overhead tannoy.

"Ah my friend you made it, welcome to the Empire. Now where is Victor? Hand him over, take your wife and then we can have a nice time what do you say?"

I could hear a camera zoom to my location I stared into it. I used the reflection in the lens so I could quickly brush my hair with my hand.

"Victor had other business to attend to so he couldn't join us."

I could hear feint footsteps form behind approaching me, I pretended to ignore it.

"You crack me up; it's nice to finally put a face to the name by the way. Well seeing as you haven't brought my brother to me then there isn't any real reason for me to keep you alive. Die."

I turned and grabbed whoever was trying to get the jump on me and threw him through the giant wheel of fortune. A freakishly tall blonde man stood up from the game, brushed himself off and charged at me. I clearly pissed him off. He foamed at the mouth as his large frying pan like hands hoisted me up by my neck towards the camera, presumably so Braga could watch as he choked the life out of me. I attempted to fight out of his abnormally strong vice grip. It wasn't budging. His cold drug induced eyes widened as I began to turn red. I swung my knee into his chest cavity to create some space, I then managed to aim my gun under his chin; I fired my gun three times in his face. His face erupted and scattered everywhere like when you feed rice to a pigeon. I fell to my knees, gasping for air. That was a little too close for comfort. His blonde hair floated down like feathers. I removed the parts of his face off my shoulder and then shot out the cameras in each corner of the room. Now Braga couldn't watch, but I could still hear him.

"KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM!!"

The boss wasn't happy, he sent in the armed thugs which I had initially prepared for. I took cover behind a slot machine as ten men dotted about and began to take pot shots. Perfect, it made it that much easier to kill. I glanced into the chrome wheel of fortune to see a few of them walking about, I could time each single shot perfectly so what would sound like a pot shot to them would be a well-executed shot by me, sometimes thugs make it far too easy for me. I listened carefully; a pot shot echoed from my left so I turned to my right and shot an approaching thug in the heart. His limbs went stiff. As he fell to his knees I quickly grabbed him and snapped his neck just to make sure he wouldn't get back up. I could only pick off a few before they noticed what was going on. I had to switch it up in order to avoid a shootout because even though they're a bunch of idiots, they still have a lot more firepower than I do.

I thinned their numbers out by another three on the same left hand side. That left one more on the left and five lurking on the right. The pot shots were getting further and further apart. I had to act fast before they realise that something was wrong. I peered round to the right and waited, waited for one to stray close enough for me to grab. I saw my opportunity; I pounced on a dazed and confused looking man staring out into space. I wrapped my forearm around his throat as I fired one shot into his back then held him close. Using him as cover, I rushed the closest man to me. I threw the body at him which blocked his panic shot and retuned fire faster than you can even think about blinking.I grabbed him and moved on to the next one and the next until I had taken out the entire right hand side in one burst. The remaining man ran to assist his already dead comrades; he followed the trail of bodies round right into a head shot that echoed drowned out the sounds of slot machines for a split second.

I pulled off an M16 from the last man, I had another level to climb and couldn't afford to waste my remaining clips, plus it wasn't exactly a secret that I was heading up the stairs so Christ knows what will be in store next. I grabbed the last body and kicked it through the door leading up to the next level; I had to check for explosives. The body went through the door like scissors through paper; No gritty explosion. It was good to know that they probably don't want to bring the Empire down at my expense. It was also nice to see that Braga spent money on cheap doors as well as cheap hired guns. The back stairs were a polar opposite in clean quality that the casino floor resembled, well used to. It was damp, murky and stunk of slaughter which enticed me to climb another step to solve the mystery of where the source was. Then speckles of red started to appear on the floor, dabbling towards a large dark crimson drag mark the showed you the way to a door. This door wasn't cheap like the rest. It was firm, metal and menacing in its design. Its hinges were reinforced with a thick iron material. The door its self was made with solid steel. It was designed to keep people out... and keep someone in. The door was left slightly open as a light escaped in the small opening. It had to be a trap, yet what was worse was the fact I had to spring it. I tucked the M16 into my armpit to steady my aim and put my right hand on the door handle.

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I swung the door open and charged into a circular room. It was tiled, murky and cold. You could tell that once upon a time, the tiles used to be white. But they were now a shoddy dark brown, probably due to the build-up of dried blood spilled over the years. One light swung effortlessly from the roof. It briefly shone a light on to several sinister spots with each swing. Smashed in tiles with parts of skin still attached, chains cleansed in blood and parts of clothing. I managed to make out a sleeve from a thick green farmer shirt, a back pocket from a pair of denim jeans and tattered black dress that looked like a pack of savage dogs had it for dinner. It is hard to imagine how many faces had been beaten here, how many limbs had been removed or how many women had been raped here. This room was the epicentre of evil. I could feel it feed off the evil I carried around inside. The light flickered which drew my attention back to why I was here. In the middle of the floor was my wife, helpless and tied to a chair. The look of relief possessed her face momentarily. The sweat soaked in her hair and panda eyes from her mascara told another story. Before I could approach her, a door opened from the opposite side, Braga and two more behemoth sized men accompanied him.

"Jesus what do you feed those bastards? Do you inject them with steroids before or after breakfast?"

"No my friend I do not, well not with steroids. It is more of an experimental mixture adapted from what some great scientist made for me a few years back."

Braga smiled at me; he removed his orange lensed sunglasses and hung them on his appalling blue and green Hawaiian shirt. He closed the door behind him, with some difficulty. He placed his shoulder to push it back before using his weight to force the metal slab across to lock it. His struggle filled me with confidence; it showed me his physical weakness. I knew he would now find it difficult to make a quick escape. I had him here, soon to be alone. My eyes danced between the two overly sized hulks. I quickly rattled off what was left in the M16 and took out the two men in a blitz of bullet fury. Their chests smoked as they fell to their knees and then onto their face. I wasn't in the mood to waste time anymore. I just wanted Braga dead. I glared at Braga, but his smile still remained. His confident stature put me on edge for a split second, he must be bluffing. I threw the empty M16 to the side and pulled out my hand gun and took aim.

"I'm really going to enjoy this. Probably a lot more than I enjoyed the time I spent with Victor."

His smile vanished instantly, and a grim sour look consumed his facial muscles, the venom he had for me was of the purest kind, it took everything he had to force any dialogue with me.

"Not as much me my friend"

His eyes looked past me for a spilt second. Something must be wrong, had I missed something? No, impossible. Then I heard the door behind me slam shut and I felt my heart miss a beat due to my error. Heavy dinosaur like footsteps shook the darkest depths of my soul; this wasn't going to end well. I turned on the spot to try and get the first shot in before anything escalated. However my gun was slapped out of my hands and I was greeted by a giant stone like fist speeding like a meteor right on to my jaw. My legs wobbled and I slumped to the floor. My vision blurred. Braga laughed; I couldn't properly focus on what he was saying. All I could hear was a loud ringing. I had been too eager to get at him. I had sprung the trap alright, I admit not as well as I could have. I didn't take everything into account before I walked into the Empire. I forgot to close the fucking door behind me. I ignored the basic rule of 'make sure no one can get the jump on you, always keep your back covered.' Still though, despite the sudden unfortunate event I knew that this would probably be my best shot to kill him. So I needed to make it happen, somehow.

When my senses finally returned to me, my eyes were treated to Braga's face right in mine. He was sporting a victorious cat like grin, but his eyes told another story. They were bloodshot, probably due to the stress I managed to inflict on him in the past couple of hours. He was most likely on all kinds of drugs too, it clearly showed. His pupils were fully dilated, his skin was drenched in sweat, and his shirt looked like it was weighing him down with the amount of moisture it had absorbed. His movements were fast and nervous, fidgeting his fingers like he was overly anxious. He could not calm his breathing; he was a man on the edge. I guess he genuinely did care about his brother, oh well. His state of mind could either work out in my favour or make everything worse.

He gripped my hair with his greasy fingers and pulled it back, he looked as if he was examining my facial structure. He pondered at what he saw. Irrational perhaps, or maybe I was about to find out again why Braga was so infamous.

"Hmm, you're far too well groomed to be a killer. I think I will have to make you fit the description. There is no such thing as a handsome hitman. I assume that's why you're here? Or is it for personal reasons? Perhaps, maybe it is both! Your wife talks far too much my friend."

He started to put on four very large rings on his fingers, rings built for the most majestic of kings, solid gold with jewel buried at the top of each ring. He swung his fist into my face, twice. Blood began to flow from my nose. I kept my mouth shut and just smiled. Luckily my wife was gagged; her cries and screams wouldn't have made the situation any better, even though I was being walloped in the face I could still think due to the place being quiet. I knew he wouldn't harm her seeing as he needed me to cooperate with him. Braga grabbed my hair again and asked

"What the fuck did you do with my brother?"

His breath smelt of gone off fish, it was an overpowering aroma. He was wasting his time with the punching; he had a much better chance of making me talk with his death breath. I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. His impatience was spreading through him like a virus. The Rocky Balboa punishment continued, my eye glimpsed at the big man stood close next to me, he had his gun in an open holster. That was probably going to be the final blow. Braga signalled for him to walk over, he gripped my head in a tight vice grip and held me up so Braga could work my body. Unlike popular belief, a well-placed body shot is a lot more effective than just being walloped in the face. It ruins your breathing and can forces your body into an alarmed state. I had to keep it together just a little longer. I felt the first punch take the wind out of my lungs, followed by a crushing left hook to the liver. I felt my body tense up. My arms twitched, which made me realise that not only were my arms free and not bound, but they hung down right near the open holster of brainless Brian here who was holding me up.

Braga continued with the punching, I managed to remain calm. I was so close to a gun. So there was light at the end of the tunnel for me. However Braga was he polar opposite, he was letting his emotions get the better of him. He was in too much of a rush to find out what he needed to know, I could see the exhaustion starting to take hold. He stopped for a moment to catch a breath but tried to save face by walking slowly. He probably wanted to skip to the end and offer an ultimatum seeing as I wasn't telling him what he wanted to hear and that he had worn himself out. Now was the time to act.

"I'm a very busy man so I will not ask you again; I will just force it out of you until you beg. Beg for me to end your fucking life!"

I spat out the blood I had building in my mouth, and laughed. His face strained with rage as he went red, his veins emerged under his skin. He resembled a volcano that was just about to erupt. It was time to turn the tide on Braga. I smiled, blood splattered as I said.

"If death is coming then it better come quick because I have you now!"

I dug my heel into the shin of the big thing holding me, he lowered my level slightly but it was more than enough. I pulled the gun from his holster and fired four rounds into his giant clown like feet. Each bullet ripped right through his shoe and through the flooring. He quickly dropped me and hopped around crying out like a wounded bear. Braga scrambled in total disbelief. He grabbed my wife from the chair and headed for the door, he just about managed to lift the latch but he struggled to turn the door. I stumbled to my feet, gun in hand and took aim. Braga looked back as he began to let the terror take over, the heavy door was turning. It wasn't tuning fast enough though, I had him and he knew it. I put my finger on the trigger and smiled. The cold material felt wonderful against my skin and encouraged me to squeeze a little harder. My eye then caught a glimpse of something bouncing towards me at the last second. I was blindsided by the hopping buffoon as I fired, which caused my bullet to stray away. This gave Braga the final few seconds he needed to open the door. He dragged my wife out with him. Son of a bitch!

I grabbed the chair and smashed it over the giant lump of muscle which stopped him from hopping. He crashed to the floor. I grabbed a sharpened piece of a chair leg and plunged it into his chest before he had the chance to regain his senses. His mouth opened as he exhaled all the air in his lungs. I jumped on the chair leg with all my weight like a pogo stick just to make sure it went through him properly. I could feel it slowly sinking through him until it hit the floor. I stepped off the body and chased after Braga. This stair case up to the final level was a lot cleaner; it had a soft black carpet which was already a massive improvement. It felt like ascending into a higher class, it did make me laugh that people had to walk through that room to meet with Braga; it was most likely a scare tactic to assert himself as a dangerous top dog when it came to doing business. It wasn't exactly hard to look for where Braga went to, I just had to follow the signs of struggle and anxiety. Broken glass, smashed vases and scattered paper formed a clear path towards the access to the roof of the Empire. The room itself was a unique sight to behold. Treasures, statues and trinkets made their presence known instantly, they were all encased in thick bulletproof glass to maintain a look but don't touch relationship with anyone that inquired about them. Next thing to be astounded by was the vast collection of weapons on display; machine guns, rocket launchers, explosives and swords. Everything was still in its rightful place; all weapons were accounted for as far as I could see. The idiot didn't even stop to pick one up. He was too concerned on getting away from me to even think about it. That's that power of panic for you, disperses all logic in one's mind and makes them make foolish mistakes. I resisted the urge to pull off a Rambo and shoot him with an oversized gun in each hand, as cool as that would be I wanted to enjoy the resonating sound of the one shot being fired. Even more so when I saw what was behind his desk. On the wall above where he would sit were several pictures. The prison warden, a couple of guards and a lot of faces I didn't recognise. Then, to the right on the third row was an image of my father. It sat there innocently in line with the rest like a chain. There was a gold inscription at the bottom, "To all those that made my dream possible." By brain throbbed, he kept a picture of my father as a trophy. It was some depraved tribute to those he had stepped on to become the scum he is. It was at the very least one hundred pictures in total. Braga however was still nowhere to be seen, however I could hear the clear sound of the storm outside which led me right to where he had moved to. To my amazement, the hatch to the roof was still open, rain bounced on the top five steps leaving them soaked through. What was Braga thinking? I walked up; the rain quickly engulfed me in the storm. Rain drops slammed furiously as I stepped onto the roof. I looked around on the deserted roof and there he was, stood at the edge of his precious Empire. His eyes popped out and fixed on me like a chameleon. This was it; this was where it all ends.

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I wiped the blood rain mixture from my nose and smiled. Then I reached into my pocket.

"Don't smile at me motherfucker! Now you're gunna tell me what you did with my brother Victor or this bitch will get it."

I threw a napkin towards him, it unravelled and an index finger fluttered out before his badly scuffed Nike performance trainers.

"You MOTHERFUCKER!!"

The barrel of the gun was now fixed on me. He wasn't playing anymore. I had struck the purest kind of fear into his soul. He knew me now. He knew my face and most importantly, he knew what I was capable of! I gripped the handle of my gun, I had three shots left. The air became dense and my mouth dry. I panned across at my wife. I couldn't guarantee her safety, I couldn't guarantee my own. I had to time this right. She was six feet from being saved but nine inches from an early grave. She shivered like a dying delicate flower in the autumn. Her vibrant green eyes filled with hopelessness, uncertainty and regret. Yet she remained silent. I tell her that she will be fine and that it will all be over soon. I took a deep breath and drew my weapon...

"I'm gunna fucking butcher you, just like I did to your father all those years ago. Only this time I will make sure you won't come back!"

My eyes were fixed on them both, my heart rate slowed significantly. I gripped the gun as tight as I possibly could. I could feel the grip imprint onto the palm of my hand. How the hell could Braga know that I survived? Or make the family connection in such a short period of time? I didn't have the same last name anymore to protect my identity. I only ever told one person about my old life, and I was looking at her right now. And in that moment, something changed inside me. I unleashed something sinister that had been gnawing away in the darkest parts of my soul for the past couple of years. I looked at my wife in a whole new light, she had compromised me. I felt my mind and logic sever into shards of uncertainty and shift away with betrayal. I knew that this would happen, fucking knew it! Who knows if she would do it again? Had she already had told someone prior to this? All of the bad moments, the fights, the looks and things that were said forced their way to the front of my memory. They were revolving round and round like a slideshow of misery. I stared back at them, Braga was still moving like a raging gorilla but my wife was calm. Considering the situation, she seemed somewhat confident. I no longer saw a fragile woman filled with uncertainty and regret, but a battle axe with the look of expectation and demand. The only thing she didn't do was look at her watch as if to ask me to hurry up and kill him so she could go home. It was as if she knew her safety was in the bag and that things would soon be back to normal. She wouldn't walk from this experience with a new found respect and appreciation like I wished she would eventually have one day, she would know for a fact that no one would ever lay a finger on her. It wasn't only Braga that knew who I was and what I was capable of, she did too. What would stop her from using me as leverage? What if she started shouting her mouth off to the wrong person...again?

"You did kill my father, you sick, vile son of a bitch. You also killed my family! Your tried to kill me once and failed! But how did you work everything out in just a few hours?"

"Well I can't take all of the credit; you see your motor mouth missus here didn't really know when to shut up. She was all like my husband is going to kill you when he finds me. But she kept looking at my impressive wall of fame. I didn't think much of it at first, but she only looked at one. I think you know which one I am talking about. Then it was really easy to make this little white piggy squeal everything she knew. Everyone has their price, but hers, let's just say she didn't exactly hold out for more money once I made my first basic offer."

"Wives, you can't tell them anything." I joked

"I enjoyed killing your father; he was stubborn and proud. He had what I wanted so I took it. That's how I do business. I see something I desire and I take it."

I stood silent. I allowed the words sink in until they were forever lodged in my brain. The rain soothed the burning betrayal I was feeling. My head ran through many different ways in which I could kill Braga, some were straight forward, others were over the top. After scanning through at least twenty ways I decided that it was only fitting that I gave Braga the same treatment he game my family.

"You two would make a great couple; you both get off causing me grief!"

Her eyes widened, she finally displayed some emotion. She wasn't scared of Braga, oh no. She was scared of me! And it felt fucking magnificent! I readjusted my aim from Braga's head to something more central and looked at them both the same way. They were filth, filth that the world didn't need anymore. She attempted to mumble something to me; thankfully her big fucking mouth was still covered with duct tape. Braga hesitated in a moment of confusion as he looked at her and lowered his gun slightly off target... I didn't.

Smoke floated from my gun and dispersed in the rain. It was a clean hit. Braga dropped his gun immediately. My wife looked down, red started to seep through her clothes, she looked at me in disbelief, and I just smiled back at her. Braga still had hold of her as he started to walk backwards towards the edge of the roof.

I slowly fired another round into them, just like he did to my father. I began to walk forward.

"You might take everything you want, but I've taken EVERYTHING from you, I took your brother, I took your business and I'm going to take your life you soulless son of a bitch!"

Braga teetered on the edge of the roof; I squeezed the trigger once again and breathed a vast sigh of relief, this was it. The impact of the final round pushed Braga over the edge, taking that silly cow with him. She unleashed a muffled scream as the weight of his body falling off the edge pulled her down with him. I walked towards the edge and looked down; they both remained motionless body splatters on the floor. I watched as they continued to bleed out. I looked up into the sky, and let the rain hit my face. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. Tears trickled my cold cheek and blended with the rain drops. I was now a free man, free form grief and free to finally let go of the past. I was also now very rich too, which did not suck at all!

I walked back into the Empire and took down the picture of my father. The drug he was forced to make was now in ashes, it was time to give this place the same treatment. I helped myself to Braga's explosives; it wasn't like he needed them anyway. I set up charges on each level as I worked my way down; I wanted to reduce the whole thing to rubble and send a clear message to everyone that Redwood days were numbered. Hopefully it would even inspire the authorities to take it back from the clutches of crime, I stress hopefully. I stepped over the bodies on the ground floor as I planted the final charge and exited the building. I approached the two motionless bodies on the outside. I turned them over and checked for a pulse. Braga was dead no doubt about it; however there was a feint sign of life left in my wife. She didn't have long and could have been saved if the police could enter Redwood. Oh well, shit happens. I picked up Braga's bloodied body, put it over my shoulder and walked away. I crossed the bridge and triggered the explosives. I turned and enjoyed the fire for a few seconds, the flames fought with the rain. The clash of elements was at a stalemate, the smoke and steam they caused engulfed the area in a thick blanket of revenge. It was time to drop off this waste of space and get paid. I stuffed the body into the boot of my car and readjusted my rear view mirror so that I could enjoy the fire for a little longer. I started the engine, turned the music up and drove off. It was a fine end to a hard day's work for me.

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Three days later...

I woke up in my bed. My sides were still sore but the money was in the bank so I couldn't really complain too much. It felt nice to finally sleep in my own bed as opposed to the couch. I'm sure my imprint is still there though. I shambled out of my silk sheets and looked out of the main bedroom window. The sun was perched up in the clear blue sky; birds sung the pleasant song of a new morning beginning. I felt happy for the first time in a very long time. The whole ordeal was over. I wouldn't have to carry out another job for a while too which was nice for once. I stretched out to wake my joints up when a small blue light caught my peripheral vision. My phone had received another job for me to take a look at. I grabbed my phone and made my way down the steps; I grabbed a chilled bottle of distilled water and turned on the television. Redwood was still in the news. It was only a matter of time before the police finally get the balls required to take that place back. I wasn't really listening to the report though; my attention was firmly on my phone. Curiosity got the better of me so I decided to have a look; besides I didn't have to accept it. I opened up the message and choked on my water. The bounty was set higher than Braga's! Thirty million, dead! Who could be worth more than Braga? I scrolled down... I was.

I was wanted for the death of Braga, but by whom? Who could have possibly known I was there? I killed everyone I came into contact with. Then it hit me like a freight train. I laughed initially, but I had to admire them. I was slightly surprised they had offered up that kind of money just have my head on a platter. I guess the other four crime lords of Redwood wanted to have the same attention I gave to Braga. Well I guess I would have to get to them before they had the chance to get to me. However, it was in that moment of quiet confidence that I actually listened to the news report properly.

'Authorities are looking for this man in connection to the recent events connected to terror attack on Redwood. If you or anyone you know has any information regarding this man, the police urge you to come forward. He should not be approached for he is highly dangerous.'

They must have paid off the police too, how fucking delightful! There is nothing like calling for a man's arrest for making a huge dent in the criminal machine. This would complicate matters slightly. My face was everywhere for all to see and identify. Before I could even begin to think things through, I heard the glass from a window in the upper floor of the house smash followed by a thump. Someone had got in; it could be either someone who wants to arrest me or someone who wants me dead. Either way I had to do something, fast. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and cautiously walked up the stairs. I guess every man has their price. The police obviously had theirs; I found out how much mine was, having a bounty worth thirty million on my head was very flattering to be honest with you. A price like that will have everyone looking for me, from the trained bounty , to the shitty hunters who 'go with Christ' and even those with a sharpened bit of wood. Thirty million just to end my life, shame no one will have the skills to!

Ending someone's life can hard; there is no doubt about that. It takes a special kind type of characteristic to do so, but everything will have to end at some point; it's just how life is. At the end of the day, massive payday aside, had I not done what was necessary then there would be more body bags for the world to contend with further down the line. Braga's drugs have been effectively cut off and destroyed and no one will ever succumb to addiction or overdose on that drug again. I've stopped that from happening. Braga and his people had it coming, one way or another it had to end for them. You shouldn't question that for a second. I also finally served my own justice after all these years. I did the world a favour three days ago, so if the price I need to pay is a price on my head, then so be it. But believe me when I tell you that I don't plan on ending anytime soon. So to all those wanting to cash in at my expense like the person who has just broken into my house, all I will say to you is good luck. You'll need it. The bedroom door handle began to move; I pressed my back against the wall and held the knife up ready to kill. I couldn't help but think that it was flattering to know that I was worth a lot of money; I mean who else is worth thirty million dead? The door opened slowly; a scuffed black shoe took the first step out on my clean white carpet. I took in one big deep breath and prepared to attack.

Fin.

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