Prologue

The young man entered the three-story brownstone apartment building with all the care and stealth that a burglar might employ, despite his status as a key-holding resident. He ascended the stairs of the abode that only his roommate's bloated trust fund allowed them to afford, the recent renovations to the old structure allowing his steps to remain quiet on surprisingly non-creaking narrow stairs. Not that his roommate and friend was likely to notice anything considering the loud noises emanating from the third floor and the rhythmic low thumping that vibrated the second story ceiling with enough force to rattle the hallway's light fixtures.

The young man paused as he entered his room, listening for a moment, his face expressionless. The sounds of rather athletic sexual escapades and voices filled with a primal throaty need filtered down from upstairs, muffled but easily discernable.

Thump…thump…thump…

"Yeah, that's right! You wanna ride the J-train baby?"

"Ooohhh yesss! Fuck me, Johnny! Come on!"

"It's on! Yeah! Yeah! Wait a second get your ankles up here… just…yeah!"

"Johnny, fuckin' bring it!"

"Oh I'm bringin' it! And a lot …more… where that came from. It's… game… time!"

"Yesssss! Ohhh FUCK yessss!"

Thump…thump…thump

And so it went on. Not exactly an intellectual discourse. From frustrating experience the young man knew it could, and probably would go on for hours. His friend's undeniable sexual prowess didn't affect the young man's opinion of his friend one way or the other. Some people, if you wanted to be a part of their world, you just had to accept certain things about them.

He shook his head once sharply to the right and stepped forward into his dark bedroom. He quickly filled a backpack and a duffel bag with items from his closet and dresser. Either the young man knew the contents of his room well enough to grab the items he wanted with no light to guide him, or he was simply guessing.

Soon he was finished and slung the backpack across his shoulders, hoisting the duffel bag with his left hand. He left his room and walked to the head of the stairs making the turn to step down them, but then he stopped. He slowly turned and regarded the door on the other end of the hall. A construction paper sign hung on the door that read in large spray-painted letters,

"~U CuM N Here ~ ~U FUCKING DIE~"

It was the one room in the building that Johnny had staked out for himself from day one. No one was allowed inside. The young man regarded the door for a few long moments before he finally moved again.

.

.

.

Johnny was having an okay night. Not brilliant, not too shitty either. Just okay. He was fucking the daughter of the Shop'n Pop owner from down on the corner. She was doing a decent job of keeping him in the moment, and he was fucking away like his life depended on it- and sometimes he thought it just might. She was Ecuadorian, and he thought that must be in Africa somewhere. He had hoped that they would know how to do it a little better there, but he was dealing with the letdown by thinking about the landlord's wife, her name was Lucy, wasn't it? In his fantasy she was alternately threatening to evict him and begging for his cock.

"I like older women, so sue me!" He snarled.

"What the fuck you say, Johnny?"

The shop owner's daughter was looking up at him now, pushing back the sweat drenched locks of hair that had fallen over her eyes. She had a stupid, annoying look on her face that seemed to accuse him of not remembering her name- which now that he thought about it, he didn't. She always seemed to have a stupid, annoying look on her face.

"Why am I fucking her again?" he thought, and was pretty sure this time he didn't speak his thoughts out loud.

While he caught his breath and considered for a few seconds how to get the night back on track, Johnny glanced at the door where he thought he had heard something a few minutes ago.

There was a small multicolored square on the floor right in front of the crack of the door. Johnny realized it must have been slid under the door while he and his nameless friend had been busy. Making a few wet sounds he quickly untangled himself from the tanned mass of arms and legs, ignoring the girl's disappointed groan. Naked and sweaty, he stepped over to the door and with no embarrassment, bent over to retrieve the square.

It was a small stack of post-it notes.

"Some J-train!" the girl complained from the floor across the room.

The top post-it read, "Z."

Johnny recognized his roommate's hand writing- he was the only one that Johnny would let get away with calling him by his last initial. Johnny tore the first post-it off the stack and slapped it on the door.

The second post-it read, "I'm."

Johnny tore it off and slapped it hard next to the first one. He continued this process, forming a sentence composed of multi-colored squares on the door. He cursed under his breath the whole time. He seemed to have completely forgotten about his guest.

"Goddamnit, D! You crazy shit-fuck!"

In moments the post-it stack was depleted and Johnny took a step back to read the assembled result- jumbled, askew and randomly colored as it was.

"Z I'm sorry Had to go ORDERS RECEIVED the Mission is ON Did not want to IN terrupt you CANNOT put You in further DAN ger BTW her name IS Lynne in case You forgot By the time you put this together I'll be long gone DO NOT FOLLOW took some things I'm sorry"

There were three blank post-its and then the final one, "brother"

"HE knows her name. Of course he would," was Johnny's first thought. The next thoughts that flooded his mind were filled with alarm and concern for his friend. He responded by doing what he always did best. He sprang into action.

Johnny tore through the building, calling out for his roommate, searching frantically.

He quickly could see that there were no signs of life inside, and he burst through the front door and across the porch, taking the steps to the sidewalk and street two at a time.

He turned, looking in all directions for a sign of his friend, that he wasn't too late to catch him. The warm breeze dried the sweat against his taut skin and several passersby stopped to stare at the naked young man turning in the middle of the street.

They all hurried on, shaking their heads, not wanting to get involved.

Johnny walked back inside, dejected and angry, his pulse beginning to race in a way that sex had failed to produce. Lynne was waiting, her clothes draped around her.

"Johnny, what the hell is going on? You better not ignore me tonight or I might tell the cops it was you that put Miguel and Rodney in the hospital!"

Johnny responded by walking past her and up the stairs to his friend's bedroom. He turned on the light. Lynne followed.

"Those fuckers were making trouble for my friend. They deserved a lot more, and I don't give a shit who knows it!" Johnny finally replied.

"That weirdo?" Lynne's voice conveyed equal parts disdain and disbelief. "He gives me the creeps. Is he crazy or something?"

"He's NOT crazy!" Johnny spat through a clenched jaw.

Johnny looked around the room, focusing on the dresser. The mirror on the dresser was obscured by magazine covers and seemingly random newspaper headlines. He found a prescription bottle that was three quarters empty, and a plastic baggie taped to the backside of the mirror that held a large amount of matching pills.

"Fuck!" Johnny's brow was a gathering thundercloud, and he clenched his fists in frustration. He walked back into the hall and noticed that the door to his inner sanctum was ajar.

"Shit!" Johnny didn't know what an aneurysm felt like, but he knew it couldn't feel that great. He had seen his father's tormented face last year when he had one, and Johnny imagined his own face probably looked something like that now.

"Wait here!" he yelled back at Lynne before plunging into the forbidden room. Inside he saw that the closet had been left open and a large stack from his prodigious porn collection had been shifted to get at something underneath.

An okay night had turned to shit with a quickness.

Johnny walked back into the hall and before he could react, Lynne reached out and grabbed his still-stiff member in a tight and none-too-comfortable nailed grip.

"Johnny whatever your psycho roomie has gotten into, it can wait until tomorrow! I want the ride I was promised!"

Johnny's teeth began to grind. He glared at the girl and veins began to bulge on either side of his forehead. She noticed with alarm that one of his eyes began to drift and didn't track perfectly with the other. She released her grip and took a step back.

"One thing I can't take… you know what that is Laura?" Johnny's voice held the taint of up-state New York now. It got stronger when he was losing it, or it was time to put his game face on.

"Lynne," the girl corrected in a breathless squeak.

"I can't stand bitches, whether they be of the female or male persuasion, who know nothing about Loyalty and Friendship. My friend needs me. Get THE FUCK out!"

After the girl left, Johnny dressed quickly. His mind was preoccupied with what to do next, who to call in favors from, how to find his friend as quickly as possible.

He thought with dread about the pills and the 9-millimeter pistol that was now missing from the case in his closet.

"Took some things," the crazy post-it message had said.

"Yeah, well one thing you haven't been taking is your meds, that's for fucking sure, D. What are you doing?" Johnny spoke quietly to himself as his mind raced, hoping that somewhere out there his friend would feel his worry and come around. "What are you doing, Damian? Where have you gone, and without your Z, too? Don't do anything stupid, that's supposed to be my department. Goddamnit Damian! What the hell?"

Johnny Zacharra wiped a sleeve across his eyes and sniffed loudly once.

Damian Spinelli was off of his medication and armed. Johnny had to find him, and fast. Johnny wasn't the type to think about the future much, but now he couldn't shake the feeling that disaster was approaching, a dark wave that was going to pull his world under.

"the Mission is ON"