Daddy -

It's been two months since we killed that D'Amico fucker and I'm getting restless. Nothing's happening. I mean nothing. If I was that Mist guy, I'd want some revenge. I know I told Marcus that I was going to stop but this is suspicious, right? I'd better take a look at it. I think I will do it later, in fact. Marcus will be out till half nine so I have the opportunity.

I'll tell you how it goes.

Mindy.

'Motherfucker and the Cunts. Sounds like a band.'

'Well, I was thinking about Orange Menace. Y'know, if Motherfucker is a bit much.' I drop myself onto the couch, beer in one hand, phone in the other. I clasp it between my shoulder and my ear as I yank open the ring pull.

Matt Harvey seems to be the only person who really gets this plan right now. Despite the enthusiasm I got on Facebook about it, no one understands that it's actually going to happen. Or why I need it to work so badly.

We haven't met in person yet but right now, I think he would make pretty badass sidekick material. What sidekick names would go with Motherfucker…?

'I dunno, Chris. Listen, do you really need to do this? I mean, these guys on the internet, they're hardly super-villain- of-the-century material are they?'

Oops, and that sidekick position is pulled out from underneath him. 'Uh, yeah? Come on Matt, my dad was killed by that guy. I can't just sit on my ass and let him get away with it.'

'No man, 'course not. But…maybe we could think of another plan.' How about no? I just want to kill this fucker and get it over with. It can't hurt to add a bit of drama - a super villain army, that kind of thing.

'Okay man, yeah. Let's just get someone else to shoot him and that'll be that. You don't even have to lift your lazy ass from the imprint in the couch cushion!'

'Sounds easier than your shitty plan. I gotta go, Chris. Talk to you later.' He hangs up without waiting. Little cunt.

Abandoning the beer, I drop the phone and let it wedge itself into the cushions. Fuck this, I'm going out. My bodyguards were really easy to get out of the way with a bit (okay, a lot) of cash and the assurance that I was the head of the business now my dad was gone.

I scrawl a short note to my mom about going to a friend's place. She definitely does not need to know where I'm going. Grabbing the phone from the couch cushions, I multi-task – putting on my shoes with one hand and dialing Joe's number with the other.

I know that Joe isn't his real name, and up until about a year ago I didn't know what he looked like or what he did. I got curious after hearing his name mentioned quite a lot, and you'd be surprised how much I can find out about someone when I want to. Turns out, he's a drug dealer and had been supplying my dad and his friends for years. Not only that but he knew a few of the best spots around town where you can find some… really nice chicks. You know what I mean. Right? Not the type to take home to your mother, that's for sure.

So, that's where I'm headed now. Joe says he'll meet me on the corner of D'Amico Lumber Supplies, one of my dad's old buildings to the west of town. When I get there, he's standing in the short alleyway between the lumber store and the abandoned hardware store next to it.

'Hey, Joe.' He nods at me and I watch my reflection dart up and down briskly in his wraparound sunglasses.

'The usual?' he enquires. His voice is raspier and even more difficult to hear than usual. I think he smoked for a long time, if he doesn't still. I nod, holding out my palms to him. He snickers. 'Money first today, Christopher old buddy. Business not doing too well at the moment.'

I know other people would have had their doubts, but I have him blocked into the short alley and a gun safely zipped into my coat pocket. I hand over the cash. Thankfully, he passes me two small bags, both of them full of dark brown-green weed. The good stuff, of course – the Motherfucker would never settle for anything less.

Stashing it in the opposite pocket to the Glock, I press my palm against the brick wall, leaning into it.

'I take it you need some uh, entertainment tonight then, D'Amico?' he rasps. I raise an eyebrow. 'Of course I do Joe.'

'Well, I don't know why you don't just stick with the same place each time. You know, perks for regular customers and all that.'

I roll my eyes, getting restless. This isn't his job. 'Yeah well, that wouldn't be any of your business, would it? Your business is just to give me somewhere to go tonight. So, where'll it be?' He sighs and I watch the high collar of his coat flutter slightly. I wish I knew what he looked like. I want to see if I make him scared or not. Because even though I've got the gun, he might very well have one too. A bigger one, in fact.

'Amanda has an extended time special tonight if you want to take advantage of that.' At first, I have to admit that I was a little bit shocked at the way he talked about it as if I were shopping for groceries. Buy one get one free, fifty fucking percent off if she's fat with no teeth. But I got used to it.

In fact, I am so used to it that I was starting to realize that Amanda was palming off the ugly bitches on the cheap bastards who only chose the 'cheap deals'. 'No thanks, Joe. I think I'll give that little offer a miss.'

He sighs again, the coat flutters again. His attitude is starting to piss me off. 'Well, Ronnie's it is then I'm afraid. You sure you want to be seen with the same whore twice?' his tone is sarcastic but I ignore it.

'Just this once. See ya.' I stand up straight to let him leave and dial a taxi. I'm not going to let my driver take me. He was ordered by my mother to drive me right to the door of every single place I went and report to her that I got there safely. 'Uh yeah Mrs. D'Amico, Chris got to the whore-house safely, but I can't be sure that he won't forget a condom. You want me to go in and check? 'Cause I don't want him getting no VD. Oh, and we stopped off for pot on the way there, hope you don't mind. They were out of coke though, can you believe it?'

I shake my head - imagine if my mother found out what I'd been doing behind her back. Sometimes I used to feel a bit guilty, but then I remembered that little fucker Kick-Ass' smug face and I got so angry that I vowed to make it up to Mom later. Somehow. Although I don't think they sell 'Sorry I've been getting high and paying women for sex behind your back' cards down at the store.

The taxi pulls up, looking a little battered. 'Hey man. Fleet Row, please.' The driver meets my eyes in the mirror. He obviously knows what's on Fleet Row. I stare right back at him, grazing my hand over the gun in my pocket. After a second he looks away. Probably thinking I'm too young or too nerdy looking or… whatever.

I glare out of the window. I can feel the two bags resting on my thigh and I'm suddenly crazy for a bit of their contents. Making myself wait until all I can feel are the full bags on my leg, I tell the driver to stop the car. He pulls over, looking a bit bemused, but the meter is still running so he can't complain. Stepping out of the car, it seems a lot darker than earlier. I see another conveniently placed alleyway, find the nearest Dumpster and lean on it to start rolling a joint. There's a tall fence at the back of the alley letting in a trickle of light and I turn to face it, conscious of the taxi driver looking at me again.

Just as I'm getting ready to light up, the light cuts off. I look up, joint in my mouth, lighter halfway up to the tip of it. The flame flickers and dies as the lighter clatters to the floor. I feel a flare of anger so powerful that I could practically feel my stomach clench and my fists ball up in slow motion.

Her again. The purple satin-y costume contrasts with the dim red of the brick wall and her eyes are narrowed in a parody of a comic-book villain. But she's not the villain, I am. She's the fucking superhero and I hate her, I hate her so much.

I'm dimly aware of the cab driver bursting into shocked laughter behind me. I know how it must look – a little kid in a cheap-ass superhero costume standing atop a fence, glaring at a skinny nerd lighting up a blunt. He probably expects her to swipe it out of my mouth and yell 'Drugs are bad!' or something.

But I know she's capable of killing him in an instant, which unsurprisingly she does. The gun comes out of nowhere and the shot is loud and ringing. I can hear him crumple to the floor.

'Great, well. That's my night ruined.' I think, and pull out the Glock.