The Messenger
11:59 AM, 8/23/06: East 5th Street
Across the street from the ghetto stoops of East 5th, Marcus was making himself inconspicuous. Granted, wearing a purple velvet robe, chains of bling, cheetah spot patterned pajama pants and a fluffy white and black felt hat didn't do much for one's anonymity, but he made it work.
He peered around one of the buildings from the left side of the street, spying a couple of gangly Hispanic thugs loitering around the stoops. As he watched, a motorcycle made its way around the corner and stopped before them. The pair delightfully skipped down to greet him.
"Hm. Looks like that old lady wasn't bull shittin'."
Drawing his pistol, Marcus decided to make his move.
The dealers made their transaction with the courier, the rider stashing the money and preparing to haul ass.
"Hold it right there!" Marcus ordered from the street, drawing level with the courier.
No amount of surprise was evident on his face. Grinning at him, he revved the engine before bolting past.
"Aw yeah! You know I'm comin' after you right!?" Marcus called after him, and straddled himself onto a conveniently placed motorcycle nearby. Revving its engine to life, he blasted off on a wheelie after him.
The courier hadn't even cleared the block before slamming directly into the back of a taxi. The biker flew clear over the car and smacked the ground.
Marcus was somewhat disappointed by this turn of events, but it certainly made his job a hell of a lot easier. He rolled to stop next to the pained Courier, and before the hapless prick knew what was happened Marcus pulled him off the ground, locking his arm behind his back.
"Aiight bitch, tell me where you were taking this or I'm going to fuck you up." he informed him less than subtly.
"Get your hand off me!" the courier whined pathetically. It was only after a series of painful blows were delivered to his back that he realized they were the wrong words to say. He crumpled to the ground, rasping.
"TALK!"
The courier was kicked onto his back, and Marcus motioned to administer some more punishment to his face when he screamed for mercy.
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP!"
The detective relinquished, and the courier caught his breath. "Easy killer, I'm just the delivery boy, ok? You want to find Rey?… at his safe house, they're watching a soccer game. I'm supposed to bring them a pizza and-…"
A look of sheer terror adorned his face, and he suddenly burst into tears.
"…SHIT MAN! If he finds out I talked!… It's COLUMBIAN NECKTIE FOR ME MAN! MY THROAT SLIT AND MY TONGUE PULLED THROUGH IT!… oh man, I'm gonna DIE!"
"Where?"
"BETHUNE STREET!"
Marcus kicked him onto his stomach, and slapped on the cuffs.
"Thanks man."
He returned to his bike and sped away. It was time to end the Magdalena Cartel once and for all.
But first, he made his way to the nearest Dominoes.