Chapter ?: To The Victor…
It was a mansion that doubled as a fortress; armed sentries patrolled the perimeter with strict orders to shoot to kill, two dozen instant-relay cameras monitored every possible angle of approach on just the outside; they were out-fitted with motion sensors, infrared and telescopic zoom lenses. There were four guard details that walked the inner perimeter with the vicious attack dogs. Two armed guards stood at the controls for the front gate with road spikes pulled across the length and from there is was a quarter of a mile drive through dangerous territory to the mansion belonging to Frank Benecio, secretly, the Kingpin of Organized Crime.
A 2010 burgundy Ranger Rover pulled up in front of the mansion with a 2010 Gran Coupe BMW in tow; the male drivers of both vehicles stepped out to be welcomed by several armed men falsely-clad in security uniforms; they were thugs and goons on payroll made to look like they were apart of a legit outfit.
Heading to the front door, Kenny stretched his arms out to the side as a guard walked up and began patting him down. "…my gun stays with me." He warned and targeted the goon with a sharp glare as the man's hands roamed along the inside of his black leather jacket and he started to pull his gun from the holster. Kenny jerked away and pulled on the collar of his jacket so it'd feel as snug as it had before. "Fucking new guys." He made a gesture with his left hand to brush the goon off and continue up the stairs to the front door.
Tim left his eyes slowly from to the left and then the right, glaring at the guards with daggers; they could sense the sharpness through his shades. "Hmph." The arrogant male thwarted the search attempt and followed behind Kenny who'd held the door open for him, emitting a subtle chuckle as he passed. "Fuck them… Niggas is not about to put they greasy hands on me."
The inside of the mansion was a flawless work of art; the perfection and serenity of a single moment had been frozen in time and preserved. The interior was decorated with rare statues, paintings, sculptures and the lavish décor expected of any millionaire. The place was devoid of guards - none would think it possibly for a person with hostile intent to make it through the front yard, if even the front gate.
Up a flight of stairs and through the west corridor laid Frank's business quarters; he ruled a majority of the city's criminal activities from that room. The door was opened as Tim and Kenny came around the corner and they walked through in single file and then each went wide in their own direction around a glass table littered with papers and various liquid spirits. Tim came before a large, oak desk and stood post with his arms folded over his chest while Kenny stood beside him with his hands low, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. They stared at the back of chair regarded as Frank's throne…
"Tell me… What the fuck is going on?" The man's voice carried evidence of his age; it was laced with an anger tamed by patience. The voice had a stern and commanding tone to it. He sat upon his throne staring through large glass pane, taking in the view of his city. Though, as of the past few weeks it hadn't quite felt like it was his - no, somebody was trying to take it! His form leaned comfortably on the left armrest as he babied a glass of vodka, listening to the ice cubes softly beating against the glass.
Tim spoke up. "My first answer would be the city is going to Hell." A grimace came upon his visage as he stared at the back of the throne with malicious intentions. It was pitiful that the aged man had lasted this long watching the days go by from that chair, but then, it he because of himself and Kenny - they contributed to his solid reign.
Frank brought the rim of the glass to his lips, tilted it for a sip and then cleared his throat as the burning liquid went down. "Clearly." He responded with a deeper, more threatening tone. "Hostility amongst the Mexican gangs and some small-time dealers outside my territory… Then, that bank robbery; it was a blatant slap in the face! New arrangements are being made in secret. It seems to me you're failing miserably at the job I pay you to do."
"Incorrect," Kenny interjected, tilting his head down and rolling his eyes as he exhaled a sigh. "The job you pay us to do is bring in the shipments. Oversee the distribution. Make sure you get your money. Maintain your presence and authority." He recited their purpose down to the small print and took a step closer to the desk planting his right palm and the surface and shifting the weight of his body onto that limb specifically. "Anything else is outside of duties… You undoubtedly have cops and detectives on your payroll; tell them to go out and detect some shit! You've never had a stake in petty gang squabbles before. It isn't our business."
"Before," the man began to say as he leaned back in his chair… "none of my merchandise was being exchanged. Yes, I have ties with the police force. The anti-gang task force will be mobilized should this violence continue. I also have people on the inside looking into the recent exchange of drugs and money. The DEA is interested in that while the FBI is showing a growing interest in the bank robbery. There are whispers of a "criminal kingpin" orchestrating it all and some daring new player is challenging me for my empire." A smug grin crossed his face and he let off a dry laugh though hardly amused. "You, Tim, Dusty and Brendon are my lieutenants; it's your job to do whatever the hell I tell you to do. I want this nonsense ended. Now!"
"How?" Tim's voice rose immediately as Frank's fell silent. His level of irritation was obvious. "Enlighten us with exactly what it is you know. I'm not about to wander around this fucking city blindly… looking for just anybody."
"The police and FBI are in possession of evidence that labels a Mexican gang as the perpetrators behind the bank heist. The recent killings downtown and in the suburbs are the results of a deal gone wrong between the Mexicans and some dealers pushing their own product on the outskirts of my territory. Interestingly, some of my product turned up at one of the crime scenes." Frank allowed himself a brief pause, welcomed the strong, bitter taste of the vodka as he washed down the last of the glass' content and reached back to set it on the desk beside the bottle. He listened for them to say something… but neither spoke, so he continued to fill in the facts they claimed to be ignorant to. "Pure cocaine was being exchanged and sold outside my limits. Then lastly, a city labor representative under investigation is receiving large funds from an untraceable account and a link was established between him and the Mexicans' odd activities."
Tim constructed a mental image and put it all together as it was being explained. "Then the solution would be taking out labor representative," he determined and shared it with both his partner and superior. "He could identity where the clean cocaine is coming from… and you can relax and enjoy another year without bold spots; hair holds stress, you know, that's why it's always the first to go with age." He humored himself with no concern if whether or not Frank would share in it.
And Frank didn't, his voice maintained its angered tone. "Stephen McNamara is dead. He was murdered last night in his home." He partially turned his chair toward the two, but stopped short once he was able to wrap his left hand around the bottle of vodka and pour himself another glass.
"Where are the other two?" It dawned on Kenny the other team of lieutenants weren't present; normally both teams were briefed at once to spare Frank from having to repeat himself. "You should be questioning them on this bullshit, not us. " The young man eased back from the desk and grit his teeth together, glaring to the side at his comrade.
"They've been briefed and dismissed," The Kingpin stated, truly uninterested in explaining his motives for speaking with these two alone. A door opened and he heard the clicking of heels… he listened, recognized the pace at which the heels moved and opened his arms, welcoming his beautiful wife as she sat on his lap and draped herself over him. "Hello, honey." A couple of kisses were exchanged before he held her efforts at bay and directed his attention back to his enforcers. "It's being speculated that they are the ones supplying the Supremacist faction with pure cocaine. Also, they were in cahoots with Stephen McNamara… I find it hard to believe, personally. I would sooner suspect you, Kenneth and Timothy; I've treated you like sons and find it only appropriate at some point you'd grow to despise and oppose me."
"Yeah well, first off, I ain't your damn son." Tim instantly objected the prospect of being anything similar to a son to Frank, he simply didn't see it nor feel it. "You're a decrepit old white man, not my fucking pops. And this nigga ain't my brother." He aimed his thumb and gestured his hand toward Kenny as if insulted by such speculation.
Kenny laughed and agreed. "Damn right, I'm not prone to getting my ass whooped like your brothers." He paid no mind to the heated glance he received for touching on a sensitive subject, but rather brought back the subject at hand. "What exactly are your instructions?" He upheld a demeanor that kept him indifferent to his orders. He couldn't be too eager to take on the task of killing the two white boys. This had to be Frank's firm orders. His eyes fixed on Rebecca as she rose from her husbands lap with a beige envelope in hand and he was sure it held the details of their inbound shipment.
The two briefly locked eyes though nothing was said, she strutted from the other side of the desk and purposely flaunted herself in front of her ex, issuing him the envelope. Then turned on heel and placed herself on a loveseat to be a fly on the wall - spectator to the dealings of her beloved husband and lieutenants.
"…eliminate them and every single member of their teams. Handle it as you see fit but wait until after they've properly taken in their shipment." He exhaled heavily after downing his glass and stood from his chair, only showing the them his back. His hollow reflection was admired in the window and mentally questioned if he allowed this all to happen. Did he see an old, decrepit, weak man? He was brought out of his silent state of thought by the two acknowledging his orders and he could hear them walking for the door. "Timothy has expressed his opinion of me… bold words, but I'd expect nothing less. What about you, Kenneth? What do you see when you look at me?"
The lieutenant in question paused half the distance from the door which had been opened by several guards coming in. He lowered his head and closed his eyes in thought while his right hand instinctively brushed along his chest until it covered the scar left by the bullet Frank put in his shoulder. His hand clutched that bit of his shoulder and he raised his head to glare aggressively at the guards. "That's not my fucking name, I've told you enough times. And to answer your question…" That same hand dipped inside of his leather jacket toward the holstered weapon.
The guards tensed up, readying their semi automatic weapons. "Don't do anything stupid," one of them warned.
Tim stood on the outside of Kenny and the guards, watching them both cautiously, sliding his right hand to the handgun holstered at his lower back. His eyes momentarily made contact with Kenny's… and he wanted to urge him to calm down. He slightly shook his head to dissuade him from creating a scene they might not be able to walk away from.
"I see a bastard I've bled and killed for… only to be repaid in my own blood! You tried to force me to kill April -"
"-… you didn't." Frank stated firmly, making his recollection of that particular event known. It was the one time the lieutenant disobeyed him by letting the girl flee to a new life, but, he did take the downtown area from her father. In the end he got what mattered most so his subordinate was spared any consequences.
"Then you took Rebecca." Almost submissively, he dropped the hand that was nearing his firearm. The fiery passion that was ignited burned out as quickly as it'd erupted. His rational mind took control. "This is all I have now." It seemed as though is mind wasn't on their goal of taking the empire, he harbored a personal vendetta that called for a serenade of gunfire. He walked out of the door with no more words for Frank, pushing past the guards.
Once Tim left out the guards closed the door and another leading into the room opened with two silhouettes visible on the other side of it. Two voices, both laughing at what could only be viewed as a pitiful display. "His mind's in the wrong place. He probably hasn't gotten laid since you took Becki from him… When was that? Year of the rat?" One joked and both of them laughed. "Dumb ass niggers."
"They're coming for you, be ready." Frank glanced at the two shadowy figures from the left corner of his eyes. He inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed on the skyline of the city. A solemn decision was made in that moment… No matter who betrayed him, they all needed to be reminded that his rule was absolute and that his existence was no myth. There was a point when he wanted to linger in the shadows behind the scenes and being nothing more than underground whispers but apparently a firm reminder needed to be established. "I want them buried… every trace of them!"
The silhouettes vanished after accepting their orders… Brendon and Dusty had a clever trap to setup.
Becki sat with her legs crossed, holding her mobile phone horizontally, texting, her thumbs moving over the miniature keyboard madly. She pinched her lips together and lifted her eyes when her husband suddenly shouted at and commanded one of the guards to snap the device from her. "What the hell…?" She quickly bounced to her feet in protest, glaring at the goon with fire in her eyes as he examined the message she was typing up. "It's nothing." She sneered at the dimwitted buffoon. "You don't trust me either?" She turned to her husband who remained with his back to her and the rest of the room. Then, realization dawned on her, the woman's eyes widened and she tilted her head in a quizzical manner. "You don't know who it is…" Becki confronted her significant other and embraced him from behind. "It's not I, I love only you."
The building frustration had taken its toll on Frank. He submitted to the loving hug of his wife in sheer exhaustion. "It's time I take manners into my own hands. I'll let them shoot it out." He lowered his hands and placed them over ears, relaxing to the comfort of her body pressed to his. "To the victor… an opportunity to prove his innocence or just die another day."
Outside of the mansion, Tim and Kenny stood beside their vehicles discussing what happened back in Frank's office. It was a reckless stunt that could've gotten the both of them killed.
"For as long as he thinks our motivations are petty, he'll never be able to take us as a serious threat," Kenny explained in his own defense, claiming to have been in control of his actions the entire time. "He can't know it's us until we're dumping clips in him. I know what I'm doing…"
"Oh… well, next time, clue me in… 'cause I was about to shoot, nigga. No fucking way am I dying over one of your bitches," he exclaimed though a bit surprised his partner was playing an obvious weakness to throw off their adversary. It was smart and he could only assume Kenny anticipated his own reaction to further show they weren't completely on the same page. "Aight, I see you, son. Let's take care of business then!"