A scorching mid-July day transitioned to a crisp October afternoon, Amare scuffled his feet against the jagged sidewalk as he made his way into Friendly Fire. Dex has rudely woken him up, practically demanding he meet him there in less than fifteen minutes. Dex's domineering personality often rubbed him the wrong way, but more often than not, Amare simply ignored it. There wasn't much a low ranking member could do.
As he spun around the corner, he spotted Troy and Dex inside chatting excitedly, while a slender saleswoman rummaged around the glass case. The door alarm chimed loudly as he stepped inside, the woman was now proudly holding a sniper rifle. "This is the McManus! As you can see, it's fully collapsible and comes in a stately black attache. The 18 inch cryogenically treated stainless steel bull barrel gives this rifle a guaranteed accuracy of point two minute of angle at 600 yards with match grade ammunition," she stated, fingers gracefully pointing out each feature of the stunning beautiful rifle, "with it's hand ream chamber and it's match grade trigger, the McManus is designed for the marksman who wants to reach out and touch someone at a moment's notice!" she smirked.
Without much pause, Dex hurriedly announced, "I'll take it!" No one had seemed to acknowledge the Amare was even in the room. "Lovely, would you like it gift wrapped?" she asked, placing it gently on the glass counter before ringing the purchase. Dex declined, turning to address Troy and Amare. "Tight job on that lab, dawg." Dex congratulated, nudging Amare's shoulder. "We found a memo saying that Hector's meeting with the Colombians tonight. With the amount of firepower that's gonna be there, just showing up and rushing them would be suicide." Dex told him and motioning towards the rifle, "take McManus here and get to the docs, find a nice, tall building and wait. When Hector makes his move with the Colombians, take ya shot."
His tasked appeared easy enough or so his over inflated ego deluded him into believing. He strapped the McManus over his shoulder and was nearly about to head out of the building until Troy finally spoke up, telling him that the first place Los Carnales would think to look would be towards the Colombians and Manuel Orejuela, the Colombian's mouthpiece. Amare nodded his head in agreement, turning to exit the building.
He briefly strolled towards his apartment, merely a block away; silently praying Renisha hadn't taken his Hammerhead earlier that morning. Approaching the driveway, Amare kissed his teeth and groaned. This was the fifth time this week she'd taken his car, as if she didn't have her own. He rolled his eyes, walking towards the black and gray Nelson parked a few feet away.
Amare peeled out of the driveway, the sound of screeching tires echoed against the surrounding buildings. He had a little under five minutes to reach the Poseidon Alley dock and amazingly, the streets of Stilwater weren't horribly congested. The small car bobbed and weaved through the streets, frantic cries and curses were barely audible over the car's engine. From the rear view mirror, Amare could see a slew of middle fingers and furious prostitutes toss their purses at him.
The car spun around the corner, approaching a row of slowly crumbling warehouses, graffiti had gotten to them long ago. He drove between two buildings, parking in front of a few crates. Amare jogged towards the crates, using them as a makeshift ledge onto the rusting staircase. Sprinting around each flight of stairs, he make sure not to look down, this was not the time to test his ever growing fear of heights. He hoisted himself onto an air duct, briskly running across to reach the roof of the adjacent building.
Amare ran across the roof, positioning himself behind a vent. From his view, he could see a few Los Carnales settled on a ship across from him and about a yard away, he spotted three crimson cars pulling up to the shipyard between them. With his McManus in hand, Amare zoomed onto his unsuspecting targets. The cars came to a halt and few moments later, twelve or so men exited the vehicles. Amare immediately spotted Hector, he stood out among his lieutenants dressed in a suave dress suit that matched his car.
Hector confidently swayed towards three men in white dress suits, he could only assume one of which was Manuel Orejuela, the mouthpiece for the Colombian Cartel. Amare leaned in closer to the rifle, zooming in just a few inches more. He could see Hector clear as day from his vantage point. "Don't fuck this up, man." Amare whispered to himself, finger quivering over the trigger.
He inhaled deeply, firmly pulling the trigger. The rifle's recoil was a bit stronger than he assumed it would be, violently jerking his shoulder. No sooner than he fired his shot, did gunfire erupt, Hector's body had crumpled onto the ground and the Colombians had taken cover. The building forcefully shook as several rockets smashed against it, knocking Amare to his feet. "Well, shit!" he thought, quickly crawling away from his position.
Wasting no time, Amare escaped from the roof and sped down the staircase, Stilwater Police Department had descended upon Los Carnales and he'd never seen them arrive that quickly. Once he reached the concrete was nearly skipped to his car, scurrying out of the fray. He was grateful he even escaped undetected and was racing at break neck speed back to his apartment. The police that often patrolled his block didn't even glance in his direction as he drove past them.
Amare pulled into his driveway, parking the car and rubbing his eyes as fatigue began to set. The entire neighbor was quiet and dark and as he left the vehicle and walked towards the entrance, he spotted an unfamiliar car on the opposite end of the street. He could barely make out the color or what model it was. He figured it had to have been a new tenant on the block. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued his walk and entered his apartment and the thought of the unfamiliar car was long gone.