I grew up in a very large Cuban family, we were on the verge of middle class for many years living in a modest row house in Newark. We were in a overall safe neighborhood and our parents made it a point to keep bad influences out of our lives the best they could. I seemed to be the only child that tested their resolve. I seemed to be born stubborn and I learned to be sneaky at a young age, playing by my own rules. I was always well liked but I remember the days when I was a skinny little kid before I had hit my growth spurt. The other kids teased me relentlessly for having a darker skin, my features were more feminine with my full lips and eyelashes that my sisters seemed to be jealous over. I got my ass beat on a regular basis, I was too little to defend myself much but I learned not to fear the threat of a fist. That has served me well in my life.
As I grew into adolescence, I developed a strong jawline, my face lost the young chubby look and was narrow with a strong brow, my shoulders seemed to become wider. My muscle definition was impressive for my age and I knew it, I never missed an opportunity to take my shirt off if there were some cute girls around. My parents were pleased when I began playing sports and I always excelled at it, whatever I did I wanted to be the best, whether it was soccer or basketball and later surfing when I lived in Miami with my Abuela Rosa.
I've never had to try when it came to girls, they all seemed to linger around me, never missing a chance to brush against me. For a young male that is full of testosterone, giving an abundance of options is the same as putting a fat kid in a candy store, I couldn't help myself. I lost my virginity at 13 to a girl a couple years older than me and then all the guys really started to idolize me, my ego did not suffer. It always bothered me when people called me beautiful or the stares I would get, remembering all the teasing I went through as a kid left me bitter to the compliments. I felt I needed to prove myself, I didn't want to be seen as weak or be seen as "just a pretty face." I got a rep for being tough and little ruthless but I did have my own lines I didn't allow myself to cross. Females were always respected I'd seen from my sisters all the dumbass moves a guy could make and I wouldn't want to put anyone else through that. Hookups were easier to maintain if you just told them up front what was up, I never wanted to be tied to one person. I wouldn't stand for seeing the "little guy" picked on, taken advantage or beat on. It reminded me too much of my early years when I was that "little guy." If I thought someone should have the shit beat out of them, then I would and I was damn good at it.
All my antics of proved too much for my family, aside from the gangs trying to recruit me, I got picked up for stealing a car and sent to juvie. My parents were extremely disappointed in me, particularly my father, in his eyes I had shamed the family. They decided to send me to my abuela Rosa in Miami when I was 15, I felt betrayed by them for what felt like being thrown out of my own family. By the time I was 18, I had outgrew being the bad boy for the most part and had spent most of the time in Miami expanding my intellect. I always enjoyed reading, absorbing the history of a variety of cultures, delving into nature, and military history always interested me, strategy the most. Often, I read in private, it didn't go with my image to be caught reading The Clash of Civilization or Principles of Corporate Finance.
I joined the army at 19 and excelled, the military perfected what I naturally was, a hunter. I could plan out missions to the hilt and have several contingency plans incase anything were to go wrong. There was always something different about me, it never bothered me much because it made me feel secure, in control of my environment. I could walk into a building and with one glance, tell you the exits, the best place to find a gun, who knew how to handle themselves. I have a photogenic memory and great intuition but after the military got their hands on me, finetuned my innate skills, there was no one better.
I saw beyond the periphery, whereas others only saw what people wanted to show of themselves, I saw what lived behind their eyes. Reading people, body language telling more than the individual was aware, insecurity will cause you to need the support of others, physically. Such a common act for people to gravitate to another person, the need to touch them because of an innate fear within them. Those that spoke loudly typically are trying to compensate for shyness or overcompensating for their lack of self-importance.
In my world of shadows, I learned there were essentially two groups of people, the hunters and the prey. Hunters were always seeking their prey, seeing life as one big game. Their need to feel superior, have their will enforced upon another but sometimes that didn't satisfy their thirst. They yearned to be challenged, the need of an adversary so they could demonstrate their dominance. Each unchecked move they make compels them to be more brazen. Some hunters want to be acknowledged by the world, make their appearances on the street to bask in their opulence but the most treacherous ones liked to play in the shadows, they were the most formidable.
The east side of Trenton was filled with mostly minorities, the area was poorly funded and overall forgotten about. Crossing into Stark Street felt like you crossed an invisible barrier, the pavement became rocky, street signs showed age of faded color and rust, storefronts had thick metal bars and most purveyors kept a handgun under their counter. Lately, Trenton had a different feel to it, people seemed to move slightly more carefully. Even my always dependable street contacts were keeping to themselves more, denying anything was amiss, they still provided information but not with the same enthusiasm as they normally showed when they ratted on their enemies. It was such a slight change that I doubt anyone noticed, there was definitely a force looming over the city, I felt it in my bones. The gangs weren't warring for their blocks as was commonplace, they kept a distance from each other. There was an influx of cash on the streets, the homeboys were flashing their wealth, gold and diamond accented teeth, brand new BMW's. Their chests swelled with a little more pride; chins kept high with a 'my shit don't stink' smirk. But underneath all of it lurked a river of trepidation. I noticed players looked over their shoulders constantly like teenagers that threw a house party, always keeping one eye on the door expecting your parents to bust in early when you've got a house full of booze and babes. But on the street there wouldn't be a time-out if you were caught, you'd get ghosted.
A few months back, a mid-level player they called Bones had disappeared and surreptitiously reappeared a few days later but missing an eye and a couple of digits at the knuckle. He fenced stolen items, high-end 4k televisions, sound systems, jewelry, and occasionally exotic cars. He was well liked on the streets, known as an honorable thief, if such a thing exists. I've always found there is no honor among thieves. in Lately he had been expanding his horizons, dabbling in a little bit of molly and xanny, also known as ecstasy and Xanax. Word was that Bones had misplaced an item and someone wasn't happy, they didn't kill him but the message was heard loud and clear. Father was going to watching you, whatever had slipped through his fingers was sure to never happen again. The troubling part to me was there was no whisper of a name of who had jacked up Bones, he refused to even speak of the incident and went on, business as usual.
Tank and I had spent the last several days at the Boston branch of Rangeman, we hired 6 new recruits and whenever possible, I always liked to be there during part if not all of the orientation period. I knew there was a bit of folklore about me, things that I had done in my missions were often used as training exercises during special ops training and I've held several sessions with new Ranger classes. The men that weren't ex-military knew of my reputation that I had worked hard to procure in the early days. I knew the men looked up to me to be the example and it was important to me to be that figure for them.
My Boston trip couldn't have come at a worse time; my Babe had a run in again with an unruly skip and was sporting some rough injuries. She's been through so much in the short time she has been a bounty hunter, but it never failed to make my heart tighten when I saw her in pain. Of course, it was only made worse by that jackass Morelli, he never failed to kick her when she was down, yelling and humiliating her in front of all the emergency response units. I never have understood why she put up with him. But considering her mother did the same thing to her since a child, I guess I had my answer, she was groomed to accept that behavior. I felt sick to my stomach when I saw her face, how I would gladly take any cuts or bruises for her, it ate away at me inside that she ever felt any pain. The right side of her face was purple and blue, she still was stunning to me, she always would be.
In many ways, Steph and I were a lot alike, we never showed much weakness in front of people. I could see her slide a brave face in place much like she says I do my blank face. She would stay so strong and act as if nothing had happened but when we got alone together, she let the mask slip and the fear would appear on her face and soon the tears would come. It always humbled me that she felt comfortable enough with me that she could share such vulnerability. She even seeked me out for it, coming to my apartment for no reason or calling me to hers on the pretense of needing help to open a jar, it brings a little smile to my face thinking of how that started. I remember the first time she called me when she was still a few months new to the game, a skip had manhandled her and fist had connected with her face. I heard about it from the docking officer at the precinct first, I had planned to catch up with her later to make sure she was good. I couldn't get her off my mind and gave in, I ended up calling her soon after I was done berating myself for letting this woman get under my skin so much. I could hear in her voice she had been upset, we went over the story briefly and she was adamant that she was fine, seeming to get annoyed at me when I questioned her if she was sure. We ended the call but not even five minutes later my phone rang.
"Yo."
"Umm…do you think you might have time to stop by later?"
"Of course, Babe. Are you o..," I was cut off by her sharply.
"I just need…um, I was going to make a pineapple upside down cake and I can't get the lid off the maraschino cherries," a small sniff escaped her with a sigh, "nevermind, I'm being.."
It was my turn to cut her off. "I'll be there in 10."
When I got to her apartment she was eating frozen cookie dough out of a plastic container featuring a fat doughboy. Her eyes were red and puffy, the side of her face had slight swelling and a tinge of purple. She led me to the kitchen never meeting my eyes and handed me the jar of cherries. I leaned against her retro beige countertop and watched as she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, one foot toeing her economy linoleum flooring. The jar easily opened with a pop and I placed it on the counter top, her hand reached for the cherries and I placed my hand over I hers. I couldn't help but notice how small her hand was under mine, the stark contrast of our skin, creamy white next to my light mocha. I don't know why but I began gently rubbing my thumb across her delicate skin and she slowly looked up at me, her gleaming sapphire eyes were as deep as the ocean. It was such a profound feeling when she looked into my eyes, I felt paralyzed. There could have been hell's fire raining down around us and I'm not sure I would have noticed. A feeling erupted inside of me that I wasn't familiar with, I couldn't look away from her. I needed her, I wanted to be her everything, to fulfil every whimsical nonsensical desire she was to have. My fingertips lightly caressed her hand, I noticed everything about her, I feathered touches up her arm feeling every little fine hair, her skin was impossibly like velvet the higher I went, how her arm shivered slightly under my fingertips.
I cupped her cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb at the lone tear that had escaped. I placed my free hand around her waist and pulled her closer to me, her face laid against my chest and I heard her soft sobs. I gently rubbed circles on her lower back and placed my hand in her hair, gently cupping her head and softly speaking to her in Spanish. She wrapped her arms around my waist squeezing me as hard as she could, her small hands made fists in my shirt. After that night, when she needed me, I could expect a call asking me to come over and open a jar. I became so good at reading her that she rarely had to make that call anymore, not to mention I made it a point to run into her several times a day. I would immediately be there for her whether she initiated it or not.
I would give everything I have for her, even if she kept choosing Morelli over me time and time again. She told me they had split for good this time and the explanation was sensible as to why it would be final but I couldn't let this get my hope up just to have them crushed again. After she captured Morelli, it wasn't long that he came sniffing around her and at that time I wanted to keep things simple in my life. I was sure I could keep it to two professionals working together, maybe even having a friendship. What a joke, my fate was sealed the minute she walked into my life. The determined look in her eyes when she was explaining her reasons to me, it was as if she were trying to make it crystal clear to me that she would not be going back, that it was over. I think she was on the verge of saying more but she stopped herself, instead she bit her plump little lip. I wanted to believe her words so badly but I've always made it a point to learn from the past. I couldn't see past her history, she will return to the cop, it was only a matter of time. It was a dream to think she would ever want to spend forever with someone like me, I might appear decent on the outside but my core was rotten. She was too pure for me, she couldn't understand parts of my life, I barely could cope with myself. Something inside me wouldn't let me completely give up hope, my own selfishness wouldn't allow me to let go of her. I decided to wait and see if history were to repeat itself, usually after a couple of weeks they seemed to ignore whatever the issue was and go back to their routine. I don't have the best track record with relationships but even I knew their cycle was completely dysfunctional.
It's been close to 3 years since we met and it's been anything but predictable or dull, I was captivated by her the first day we met. I think of that morning often, how thankful I am that she came into my life so serendipitously. I had just come back to my apartment, I was ready to catch up on some sleep after an all night stakeout that ended badly when Connie called and cashed in her chips with me. "Just show her the ropes and then she can be out of your hair," Connie had told me. I was tempted to refuse her but I truly did owe Connie, through her mob family connections, I found out intel that eventually led me to the location of a skip that was worth a very large payday.
I agreed to meet with this new bounty hunter that morning and she was late, we were to meet at 0900 hours at a small local greasy spoon diner and it was 0915, each tick of the clock had my teeth grinding. I didn't like wasting my time and that is exactly what this felt like, I was doing this novice woman that I knew wouldn't last a day in this field, a chance and she was standing me up. I was aggravated and on the verge of leaving when I heard the bell over the front entrance ring, I glanced that direction and my breath caught. She was a vision, her figure was silhouetted as the dark rain clouds outside gave way to the sunlight shining through, a small waist with round hips, her breasts looked so firm, full and high. She looked to be a small C cup or a large B, either way they made my mouth water and looked like they would be the perfect fit in my hands. She had on sexy little pumps and her attire had me thinking naughty librarian. She was tall for a woman, I would put her about 5'7 or 5'8, her skin was a smooth and soft milky white with a hint of being sun kissed. I could see her long toned legs in the cream-colored linen dress she was wearing, it stopped just above her knees hiding those thighs from my sight. A thin nude belt only accentuated how small her waist was, the top of her dress billowed out from her chest slightly and rested right on top of her breasts, not showing cleavage but teasing you with their fullness. As attracted to her body as I was, nothing compared when my eyes came upon her face. Full lips like little pink pillows that had a light sheen on them, high cheekbones, a delectable jaw that I wanted to kiss, a perfect little nose and then her eyes. They were an insanely gorgeous peridot blue protected by full lashes and wild and sexy curly brown hair that fell well below her shoulders, I had such a desire to twirl those curls around my fingers.
I've had more than my share of beautiful women but none of them seemed to compare to her. I didn't believe in love at first sight, I can't even say that I've ever been in love before but there's something making me want to know this woman. She stood in the doorway glancing around the diner and I could see a slight nervousness in her but it lost out to the look of determination that was steeling her spine. What she did next surprised me, a man that looked to be in his 80's was seated at the table nearest to her and he was struggling to put his leftover breakfast into a to-go container. This diner had a large senior crowd because of their permanent senior discount, the portions were large and modestly priced specifically for them since most were on tight budgets. Most were able to get two meals for the price of one. His fingers were bent in unnatural directions and angles, I recognized it as severe rheumatoid arthritis, my father's mother suffered with it for years and I knew how debilitating it could be for the simplest of tasks.
The curly haired brunette saw the old man fighting to lift his plate and place his omelet inside and a small frown tugged at her mouth, she approached him and spoke a few words with an enchanting smile and whatever she said made him look up to smile back at her. She took a seat at his table and they chatted back and forth, laughing with ease with each other. I began feeling jealous of an old man wearing suspenders. Her smile was absolutely radiant, other diners noticed it too. As they continued to talk, she carefully put his food into the container, she seemed to have a genuine interest in what the old man was saying to her. They stood up together, he was much slower moving with his cane, she offered her hand to walk him out. Through the large plate glass window, I could see they had made their way to the bus stop just outside. She placed his food next to him on the bench and gave him a small hug and a finger wave over her shoulder.
For the second time, I watched her enter the diner and I saw a small breath escape her lips as she had a more relaxed look to her, a small smile played on her lips that was no doubt there from her encounter with the old man. I looked at her and felt she is what I've been waiting for my whole life, the feelings I was having were completely out of character for me and I was trying to blame it on my sleep deprivation. Looking at her, I felt contentment. Words popped into my head from out of nowhere, and it made me internally smile as I thought them, "she's the one." I was staring at her when her eyes came to a stop upon me, she was looking directly in my eyes and her head tilted just a fraction to the side. She began walking toward me, her hips swaying and my heart stopped beating. I was racking my brain to think of what I could say to her, but I felt speechless, I couldn't come up with a single coherent thought. I couldn't remember the last time my mind blanked, my stomach tightened like I was a teenage boy about to talk to the pretty girl. I didn't have to suffer long because in no time she was standing next to my table looking down at me, her lips parted and she softly asked, "Are you Ranger? I'm Stephanie, a friend of Connie's." For the first time in a long time, I smiled. I knew that day that she would change my life forever.
A loud ring curtly vanquished me from my ruminations and back into the cab of our nondescript black SUV, the sun reflecting brightly off every piece of metal in the sea of cars on the packed highway. I wasn't feeling in the mood to speak to whoever it was, I nodded for Tank to take the call. It was a brief, I picked up the name Collier and internally sighed. Knowing I was listening to his side of the conversation, Tank didn't waste many words.
"He wants a meet today," he grumbled, we were on the last 30-minute stretch of a very long 5 ½ hour drive to get back to Trenton.
I allowed my road weary head to lay back onto the plush headrest. I had just returned from a mission only to leave for Boston a couple of days later, the last thing I wanted was to work another job. If I decided to work with Collier, it would be independent from my obligations left on my government contract.
"A interagency task force will be present, so you know the shit has really hit the fan," Tank increased speed and merged into the HOV access lane that opened to us, "He sounded stressed."
Ted Collier is a Special Agent with the Department of Homeland Security, late 50's but a stout man, he used to be a contractor for the CIA but he transferred to a more predictable career since he became a family man. DHS formed eleven days after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, the agency is mostly known for flushing out terrorists and thwarting any plots but encompasses cybersecurity and manages the flow of people and products in our country as well. Collier dealt with anything from human trafficking to smuggling to customs violations, it wasn't a good sign if he was showing signs of strain. We had a mutual respect for each other, he was a good man, no nonsense and didn't get in my way. Over the course of his career he had brought down some heavy hitters, he only called me when he had hit a wall.
"What time does he want to meet?"
"Noon, at the usual place." Tank chanced a look at me, he was as ready to be back at Haywood as I was. I had the feeling he was hoping he could sit this one out, we were both looking forward to the comforts of home but there wouldn't be time to drop Tank off and meet Collier at 1200. I was eager to get back to see Steph, I was anxious to hear her laugh, feel her presence. I could always move the meeting, but I want to get this out of the way, and I was also a little curious. Collier always had interesting cases that challenged me, "Let's meet Collier, head to the Farmer's Market."
…
Alberto Labarbara sat silently on the cumbersome jagged stones with his back pressed against the dilapidated building, he was attuned to all the surrounding noises. The fog was sitting on the harbor like spirits that have been exhumed, it was a warm month but the nights left a chill that could make your teeth rattle. The gun hung heavy in his hand; he harshly rubbed a calloused thumb against the smooth steel cylinder. This wasn't his first time to be out all night, biding his time. When he was a young kid he had learned to make use of himself to the old guys, earning their trust little by little, it was a monotonous task being a lookout but the way he saw it, giving the go ahead or pulling the plug on the jobs, it gave him that sense of control he craved even at a young age.
"Yo, Bossman," was barely whispered over the tall grasses, "think maybe this guy ain't going to show?" Labarbara cursed to himself quietly, it was strongly suggested that he bring the kid with him, Junior Marconi. He was somewhere in his 20's but already had a rep on the street that didn't go unnoticed, he showed great potential. He wasn't quite showing the slight nuances it took for this work yet, but I was trying to cut him some slack, this was his first hit after all.
I turned my head in his direction, I could see the nervous energy barely contained in him, sweat was gathered above his lip despite a consistent cool breeze. "Get your ass over here and stay down."
It had been a long time since I felt the adrenaline that comes with your first few kills. Death was a common occurrence in my line of work, it wasn't personal, most times anyway. Bad things happened in life, you were either on the receiving or giving end. My old man had taught me both of those lessons.
Every night I heard the unmistakable rattle of his keychain, an array of scratches on the gold plating of the deadbolt from his many attempts of inserting his keys over the years. The key eventually managed to find its home in his drunken stupor. He stunk of cheap perfume and booze, his clothes half hung off his bloated body, his custom-made dress shirt was stained with whiskey. He staggered through the doorway, some nights he was incoherently talking to himself or singing, the prick thought he was going to be the next Sinatra. Missing the side table, he dropped his keys and wallet on the floor. He was an important guy in the business, and it afforded him the luxury to usually do about anything he wanted, most nights he wanted to beat the hell out of me and my mother.
It was a night like any other, the heavy silver buckle from his Italian leather belt pounded across my back, my fingers burrowed into the worn velvet striped fabric of the living room chair, each blow sending shockwaves through my body. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of light. A small hatchet was kept next to the fireplace for splitting the wood into kindling. Without thinking, I extended my arm out, my fingernails scraped across the wooden handle until I could grip the worn handle. I used all my strength to push back against his large frame, I twisted from the chair and brought the blade down into his shoulder. My aim wasn't as good as it is now but I accomplished my goal, a look of fear flickered in his eye as he realized what had happened. The strike sent vibrations down my arm from it's assault, the metallic taste of blood found it's way in my mouth from the initial spurt of blood and I watched as he fell back against our outdated shag carpeting. My mother called an ambulance, my father had to save face and reported it as a home invasion. It wouldn't have been good for his image if it was known his teenage son had tried to kill him. That was the last time I ever saw my father.
I pulled my collar up to protect my neck but a shiver still went up my spine as a particularly strong gust of wind blew our direction. Keeping my voice low, enhancing my natural baritone, "Do ya remember what I told ya to do?"
"You want me to take this knife and stick it into his fucking throat before he has a chance to open that pussy mouth of his. Stay low, move fast." Junior was squeezing his slender fingers around the dark knife handle as he spoke.
"That's right. Don't forget to grab the belt." Junior nodded his head. They sat in silence until they heard a car door closing.
Oleg Smirnov was a tall man with broad shoulders and a square head, his tight bowl clipped haircut did nothing but cause the shape to be more obvious. What could he say, the style was popular back in Moldova when he was working the door at the upscale clubs. He was meeting all the right people and finally got his chance; he was sent to the States for a major shipment after proving himself with local deliveries in Moldova. His mentor had gone out on a limb for him and he would repay his loyalty with a flawless delivery.
The taxi dropped him close to the harbor, he was going to be leaving tonight for another delivery, the last round had been successful, they were putting pressure on the competition. It was Oleg's last night at port for a few weeks and he had wanted to spend a little time at a local bar, drinking a few beers, watching the New York Knicks lose another game. He was going to owe another grand to that fat bastard Lonnie back on the ship, he needed to learn to stop betting. Stepping out of the taxi, he danced around on his feet and thought first, he needed to find a place to piss and fast as he wondered why he had to drink so much.
Oleg walked a few feet and said, 'Fuck it." The ship wasn't far, he could see the lights onboard, but all those beers were making him feel he was damn well going to piss his pants. He walked into a tall grassy patch away from the street, lamps from the docks did little to hold back the shadows, he had just unzipped his pants when he saw movement to his left. Turning quickly, his hand already reaching for his revolver in his shoulder holster, he spotted the vacant eyes of a bum that was tucking himself into a large roll of bubble wrap, mumbling incoherent words and pouring a brown liquid down his mouth. Oleg wasn't giving any free shows and decided to take a few more steps into the thicket of grass nearer to the edge of a small clearing. Relief went through his body as the yellow stream shot out of him, he playfully aimed his urine at a mound of dirt, remembering the old days when he and his brother did the same thing trying to spell their names in the snow when they were children.
Once again, Oleg heard a small sound but this time it came from his right, the crushing of an aluminum can. He couldn't believe that son of a bitch was dumb enough to come up to him, no doubt he wanted cash. Oleg gave a shake to his dick and was about to tuck it back in his pants so he could teach this asshole a lesson. He never got the chance, the first thing he felt was a sweaty hand covering his mouth, it smelled like raw onions and dirt, the next was a intense pain in the side of his neck. The world began to spin for Oleg, he was sliding down to the ground with a heaviness weighing on him, his face felt the gritty clay soil and small pebbles rubbing into his face. Whatever force was on top of him shifted, then a severe pain came from his chest then Oleg's world went dark.
My heart was about to pound out of my chest and I know I felt my dick get hard. Labarbara told me to take him in the neck and I did with precision but before I knew it, I was plunging the knife into his chest and give it a firm twist. I've never felt so alive, it was exhilarating! This was my first time to kill another person, I wasn't sure I would be able to but I wanted to make my grandfather proud. He was who I aspired to be like, he told me the way men were in the old country were, he would be so proud of me today. I used the knife he gave me on one of our last hunting trips a few years earlier. It was on that trip that I told my grandfather I didn't know if I would ever be able to do what he used to do in the old days and he just looked at me with his customary squint, poking at the fire with a stick causing amber sparks to fly. A few days later when we were home, he brought me in the backyard, just the two of us and my dog Max. I was an 11-year-old awkward kid with no friends and my mom had given me Max, he was just a mut but he became my best friend. My grandfather brought a gun out of his pocket, handing it to me and said, "now, kill the dog." I looked at him and laughed nervously, he had to be kidding but tears immediately filled my eyes. My grandfather never joked. I flat out refused, we stayed in the backyard all night and into the morning. I was hoping that he was testing me to see if I was man enough to stand up to him, sadly it wasn't. As the sun rose, he then told me that the decision has been made and if I wouldn't shoot Max, he would but instead of a bullet he was going to slice him open. wouldn'tI had no doubt he would kill Max, I couldn't understand why this was happening. I tried to convince myself I was doing this for Max so that he wouldn't suffer, a bullet would be better than a knife. I couldn't see through the tears falling out of my eyes, I held Max, feeling his soft fur in my hands. He looked at me with the same lovable eyes he always did, he seemed to have a smile on his face. I took the gun from my grandfather, put the barrel to Max's skull, closing my eyes I pulled the trigger. I broke into hysterics and stayed in my bedroom for days. I wanted to carve a hole in the middle of my grandfather's chest and rip out his heart, I was filled with rage the next time I saw him. I screamed at him until my lungs ached, asking him why he did that to me, to Max. He looked at me with his cold steel gray eyes and said there was no reason, but now there is truly nothing I couldn't do, the hate I possessed from this one act would allow me to destroy anything in my path. He was right, as I twisted the knife in that fucker all I thought about was Max with his big brown eyes smiling at me and I shoved the knife deeper in his chest.
Labarbara walked up behind me, gave me a slight head nod and a little smile, I just smiled back at him. He heard it before I did, pop…pop…pop..pop..pop..pop, we both turned to the sound at the same time and saw a frail old bum franticly trying to get to his feet but was stuck in bubble wrap. Each time he moved, a little pop of a bubble happened; Labarbara tilted his head back and gave out a full belly laugh. An ear to ear sparkling smile stayed on his face as he walked over to the bum, he pulled the silver pistol out of his holster. The bum knew he was in trouble, he managed to get on his hands and knees and was attempting to crawl away, the pops coming in rapid fire succession. Labarbara was at the bum in four strides and loomed over him, he raised the gun and shot him once in the back. The bum fell face forward into the weeds letting out a growl and finally ended up rolling onto his back, he wasn't moving but he wasn't quite dead. He fired one more shot between his eyes causing the bum's body to give a small twitch.
I started walking towards him figuring our job was done, I also didn't think it was good for us to stick around after the gunshots. Labarbara suddenly pointed the gun up at me, his smile fell from his face to one of no emotion. I stood frozen, my eyes wide, wondering if I rushed him what the odds of him not getting a fatal shot off on me were. I only had my knife, and everyone knows you don't bring a knife to a gun fight.
What felt like minutes passed before Al smiled sublimely, "Junior, I told you not to forget the belt." He let out a chuckle, "too easy, Kid," as he placed his gun back in his holster, knowing he had got me.
"Real fuckin funny."