I don't own Saints Row.
Also, please be forgiving. I'm not a native English speaker. Hope you will enjoy!
I opened the door of my old place, exhausted after leaving Gat at the safety of his girlfriend's home, and flicked the switch. The electricity still worked, probably because it was a hijack from the neighbor.
An old mattress on the floor, an old fridge, TV and a bug eaten armchair. For now it will do. Better than been in jail, that's for sure.
I didn't even remove the jeans, or my shoes, collapsing on the 'bed'. When I woke up it was around three already. I got up and took a long drag from the bottle of 40 oz I had left by my side the night before. Lazily, I went to the bathroom for a shower.
'So this is it, you bitch. Ten lost years, a fucking coma, no gang.' I sighed, pissed, staring at the missing tiles on the dirty bathroom wall as I let some water ran down my shoulders. 'Ten fucking years breathing through a tube, rotting in a hospital bed.' A big part of my youth was freaking gone, stolen from me by the people I once considered family.
I drank the rest of the booze to deal better with all this and took the old jeans off the floor where I tossed it last night.
When I checked the pockets, found the 200 dollars I stole from the doctor while escaping.
I took the train downtown, going to the supermarket to buy the basics: A blanket, soap, shampoo, razor, some food and beer. I bought all the make up I could with a few dollars, some shorts and a lycra top.
I knew exactly where and how to spend the money. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time I found myself in this kind of situation, that is, fucking broke. But at the idea of being far from the death row, having 200 dollars to spend, my health and freedom back was like a wonderful fresh start, and it felt really good to be able to walk on the streets and have the right to live again.
After dropping my shopping at the studio, I tried to retrieve some contacts and went to visit Carlos at his friend's place.
As I walked through Stilwater, my old home, I almost didn't recognize it anymore.
A lot changed: Saints tags used to cover the walls of the entire city, now gangs with ridiculous names like 'Sons of Samedi' had this privilege. I saw no bangers greeting me on the sidewalks, not a single purple car passing around. A bit disappointed, I started to make my way back home.
It was getting late, and colder. I shrugged since I couldn't afford a coat, but as I passed in front of a cafe noticed a feminine black jacket over a chair. Just by looking at it you could tell this was expensive designer stuff.
I simply entered the cafe and pretended to be a costumer, walked to it, putting it so casually over my back, that no one could say it wasn't mine already.
'Now look at that, and it's exactly my size.' I thought, passing my hands lustfully on the fine leather. It was nice to own a jacket like that again. I loved expensive stuff, and got used to the bling. Been poor sucks, and when you taste richness going back to zero is unbearable.
This reminded me painfully that it was all gone. The money, the power, the nice shit, the top cars... And, worst: The gang, so many old friends...
It was all stolen from us. Ultor, Troy... I would call all of my debts.
I had Gat, and with his help, resurrecting the gang was the first thing I would do. This was our city. We were reunited, so we wouldn't be taking shit, hiding and lowering our heads like now. We could still recruit; regain our pride and our territory back.
I entered home and tried not to think anymore about the change of situation, that now we were no longer the kings of the city but a bunch of was useless and it put me in a state of pure anger. Anyway, it was only temporary.
To get my head away from these unpleasant thoughts I indulged myself into going through the stuff I just bought to look decent again. It was all cheap crap from 'On the Rag' or the dollar store, but it still gave me some satisfaction.
I rushed to the bathroom and shaved, then attached my hair, bringing it to the front so I could cut it in layers. Homemade, and the best I could afford, but it looked alright.
Next put the shorts and white top on and some make up, checking the final result in the broken mirror behind the door.
Thankfully, I aged well. Maybe it was the coma, but I could still pass for a college chick.
I smiled, feeling ready to take the entire city back tonight if it was necessary. It was good to find myself again.
I then checked my pockets, finding only 18 dollars and some nickels on it. It was all that was left from the shopping I did.
If wanted to eat at all that month then I would have to move my ass and bring some cash.
I had a list of vehicles to retrieve to Chop Shop, at the Trailer Park an old contact gave me a list of people that needed to be 'taken care of' for good cash. But it had to wait 'till tomorrow.
It wasn't that late, yet my ass was so tired I craved for some sleep. But, before my body found the bed, someone hit on the door.
I heard a low accented voice on the other side:
'Hey. It's me, Carlos. I found us work. Do you still need cash?'
I knew the answer to that.
'Wow. Fancy.' The Boss stated, surprised, as Carlos opened the door of a black limo, inviting her in.
'Hey, thanks. How are you?' He said as she took place at the leather seat next to his and closed the door.
'Fine. And you and your friend?'
'Oh. Don't mention that fucker.' Carlos made a pissed gesture while he turned off the radio. 'When I woke up I was alone in the flat with a hangover. Most of his stuff gone (and most of mine too!), which brings us to this job.'
'So...?'
'Uh. Right.' Carlos said, uneasily, and passed a hand over his skull cap. He seemed embarrassed.
She lifted both brows, encouraging him to speak, but he just switched awkwardly on the seat.
'Spit it Carlos we don't have all night.'
'Well, it's a good thing that you're in desperate need of cash, because... They needed someone who could drive some A list people while keeping the press away… I thought I'd do the driving and you the security.'
'Piece of cake. Is that all?'
'You wished.' He pointed behind himself and The Boss turned her head: A hooker in high heels, leather lingerie and glitter bunny ears was opening a bag full of sex toys in the backseat.
'Let me guess: Those will be the Hugh Grant kind of celebrities.' She stated, grimly.
Carlos smiled awkwardly:
'Miss, you catch up quickly.'
About three hours of work later, driving to Metal music, both made a well deserved stop at Freckle Bitch's, Stilwater's most famous fast food.
A 'chicken bazoom' and a couple of 'the fists' later, the two had flushed faces, chewing and laughing nosily at the restaurant table, so much that some of the other costumers would even look back at them and frown.
'We're Latinos and speak loud, so what?' The Boss shouted, mockingly.
'Quieres mamita?*' Carlos offered some of his brought from home beer to the old lady amusingly as if to confirm this idea, and she widened her eyes in shock.
It looked like a great time, maybe from all the beers, maybe from the joy of been out of jail, or maybe from the natural affinity that connected the two fugitives.
The Boss was telling yet another anecdote from the old days at his request:
'...And then I said; hope you don't mind the hepatitis! Hahahaha.'
Carlos busted up with laughter too, covering his mouth with his hand so the food he was chewing wouldn't go anywhere.
'Tonight was great.' He said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. 'I hope that you had fun too, to make up for the lost time.'
'I did. Though I didn't expect to be payed to drive around while people have sex on the back seat. They could've soundproofed that thing.'
'But then, we wouldn't have learned that some people actually dig some unusual shit.'
'Don't mention it!' She chuckled. 'Reminds me we should get going and get our cash.'
Carlos smile vanished a little, disappointed that she was leaving already, and replied shyly:
'Ah, Sure. Huh, you… You wanna do it again tomorrow?'
The Boss put one hand in his shoulder:
'Thanks, but we have more important shit to focus for now.'
'We do? Waddya mean?'
'Since most of the old crew is dead or on jail, Gat and I will be doing some recruiting. I will also need other Lieutenants than you. We're putting our crew back together, taking back the Row.'
Carlos gave her a look of pure gratitude.
The Saints... Reborn. It was a dream, too good to be true. And to top that, he got to be a part of it.
'Me, a Lieutenant? For real?'
'Yep. Do you feel up to the task?'
An enchanted smile brightened up his face, he was just trying not to sound too excited about it:
'Sure I do! I mean, if you help me.'
A warm smile suddenly broke the seriousness in The Boss' face. She sensed tat he needed praise, that her opinion did matter an awful lot to him. He was a very sweet person, but was he Gang material? He did show potential when they escaped the island, perhaps with the right coaching he could go far.
The Boss decided, in that moment, to take him under her wing. Maybe it was for the connection she felt from the start, or maybe because he reminded her of herself when first got into the Saints, inexperienced and eager to please.
'Deal. When I'm done with the recruiting, I will let you kn...!'
Suddenly, The Boss paused, startled at the brusque change in Carlos' expression. His eyes were no longer on her, but rather on the glass window behind their table. She turned her head and followed his gaze through the translucent barrier to find the sight of two men talking outside. They seemed to be doing business with a pimp of the neighborhood. One of them was short and grey haired, his eyes were unpleasantly blue. The other man next to him was older, balding and somewhat bulky. She didn't know them, so she turned back to Carlos for answers:
'Who are th...?'
In response Carlos just mashed his fists quietly on the table, apparently making all the effort he could to keep things down.
'The cop.' He whispered. 'The one that killed my brother. He is... Fuck, that piece of shit, he is standing right there!'
The tone in which those words were said was more than enough for The Boss to understand what he wanted to do. Better than most, she understood a couple of things about revenge. What wouldn't she give to have fate granting her with such an opportunity, concerning Troy.
'Get in the car. Let's see what he's up to.'
A black limo drove around the district smoothly, the driver taking his time to go slowly so the two clients had their fun with some hookers on the back.
It drove around the hood in loop for a while, and now, it approached a quieter area full of abandoned buildings, bums and drunkards.
The clients were heavily entertained, it took a while before they realized that the limo was now squeezed at a small and dark alley.
'What the fuck is wrong? I'm not going to tip that asshole.' The bald man turned to his friend, who happened to be the same middle aged man with unpleasant blue eyes we saw before.
'Hey, buddy, the strip club is that way!' The bright eyed man tapped on the retractile barrier that separated the two parts of the car, meant for privacy.
But before he got an answer a pair of angry arms opened the doors and pulled him out of the car.
'Fuck it! What is going on?!'
The bald guy pulled a taser and successfully used it on his aggressor's arm, but a woman appeared of nowhere, bandana covering her face, and banged a car stand brutally against his skull.
His friend got of the car and drew a gun but she shot him first and pushed him on the floor, kicking him so hard on the leg that a sound of broken bone was heard, along with a blood curdling scream.
She promptly silenced him with another shot on the chest, before he could draw more attention.
The strippers screamed and didn't waste time to go ghost, leaving the only standing client to deal with the situation.
Carlos lifted and pressed Hector's murder against the wall, his Glock tight on the man's forehead, spiting on his face before he pulled the trigger.
Part of the bald head exploded, leaving a red trail over the bricks as his body slid limply on the ground.
He stood there for a moment, watching the dead man, unable to think. A huge relief was washing through his body, mixed with hurt, like he was standing again on that tragic night in that parking lot, watching Hector's head split similarly with a bullet, and his body too falling without any life on it.
A soft hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality, pressing it for comfort.
'It's done' He said.
'Let's move, we can't afford to stay here.'
The Boss' advice was justified. Not far from them, faint sirens sounds were approaching.
They regained the streets and mixed with the crowd without walking too fast, trying not to draw attention. The Boss' studio was still a bit far ahead.
But Carlos suddenly stopped. He felt a sharp pain and brought a hand to his sides. He checked it in surprise, and it was covered in blood.
The cut from the shank he received in prison was open, probably from the effort he did to draw that guy out of the car. Blood was soaking his white tank top. It was nothing life threatening, but if they were stopped by the police that wound would be very hard to explain.
Now that the adrenaline lowered he was feeling the pain fully, the effect of the taser making him want to puke.
He twisted the fabric in his fist, trying to make it less visible or at least to keep all that blood from spreading, and hurried to catch up with The Boss.
'Are you ok?' The Boss asked as they walked, a bit worried as his skin was now even paler than it usually was.
'I'm fine, I'm just dizzy from the shock.'
'Here.' She passed his arm around her shoulders, pretending to be a couple as she guided him through the streets.
'Two more blocks and we're there. It will be fine, Carlos. I will take care of you.'
As they turned the corner, a bad surprise awaited.
'Shit.' She whispered as she spotted a couple of Five O's rolling slowly, as if looking for something. 'Don't look.'
Without a choice, they kept walking towards it. It would be too suspicious if they backed out.
'Talk to me, about anything'. She whispered to him as they tried and engaged casual conversation, doing their best to look like boyfriend and girlfriend and go unnoticed.
One cop inside the car casted his eyes suspiciously on the couple, checking to see if there was anything unusual about them, but to their luck screams from a prostitute fight across the street drew the officer's attention.
It was a relief when they finally arrived at the studio. She laid Carlos over the old mattress and rolled up his wife beater to inspect the wound.
It was bleeding less, but trails of blood went down to his legs, showing that he had lost some blood. But needless to say a hospital wasn't a good idea.
'I have nothing here to clean your cut.'
'You're not thinking about going out there again tonight, are you? It's not safe yet! I will be fine tomorrow all it takes is some rest.' He argued, pressing his shirt over the wound, but she wasn't convinced.
'I've got this. I know a place that is open and far from here.' She checked her pockets. 'Damn. I don't think I have enough on me. Where is your wallet?'
'Uh, I left it over there.' He said, after a short hesitation, pointing to the old armchair.
The Boss reached for it only to find nothing inside. This kid was even more broken than she was.
She couldn't help but smile fondly, realizing that he must have spent his last bucks at Freckle Bitch's. She said she would pay for her part, but he insisted, and didn't even hesitate before parting from his last cents just to make a gesture for her.
'Where you're going?'
'I am going to mug someone for cash, it's not like I've never done it before.'
'You nuts? There are cops everywhere, forget it! I won't let you do it.'
The Boss sighed, pouting.
He was right.
There was only one thing left to do then...
'You and I had a short life together.' She though, bitterly caressing the leather of her fine designer jacket. 'Easy come, easy go.'
'Just thought of something. I'll be back.'
The Boss opened the door and carefully checked the environment, then rushed to the pawn shop, hopping it was still open. This was a risk, but there was no other choice.
What she got was a ridiculous deal for the article, but enough to buy all that was necessary to fix Carlos.
Back in the studio, she patched the shank wound with the improvisation and expertise of someone who had seen more than her share of knife injures.
'Thanks.' Carlos said to The Boss, who was kneeling next to him on the mattress, the warm and kind gratitude in his eyes making her unease.
'Heh. Just returning a favor.'
She covered Carlos with a blanket and got up, but he noticed that she was shivering a little.
'What is it, you're cold?'
'Hm, no it's fine.' She tried to sound natural, unfolding the arms she had crossed over her chest, without noticing. The truth was that she was freezing, but she thought that if he knew what happened to her coat he would probably feel bad.
Carlos frowned a bit, his eyes going from side to side, like he was figuring something out, but finally closed them, completely washed out.
The sound of regular breathing was all that could be heard in the room, telling her that he was asleep. She made herself as comfortable as possible on the armchair, nesting there for the night.
* Want some beer, baby?
Escort activity anyone? XD