Chapter Two

I woke up around 6:30. He looked asleep infront of a computer from my angle, so I quietly got up.

"Finally you're awake."
"What?"
"My alarm went off at 5:30, I wondered how long you were gonna be asleep."
"Well..."
"So, what's your plan for today?"

I put my gun to his head. I saw his head begin to sweat. It's a funny thing when criminals are scared.

"You're gonna take me to your boss's room."
"I can't do that."
"Then you find a large hole in your head, and part of your BRAIN missing."
"...I still can't do that."
"Then we use creative liberties to get you to DO that."
"Like?"
"Tracer Bullet. I'm a private investigator. You will take me to your boss."
"I still can't do that."
"Then we lie. I'm going to be the new guy. I want to join. You will get me to him."
"...I guess I cannot refuse with the current situation... But I'll do it on one condition."

I never like the sound of that phrase. I never did. And frankly, I never will.

"That being?"

"I want you to ensure my safety."

"I can't ensure your safety from OTHERS. Just from me."
"That's all I need. Let's go."

We got into his car. He was very passive, and did what he was told. I don't like passive people normally, but he proved useful and I was going to spare his life in case I needed him again. But you never tell people that you're sparing them right away. Just to increase the tension.

The boss's office was in a casino, and I really didn't pay attention because I'm not a casino gambler. We whisked pass the security, and headed to the boss's room. It was elegant and flamboyant. I hated it. Lots of gold statues, mirrors, and enough lavish stuff to make pharaohs look like poor white guys. This motherfucker died now.

"BRODIE! What the hell have you brought here to me?"
"Sir, he wants to work with us."
"OH YEAH? Well what can he do for us?"
"I'm a bootlegger, sir."
"OH! OH! Well, consider yourself family…IF you prove yourself."
"How can I do that sir?"

"Well, if you can show me that you're going to be loyal, I can consider you a part of my family."

This was bad. This was VERY bad, especially since I work alone and don't trust to many God damned people. Nor do I give out my trust to just anyone. I just hoped I was a good enough actor to pull this off.

"How can I show you loyalty?"

"There's a client who hasn't paid up."

"Take care of business?"

"Indeed."

"Where is he located?"

He threw me a sheet of paper. Unfortunately, the guy who was behind on dues was also a former client of mine. Not only was this a great way to make him pay up MY dues, but gain the trust of this moronic family as well. I guess not all godfathers are Don Corleones. I headed over to the Eastern Detroit home. That idiot who I'd caught earlier, Brodie, didn't come along. This was ideal.

"OH SHIT! TRACER!"

"That's right. Thought you'd never see me?"

"I'm working on getting your money, really I am!"

I cocked my .45 Raptor Magnum. "Yeah. Then how you gonna pay the Don?"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM?!"

I pulled the trigger part of the way. "I'm collecting."

"For the Don?"

"For us both. You got 90 seconds to produce the cash you owe. And yes, for me, you pay CASH."

"You aren't going to kill me, are you?"

"Don said not to worry about sparing you." He ran to the bedroom. He pulled out three mattresses. "And with just three seconds left before your death… Count it out. Four grand for me. COUNT IT OUT."

"There's one thousand… two thousand…three… ok, there's four thousand."

"How much do you owe the don?"

"Everything else."

He died after that sentence. Cruel yes, but he was a pest to us both. The Don was to think of it as a favor. I headed back to the Don's office.

"Great job, son. You're in."
It had worked perfectly. Now all I needed was to play the cards right. So far, I'd been drawn a royal flush in clubs. Now, all I needed was to was wait to strike...

There was a really good thing about this whole case that'd happened. What I realized is that bringing in this Don would cash in major amounts of cash. I had thought many times of taking him out at night, but it'd have been too easy, too messy and not what I wanted to accomplish at all. I rigged myself with a tape recorder, so that when he finally did talk I'd have it all. But that night I was uneasy. I made a phone call.

"Excuse me. Is---"
"Tracer? Is that really you?"

"Thank goodness, it's you Greg."
"Tracer, I oughta kill you. What's shakin?"

"…I need some information."

"Good person to call. Who do you need the info on?"
"Flavio Staba."
"He's one of the few Dons left, isn't he?"
"And he's about to bite the dust."

"Well, okay, I'll tell you what you need…"