14. Fleetwood Mac - Dreams

Today was my lazy day. My day to think things through and reflect on my first outing. Good, bad and what I needed to change.

Lying on the floor, gaze on my ceiling and listening to the voice of Stevie Nicks while the morning sun streamed through my window. Things could be worse, I even had something to keep me occupied until Tomasso ordered my next hit.

Thirty Thousand Dollar.

Every Month.

If I managed to get that sum our most reprehensible business would be shut down.

I had initially been very surprised yesterday morning when Tomasso had made this offer and had literally taken all wind out of my sails when I had waltzed up to his townhome.

I had been ready to give an ultimatum, even ready to play the Frankenstein's Monster card to get my point across. But in hindsight it should have been obvious, given that Tomasso had seen my value during a single night and that he probably didn't want to risk even the slightest chance of me turning on them.

By now it should have been very clear to them, that I would listen…up to a certain point. I would follow…up to a certain point. You push too far or provoke me, and I was going to push back.

Sadly, there were a couple of catches to acquiring said money. It was certainly reasonable from Tomasso's perspective and I completely understood the reasoning behind it, but they were a bit of a headache for me.

No goods. Plain and simple. Cash only.

There would be nothing that could be traceable in any way or form, and there was zero interest in something that had to go through some intermediary to get the money. No drugs, cars or jewelry.

I wasn't allowed to act in Uptown. At all. The atmosphere around here was tense, uneasy, so we didn't want a murderous unknown individual stirring things up and make other groups antsy or trigger-happy, which was a bit of a bummer since the Burnley Town Massive and the East Side Dragons were ripe for the picking

Thirty…Thousand Dollar.

I went through an upstart gang and only managed to get some 500 bucks. That was my rent, my excessive amounts of food and the album I was currently listening to. Except for some peace of mind regarding my living arrangements I was back on square one.

But…this was the most promising route so far. I would still more than struggle at the same rate unless I aimed significantly higher, which was a different can of worms altogether.

I could steal like a thief or break in somewhere, but the thought left a sour taste, and I didn't even know where to begin with unlike with the gangs I could hit.

That left the question of foot or wheel. 'My' Ford still parked downstairs and it would be faster…for now. More comfortable to be honest, too. But jumping over streets and from rooftop to rooftop like a demented ninja was badass. I was superhuman for crying out loud, you didn't drive a banged-up Ford LTD when you were a discount Deadpool.

'Or did you? That was a weak comparison.'

It would be training. I could get used to dropping from heights, run faster, jump further.

'A compromise?'

Drive Downtown, park somewhere out of the way and parkour the rest. If push came to shove, however, I would ditch the car without a second thought.

Now, talking about ditching, I angled my head slightly and eyed the wooden handle of my axe.

It did its job, but it felt awkward. The reach and weight were nice, but a longer blade would be nicer, given that I wouldn't have to be pinpoint with my swings.

"Some sword?" I thought out loud but sounded unconvinced to my own ears.

Compared to the axe a sword might be a bit flimsy since I couldn't bridge the gap with skills to get the most out of it.

'What are these chunky things called that those bush people use?'

A machete.

A proper machete. I could hack and slay and even stab to my heart's content. A scabbard strapped to my back and it would be somewhat practical, too.

Or…how about two machetes? Huuuuhh. That sounded badass.

That settled it. I was going to visit that racist bastard again and take a look at what he got.

Knives. I wanted to throw knives around. Didn't matter if I was going to pick them up after I was done, but I was going all-in with this.

I leaned up and took a little sip from my glass of wine. Claudia had had the right idea back then.

Alcohol was bad bla bla bla, I was so close to picking up smoking out of spite that it wasn't even funny.

I never drank and drove, drank in moderation and only in company, never smoked and never did drugs and where did it get me? To a fucking city, where I didn't even want to know what was in the faucet water.

I slumped back to the floor, I still got these bursts of indignation due to the unfairness of it all on occasion, that left me weary and pissed to the point where it was a toss-up between two big glasses of wine or training myself to exhaustion, where I was too wasted to be pissed anymore.

Today it was the wine.

I was back at the counter and waited for Mr. white, bald and racist to ring up my two new toys. Two Ontario 1-18 Military Machetes, sheaths, and a knife sharpener. Apparently, these things were something of an evergreen in the US military, at least that's what my new fan told me when he wasn't gushing about my little stunt in the East End, that he heard about through the grapevine.

My balaclava firmly in place, parts of pale skin and my blue eyes the only thing visible, the guy probably thought I was some like-minded person, doing whoever's work.

'Urgh!'

I rolled my eyes as the guy droned on, when something caught my attention, and I couldn't help but smile for split second.

"Say," I began and waited for the guy to shut up for a second. "That patch on your west. You know where I can find them? I heard they are expanding and I'm wondering if they need some muscle." I asked and pointed below his breast pocket.

"The Street Demonz? Oh yeah, since that nutjob went to prison, they have taken big chunks of his business. But they have quarters and bars all over the city, usually in the outskirts or in the dock areas." He said enthusiastically.

He leaned over the counter as if to share a secret.

"You know, I'm thinking of buying a machine myself. I think we would fit right in with them." He finished proudly, probably imagining how impressed I must be.

"Hmmm." I agreed, my thought already elsewhere. These establishments…I highly doubted, that biker gangs used banks for their money.

Admittedly it was a bit of a trip on foot, but I had said I wanted the training, so I was getting the training, but a trek through the whole city was bit excessive in hindsight.

It didn't matter now; I was finally here. All the way down in the South-west at the Dixon Docks, the place I was fairly certain I would find the Dockyard Dogs.

It had been some offhand comments by Paulie back in the day when we had disposed some 'trash' under Crown Point Bridge or had crossed Brown Bridge for some shooting lessons in the woods beyond, but it were these remarks that were luckily stuck in the back of my mind, that might give me a real chance to reach my quota at least at the start.

I eyed the multiple vans and the truck parked in front of the somewhat rundown warehouse. They were in the same market as the Street Demonz, with a z, and their rivals in a sense, but they were also the best and most low-profile bet to squeeze the most out of every single hideout.

After taking a moment to brace myself I jumped down to the trailer below and then down to the ground. I made my way across the street and finally stood in front of a non-described steel door, crouching I pushed a piece of paper through the small gab and pounded the door with three solid hits to get the attention of the people inside.

'I want to make a deal regarding the Street Demonz.'

'Sincerely,

The guy, that butchered the Ibanescus'

If that wasn't a door opener, then I didn't know what else.

I had been forced to wait two days for the Dockyard Dogs to gather the payment for my first hit on such a short notice, but they eventually managed it and I was giddy to hold up my end of the deal.

It was all very straightforward and even quite fair in my humble opinion.

I was going to hit the Street Demonz' workshops, bars, warehouses etc. and get rid of the current occupants. I would loot the people and the places for all the cash I could find.

And only cash, that was the important bit.

Then…then I would call the Dockyard Dogs. They would roll up with their truck, give me my previously agreed upon ten thousand Dollars and load in everything they wanted. Every bike, every gun, every drug, and even the property itself was theirs to do as they pleased as far as I was concerned.

I was going to get some fat cash for every single Street Demonz place, and they were going to receive goods to sell and make a hefty profit while their rivals were going to end up with a bloody nose.

Talking about bloody noses, I was about to land the first punch.

A small two-story workshop with a decently sized junkyard around it. This little gem was even in the same neighborhood as the Dockyard Dogs.

They wanted this one first 'to solidify their territory' and to take over this little salvage business and, frankly, I didn't care. I just wanted the cash, as much and as fast as possible and the five gleaming choppers parked near a roller door on the property gave me hopes for a little bonus on top of my ten grand.

But…I was a bit at a loss on how to actually proceed.

I didn't hear any work done in the workshop itself, but I did see flickering lights through some windows above the entrance. Maybe a TV in a staffroom?

Guns blazing, meant reinforcement, which I really didn't want tonight.

I wanted to give a good first impression to my new business partners and that meant undamaged property and merchandise. Furthermore, I wanted to give them this whole thing turnkey ready, and Street Demonz rolling in would certainly rain on my parade in that regard.

Fucking hell, this was complicated.

I didn't see any open windows or doors and that meant I would have to force myself indoors somehow, but breaking glass or doors would certainly alert those guys in this quiet night.

Hints…of a vague idea were forming. These shops and warehouses usually had a handful of skylights built into the roof to provide illumination during the day and save energy. Given that they tended to open outwards I should be able to force them open with a bit of elbow grease.

And as long as I stayed on the reinforced bits of the roof, I should be relatively silent, too.

Uuuuhh, things were starting to take shape and I liked it.

I could even make the jump from that stack of cars in the back to the edge of the roof. Granted, the drop into the building might end up a bit uncomfortable, but it would be manageable.

That looked deep. So far everything went without a hitch but gazing down from a two-story building into what looked like an abyss gave me a queasy feeling. I did not like heights.

It looked like I would land in an aisle between two shelves filled with automotive parts given that I saw exhaust pipes stacked on the top. That meant I had to be careful with the landing so as not to rattle the shelves.

Goddammit!…Breath in…breath out…let's go.

And…I'm in…and instantly I felt like I was in a level of Splinter Cell. This felt beyond cool.

Drawing one of my machetes from the sheath on my back I crept towards the front of the building where I saw the lights earlier.

A metal staircase leading up to three doors on the next floor and what looked like some office and customer space underneath it greeted me when I finally emerged from the darkened rows.

Seeing light streaming out of a slightly ajar door I made my way towards it. I didn't hear a thing, so I pushed with a featherlight touch and saw, that it was indeed a small office and the light a small old desk lamp.

What held my attention however was the figure slumped over the desk. Oily long hair hanging limply around his skull and down his shoulder and a black leather west with their logo proudly on the back told me that this guy wasn't leaving the premises on his own two feet.

The white powder, the spoon, and the syringe on the desk did the rest in dispersing any hint of hesitation I might have had at some point.

A quick over-head swing and I split his head. There was no need for theatrics.

A quick search around the floor and the remaining rooms revealed the floor to be empty. Time to head upstairs.

Mindful of any sounds, I made my way up to the little walkway and the three doors intend to wrap things up.

Second machete now in hand I skipped the first two doors and went to the last, the door through which I could hear sounds coming from.

I calmly opened the door and scanned the interior, one sweeping glance revealed three men scattered on two couches watching TV in various states of lucidity.

I saw one man shift towards the door bleary-eyed, beer bottle firmly in his grip.

"Ey, Johnny I hope you didn't blow all our H!" He stated cheerfully, apparently not caring either way. I didn't care either, because by the time he finished I loomed in their midst like a black monolith.

The two barely conscious guys stared at me in a mixture of wonder and consternation. No wonder, given the piles of booze scattered around them.

"Last call, boys!"

Well, isn't that a conundrum?

Four guys, five motorcycles. Guess where I found the last guy.

I heard him on the shitter…having a bad time.

I was so perplexed that I quietly stepped out of the restroom again, did Batman have to deal with stuff like that?

Kicking or ripping open the stall door would be an easy feat, but so far, I left zero damage in my wake and I kinda wanted to keep it that way, and offing someone on the crapper was a bit of a dickmove, wasn't it?

But…I really really didn't want to wait any longer, I had a toasty warm bed waiting for me.

'May as well relieve the guy from his pains.' I thought and stepped back into the restroom, slipped into the second stall, and hoped the toilet could hold my weight when I gingerly stepped on it.

"Hello there."

The mixture of pain and horror when he looked up almost made me feel sorry for the guy.

I sat across Tomasso in his office clad in my new black suit and a white dress shirt underneath. If it wasn't for my soft face I could almost pass as a very young adult, and that's precisely what I was going for. Clothes make the man.

Straight and confident posture in place I calmly slid the big envelope onto his desk. The fruits of two weeks of nonstop training and biker busting.

"This should cover the next two months."