Alright, ladies and gentleman. Welcome to the next chapter and welcome to the life of the Rowdyruff Boys.

I imagine it's predictable in some fashion but I promise there's a lot coming up in the next two chapters. Trust me on that one.

Thank you to those who've given feedback so far. As always, reviews are much appreciated and encouraged:)

Onwards!

"City of the damned, lost children with dirty faces today

No one really seems to care."- Green Day, American Idiot, 2004

Chapter 3. Journey to the East Side of the Bay

Miss Keane tapped the edge of her foot as she regarded the pupil in front of her with a mixture of exasperation and disappointment.

"I think you're getting a little too old for this, Brick."

The teenager in question didn't meet her in the eye, instead pretending to put on an air of indifference.

"Dunno what you're talking about."

"This grand act of apathy was believable in 9th grade. It was tolerable in 10th grade. I confess myself weary of having to bear it another year."

She refused to buy what he was selling. The woman had an uncanny knack of reading him better than most people. Blossom thought she could…the stuck up Puff.

"Your marks in this class have been exemplary since the day you stepped foot in my classroom. And not just in English but everywhere else too. In fact, the only person who can remotely compare is-"

"I know," he cut her off a bit too quickly. "I hear her name enough times a day."

"Then you realize what I'm getting at."

"Look, I don't like Sylvia Plath. Is that a crime now?"

"That's not what I was referring to."

Christ, it was amazing a woman who was only 5'3 could make herself seem so big. So authoritative. She had 1/100th of the strength of someone with Chemical X in their veins but the heart of a lion.

"I don't care if you read Sylthia Plath or R.L. Stine, I'm most concerned about your path. Where you want to go. What you want to do. Especially given that you and your brothers have no legal guardian or financial security to fall back on."

Keene was the only one with the gall to bring up that particular sore spot. It was said with such compassion, however, Brick couldn't get truly angry at her. Just at himself. At the bullshit he constantly had to deal with and the inability to get out of his own way.

"You are bound by nothing, Brick. You can handle the work, the extra credit, and there is precious little in academia I can teach to you anymore. The hardest lesson of all is finding yourself."

She whipped out a piece of paper, jotted down a quick hall pass, and handed it to Brick, who'd stayed silent the entire time. He noticed Blossom standing impatiently outside the door, no doubt waiting to accost him yet again for some unknown transgression.

"This will excuse any tardiness to your next class. But I've also left my personal number. If there's anything I can do to help…please don't hesitate."

Again, Brick was rendered speechless by the act of kindness.

"Thanks," he muttered as though the act of thanking someone were a completely foreign concept.

"You are capable of so much more. You and your brothers. I want to see all of my students succeed. Even if they're Rowdyruff Boys."

Brick shifted his backpack, flattened his cap, turned and left without another word.

The memory made Brick Jojo uncomfortable. Not because he disliked Miss Keene or the slight reprimand about getting under Blossom's skin, far from it. The woman's perceptive powers were second to none and he'd never miss an opportunity to rub it in the stupid Puff's face that her literature tastes were inferior to his.

*Drip

*Drip

*Drip

No, he just didn't like being reminded of the huge responsibility he currently shouldered. Since the day he was born, actually.

"Goddamn leaky faucet."

It was the third time in a month the sink had been partially busted. And all the while the faucet dripped a slow, agonizing, rhythmic torture that could rival even the most sadistic forms of human depravity.

'The iron man hammers into the night

A silent stroke against stars that burn bright

As the world moves and people pass

Seldom do they-'

The steady dripping continued and Brick growled to the point of steam blowing from his nostrils. How on earth was anyone supposed to write a poem with that infernal distraction?

He turned and for a half a second considered tossing a fireball at the wretched thing and then listened to his better judgment. No point in making an already crappy apartment even crappier.

Fruitlessly, the red Rowdyruff attempted another go at putting words to paper. Honestly, a poem? He'd have preferred a ten page essay on the origins of Middle English than this random attempt at creativity. On the first day of school no less. But he had to try, didn't he? Nothing less than an A would suffice. Not when your entire future depended on it.

Setting down his pen for the moment, he went over to the fridge. Maybe a snack might reinvigorate the mind. It was one of the few appliances that actually worked properly in the contemptible dump that barely passed for a proper living space. The smell of mildew lingered in the air as yet another reminder of their pitiable hovel.

Milk, bread, eggs, orange soda, a day old egg salad from Tony's, pepperoni, and a jar of pickles. Spectacular.

Put grocery shopping on the list of things to do this week

'With what money?' another voice inside his head asked him.

He'd have to ask Jimmy for an advance. Then again they could always just steal the food or rob another convenient store. It'd be easy. Like taking candy from a baby.

No…not if they could avoid it. Only as a last resort.

I don't care if it takes me a lifetime, but I will arrest you and ensure Townsville is safe from the Rowdyruff Boys once and for all

Blossom's warning didn't intimidate him even slightly. She'd been threatening the same idiotic proclamation since they were five. The Powerpuff Girls were powerful but they couldn't take the Rowdyruff Boys in a fair fight. That'd been proven over the course of countless battles.

Even so, he didn't want their lives to be about crime. There was more to the world than graffiti and busting up mailboxes, contrary to what Butch claimed, the stupid moron. And it's why Keene's words resonated so deeply. It's why he needed to maintain a 4.0 GPA. It's why he needed to write this blasted poem so one day they could leave this shitty apartment, get the hell out of Townsville and make something of themselves.

But no one was going to do it for him. Brick the Bludgeoner didn't want help. He didn't need it. Fuck charity, fuck this city, and fuck Blossom.

Sitting back down at the rickety table with more than a few chips in the woods, he tried to resume his work and come up with something passable for poetry. Alas, that effort would be cut short.

"Booyah motherfuckers!"

Butch slammed the creaky door open with gusto, signaling his arrival in a simultaneously loud and annoying manner only he could manifest. Following him was the youngest of their brotherly trio in all his golden haired, blue eyed glory draped in a letterman's jacket.

"Dude! You'll never guess what happened!"

Brick decided there was little point in continuing to write anything with his brother's big mouth practically bouncing off the walls. Besides, he'd already finished all of the history and biology work needed.

"What?" he said with a note of irritation.

"I got promoted to head stage manager for the Southside Punx!"

"He just got the call," Boomer explained. "Are we interrupting something? Sorry about that."

"Nah, it's fine," Brick dismissed, shutting his books. Boomer wasn't the brightest bulb on the porch, but he had a knack for reading people that far surpassed Butch who tended to personify the phrase 'bull in a chinashop'. "And does this new position come with a raise?"

"Hell no," the black haired Ruff said just as enthusiastically. "But I am in charge of their entire set up and security, plus I get free drinks!"

"You're not of legal age, idiot."

"Since when has that stopped me?"

Boomer looked in the pantry for anything edible and found an old bag of chips. Barbeque. His favorite.

"He's got a point you know."

Brick resisted sighing. Butch's affinity for alcohol was well known by now and being a Rowdyruff Boy meant that no one really got in the way when he wanted a beer. His aspirations apparently never went beyond punk rock and partying.

Yet another reason why I have to do everything around here

"Aren't you back a little early?" he asked Boomer. "Thought practice ran until 6:30 at the latest."

"I got detention."

"On the first day?"

"Yeah you should have seen it!" Butch barked with laughter. "He hucked a huge loogie across the cafeteria. Created a huge shit show!"

"You weren't even there."

"Dude, everyone heard about it. It's high school. Shit gets around."

Brick pinched his nose. Why must his brothers be complete fools?

"And what do I pray made you do that?"

"I dunno," Boomer said with a somewhat sheepish shrug. "The guys wanted me to."

"Apparently he had a run in with that the blonde Puff too," Butch added, waggling his eyebrows.

That certainly got Brick's attention.

"Oh, really?"

Boomer frowned as slowly stopped chewing his food.

"Nothing happened. We didn't fight or anything."

Butch took a huge swig of the orange soda he pulled out from the fridge and gave an enormous belch.

"Relax, Brick. I had a little pow wow with Butterbutt myself. It was hilarious. The look on her face was absolutely priceless."

The soda was suddenly swiped out of his hand and chucked out of the open window leading down to the back alley in the blink of an eye. A cat could be heard squealing. The Baron of Berserk looked utterly nonplussed.

"Dude. What did the soda do to you?"

"I'm this close to sticking my foot in your ass," Brick seethed. "The first day back and you two are already causing trouble, which is the last thing we need."

But Butch only scoffed as he went back over to the fridge to look for more soda while Boomer sank into the old leather couch in the living room.

"So what? And since when do you care? The Puffs are all talk. They've never actually arrested us before."

"That's not the point. I'm taking steps to actually get us out of this place and I don't need the reincarnation of dumb and dumber fucking that up."

"That's a good movie," Boomer observed.

"Boomer, so help me God…"

Did they not understand what he was trying to accomplish here? That he was their only ticket to true freedom and the chance at a fresh start?

"You're one to talk. What about you and Blossom?"

Brick's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What about it?"

"You share every class with her."

"That's different. It's AP, we have to share every class."

"And this morning," Boomer chimed in. "You two almost got into a brawl."

"Oh you're going to get involved now, huh? You take one too many hits in the head, you walking-talking jockstrap? She got in my face first!"

The blond was unfazed.

"Seemed like you kinda went over to her."

Butch began snickering until a deadly glare from Brick shut up him right up.

"The day I take shit from the peanut gallery is never. Now, listen and listen good. We have two more years of high school left, almost no money, and on top of that the whole town hates our guts. After I get accepted into college, we're never looking back. Until that time, keep the bullshit to the bare minimum: stealing food and robbing lesser criminals. Butch, do your thing in the abandoned industrial park and surrounding neighborhood. Understood?"

Boomer dutifully nodded. But as usual, it took a little extra for Butch to get the message as he chuckled and beamed a pearly white grin.

"Sure, sure. You keep on being a nerd and I'll go and keep having fun. It's all-"

Brick's patience wore out as did his infamous temper. He grabbed Butch by both ends of his black, leather jacket and shoved him against the refrigerator. Unlike with Buttercup, there was no lingering desire for a fight against his older brother.

"Do not test me today, Butch," he snarled, eyes blazing a volcanic red. "You fucking nod your head or I'll put a crater in it. Understood?"

This time the green Ruff did as told, nodding without fanfare.

Brick let him go and began clearing off his books from the table. He didn't have the energy to deal with this amount of crap in one day. Especially given that the night shift awaited. Oh joy.

"I have to work at Franco's tonight," he said evenly. "And get paid. If you need to smash and grab a gas station, make it quick. I won't be able to buy food until tomorrow."

"How late will you be out?" Butch asked, still looking a bit ruffled from Brick's stern reminder.

"At least until 1 am. Jimmy likes to keep the joint open well into the night."

"Sweet! The band's gotta show tonight from 8 to 10. Think maybe afterwards I could-"

"Absolutely not."

Butch began to whine which only pissed Brick off even more.

"Why? Come on, just a few drinks. I won't go overboard."

"I know you Butch and I know what you're like when you're wasted. Not happening. Jimmy Byrne-"

"Fuck Jimmy Byrne. He's a weak little human. What's he gonna do? He needs you way more than you need him."

It was a rare moment where his middle brother could be right in an idiotic, roundabout way. That didn't mean he was going to risk his only means of income because Butch liked booze too much.

"I'll go with him," Boomer offered. "Make sure nothing happens."

"Yeah see, Boom gets it. Come on, bro. Please?"

Whether due to mental fatigue or finally cracking under the relentless pestering Brick reluctantly acquiesced.

"Fine. On one condition. No more than six beers. After that you're done or there won't be enough Chemical X in the world that can heal what I'll do to you."

Butch eagerly accepted the deal while Brick took a glance at his phone. 5:57. He needed to be at Franco's in less than twenty minutes.

"I gotta get ready. Don't do anything stupid."

"Sure thing."

"Aye, aye capn'."

Why do I not believe them?

Brick quickly grabbed a black, collared shirt, stuffed his books and papers away into the dinky room he slept in, shut his laptop and flew out the door. He liked to be early in any case as one never kept Jimmy Byrne waiting.

September 7th, 2010. Six hundred fifteen more days of hell until graduation in May of 2012. He was already counting down the days.


Hair ties?

Check.

Cell phone for emergencies?

Check.

A light cardigan in case of a chilly breeze?

Check.

Homework done?

Check.

Red hair bow?

Definitely check.

Blossom, meticulous as she was, doubled back to ensure everything was in order before venturing out for night patrol. Such patrols had since become more habit than an actual means of stopping crime but one always needed to be prepared. Especially since the Professor tended to worry quite a bit when they went out alone.

Zooming downstairs, she found him making dinner in his usual chef's ensemble, including his famous 'Kiss the Cook' apron. The pan seared with the heavenly smell of sprouts, pork tenderloin, and rice.

"Good evening sweetie, I hope you had a good day."

"I did, thank you." She gave him a light peck on the cheek and began serving herself. "I spoke for the first time in front of the school as student body president."

"That's my girl," the Professor beamed proudly. "At this rate, you're on track to become the real President someday."

She couldn't help but smile and blush in appreciation.

"Dad, come on. Don't say that."

"Yeah you might inflate her ego even more."

Buttercup had entered the room dressed in full punk garb, except this time she added a smokey eye, cat winged eyeliner, and fishnet gloves to go with her doc martens and shorts. 'Southside Punx' adorned the front of a (you guessed it) black t-shirt.

Blossom frowned and was about to offer a rebuttal but the Professor stepped in to suppress the potential arugment

"Now Buttercup, be nice."

The green Puff hmphed but refrained from any further barbs, speeding over to help herself to some dinner. She joined the table and quickly began to chow down.

"My, my someone's hungry."

"I'm infa roosh en I nee to goo."

"Oh for Pete's sake. Swallow, Buttercup."

Blossom scowled further when she belched loudly after doing so.

"I'm in a rush and I need to go."

"Go? We don't have a patrol for another half hour at least."

"The Southside Punx are playing a show tonight."

Are you kidding me?

Blossom wasted no time in letting her disapproval be known.

"Absolutely not. You can't just skip patrol. We've been doing it every Monday, Thursday, and Sunday since we were six. I absolutely forbid it."

"Duly noted, mom," Buttercup said with a sneer worthy of Brick. "But I already received permission."

Her jaw nearly dropped and immediately turned round towards the Professor.

"She cleared it with me ahead of time," he confirmed.

"But-but it's a school night!"

"I am aware, Blossom. I also made Buttercup swear to a 10:30 curfew and no later."

Seeing the smug look on her middle sister's face only stoked the flames of fury further. It wasn't just a sense of anger but betrayal.

"How could you do this, Buttercup? It's our duty as the Powerpuff Girls to fight crime and defend the city from villains who-"

A mighty fist swung into the table, almost cracking it in two.

"What crime?! What villains?! There's nothing to do anymore, Leader Girl! We did our job, we kept the city safe. All of a sudden I'm the bad guy because I want to have some down time?!"

The frustration…no the loathing in Buttercup's eyes was so intense it almost caused Blossom to recoil. At a loss for words, the ravenette finished the last scraps of her meal, put her dishes away, and kissed her father lightly on the cheek.

"Thanks, daddy-o. See ya later."

One green flash later and she was gone, leaving Blossom to stew in her own shock and disorientation. The Professor opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the arrival of Bubbles, who dazzled in white shorts, a short sleeved, sky blue top with slightly puffed out sleeves, and a Michael Kors purse.

"Evening, Dad!" she greeted brightly, followed by a third kiss on the cheek. "Oooo, looks yummy!"

Oblivious to the row that had taken place only half a minute prior, she happily hummed to herself whilst eating. Blossom considered Bubbles a godsend compared to the stubborn unpleasantness of Buttercup. She made light small talk.

"How was cheer today?"

"Good! We just had a meeting with Coach Hartley today. Physical practice doesn't start until tomorrow. But it was super fun meeting all the new varsity members. In fact, we're having a team bonding session at Jenna's house tonight."

Blossom's stomach dropped like an anchor in free fall.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah! It was Robin's idea. We want to make the team less exclusive this year so we're inviting all the sophomores and freshmen," Bubbles said brightly.

"Did you forget we have patrol tonight?"

Bubbles' perky expression turned uncomfortable.

"Oh…I umm..forgot, sissy. I'm sorry."

Et tu, Bubbles?

"Forgot? You forgot something we've been doing together for over a decade?"

"I thought you could handle it!" she cried guiltily. "And I'm the team captain. It's a big responsibility."

"So is ensuring the city is safe. And you're shirking it," Blossom clapped back coldly. Rejection from Buttercup was one thing but Bubbles?

"That's enough, Blossom," the Professor cut in, swooping to the rescue once more. "She also cleared it with me beforehand and will be under the same curfew."

Bubbles gave her older sister the equivalent of puppy dog eyes as if to say 'I'm sorry' but their adorable gaze did not penetrate Blossom's suddenly icy cold heart.

"Fine then."

"Sissy, I-"

"I said it's fine, Bubbles."

The blonde said nothing but those baby blues went a bit watery as she stood up from the table and cleared away the dishes. A turquoise streak later the Joy and Laughter zipped out the door without a goodbye.

"Dear, please don't be upset."

"I'm not upset," came the flat, automatic response.

Her fib did not fool her father.

"Blossom, I know you well enough by now to detect when you're mad about something. It's practically written all over your face."

Yup, dad's could detect lies from outer space.

"Professor, why did you let them go?"

He did not answer right away, soaking dishes into a bath of soapy water while turning off the stove. Creased lines showed against a furrowed brow, a pronounced product of middle aged parenthood.

"Sweetheart, understand that things change. You three are no longer little girls that I can scoop up in my arms. Buttercup and Bubbles have other interests as do you."

"But I don't let mine interfere with our top priority! I play tennis, act in theater, perform tap and jazz, along with being student body President. You don't see me slacking off."

How could anyone not see that? Especially with Brick and the Rowdyruff Boys still out there. No doubt planning on blowing up a building or stealing from yet another hapless convenient store.

"They're growing up and want to find meaning in other things besides crime fighting. And there's nothing wrong with that. You girls have done such a magnificent job of cleaning up this city and keeping it that way. You deserve time to be yourselves outside of superhero work. That's why I let Bubbles and Buttercup go out tonight."

"Yeah."

She couldn't argue with any of it. So why did the words ring so hollow?

Mojo…MOJO!

"Blossom?"

The Professor looked at her with concern and the Commander and Leader snapped out of her funk with a wide smile.

"Yes, sorry. Thank you, Professor."

"If it's any consolation coming from your dear old dad, I have never admired your dedication to this city more than right now," he said warmly placing a hand around her shoulder. "Go on patrol tonight. But remember to leave time for yourself. Don't grow up too fast."

A father's greatest joy and sorrow was the sight of his perfect little girls growing into young women. It practically sparkled in those deep, brown eyes- the man who's most celebrated creations were not truly his to control. The price of parenthood.

Blossom, touched by the gesture, finished the last of her meal, savoring the maple glazed pork with relish before clearing her own plate.

"You're the best," she said, giving him a big hug. The Professor was safe. He was a constant. He didn't accuse her of being prissy, snotty, and stuck up like the rest did.

"It's all I can do for my daughters who are quickly outgrowing their old man," he said with a watery chuckle. "Now, go save the world."

She heeded the call and sped off in a lavender streak into the sky, breathing in the light, warm air which wrapped around her in its gentle embrace. A surge of inspiration glowed in a pinkish hue.

The Professor was right. What was the harm in doing one night of patrol alone?


Brick arrived at Franco's five minutes early. He was always early. The flight only took a few minutes max but he hated being late by default. Wherever a person needed to go, they should act like they give a shit. You could never put a price on time management.

He touched down on the dirty, cracked sidewalk below and took in the aroma of cigarettes, stale beer, and gravel. Sounds of animated chatting and TV loudspeakers buzzed inside outside of a steel door, painted in an ugly, chipped maroon color. A stumbling vagrant with scraggly, gray hair and torn clothes urinated freely merely three feet away.

He gave an almighty kick and booted the bum ten feet down the sidewalk, groaning and moaning drunkenly after landing stomach first. The life of a bouncer 101. Keep things in line. A concept Brick was quite familiar with by now.

Satisfied that the wino wouldn't be a problem, he knocked on the door three times. An eyehole latch opened up.

"Hola?"

"Speak English, midget."

"Oh, hey Brick. You're early."

"I'm always early Arturo. Now let me in."

The latch shut and the door cracked open.

"Password?"

"Sinn Fein."

He entered the dive bar, or rather what Brick famously proclaimed to be a 'dive bar pretending to be a dive bar'. Franco's was an odd mixture of adventurous college students, crusty locals, sports fans, and alcoholics. But it all belonged to one very dangerous man: James 'Jimmy' Byrne, leader of the most notorious Irish gang in Townsville, the East Bay Celtics or more commonly known as 'The Easties'. He'd purchased the establishment under questionable circumstances back in the 1980s and maintained it as a front headquarters ever since.

The interior wasn't much to write home about- the bar wrapped around into a four cornered square on each side with a golden rail. A smaller stage section existed for souls brave enough to try their hand at karaoke complimented by an old school jukebox. Several scarlett padded booths on the left made for ideal places to have private conversations. All in all, it had likely changed little since the day Byrne bought it.

Brick walked past an assortment of characters- mostly regulars watching the pregame show for the Monday Night Football program in support of the Townsville Sea Lions. A couple of fans of the opposing Philadelphia Eagles could be seen in a clash of green against powder blue. Grubber and Snake played cards with a large pile of cash in the middle.

"Ace, I'm here to see Jimmy."

Of course, the infamous leader of the Gangreen Gang was still alive and well by some miracle.

"Sure, sure kid. He's waiting for yas. I let him know."

"Spectacular. Get out of the way."

Ace gave an oily chuckle as he lit up a cigarette and took a rather long drag. He still wore those damn sunglasses, the slickback douche bag.

"Always with the temper, Brick. Gotta watch that blood pressure."

Brick ignored the remark, satisfied enough with the fact that he could incinerate the piece of shit any time he wanted.

Think big picture. Not immediate convenience

The helpful reminder served him well when dealing with Jimmy Byrne, a man as calculating and concise as he was violent. When looking into the gray blue eyes of the mob boss, nothing stared back. A soulless window into the mind of a sociopathic creature devoid of common decency. Brick held the distinction of being one of the few who felt no terror for him but it remained unsettling nonetheless.

The backroom came reserved for top level Eastie members only. A small, dark little shanty where the upper echelon could drink, smoke, play cards, and discuss business to their heart's content. Brick had them all memorized by now- Frankie McGonagale, a fearless hitman, Paul O'Neal, local construction magnate, Teddy Callahan, arms dealer and expert arsonist, Michael Gaelic, the burly, red bearded right hand man. The undisputed and feared number two of the organization. Of course, no one was more feared than Jimmy.

"Brick. Mr. Punctuality himself."

A smile stretched across a thin, pallid face, colder than a winter's chill. Neatly combed white blond hair retreated back into a highly angled, receding hairline of a man in his mid fifties. Though quite a bit shorter than Brick, lack of height betrayed a hint of pure viciousness sharpened into deadly knife-like potency when set off. Brick knew anger and hatred. This seasoned gangster had it in spades.

"Jimmy."

Golden rule of thumb: always call him Jimmy. He disliked 'James' and hated the nickname local cops came up with: blondie. The last civilian who dared do so hadn't been seen in over a decade.

"I heard you wanted to see me."

"I did. I need to get paid a little earlier than usual."

Get straight to the point too. Don't mince words. State your business but don't get rattled. Thankfully, Brick could withstand those hardened sea eyes.

Jimmy gave an amused chuckle and took a sip of his Jameson glass, never on the rocks. Neat or nothing else.

"You seem a little urgent kid."

"Grocery bill is due. I have two more mouths to feed. They like to eat."

Understatement of the year. Butch and Boomer's stomachs were black holes. What went in became instantly sucked into a gaping vortex to be digested immediately.

"So steal it then. You've had no problem with that in the past, right?"

Brick twitched his nose but stood firmly rooted in his spot.

"I like to keep a low profile. Robbing stores doesn't help with that."

"Being a Rowdyruff Boy brings its own attention."

Jimmy wasn't necessarily wrong. After all the shit they'd pulled over the years, he and his brothers had become a brand practically in themselves. As synonymous with the city of Townsville as the Powerpuff Girls were. Just for all the wrong reasons. But Brick didn't have time for a semantical debate over his reputation.

"Being a career criminal isn't my forte. That's your calling Jimmy. I just need to get paid."

"And yet you work for me," he responded in kind. The mob boss always spoke slowly and deliberately, as though carefully choosing each word in his mind before saying it aloud. "You're perfectly happy to take blood money on a monthly basis to make ends meet. All of a sudden you get squeamish over a bit of larceny?"

"I keep the Powerpuff Girls off your back and the FBI from snooping around in this glorified shack," Brick reminded him sharply. "Without me, you'd be just another shanty Irish mick doing time in Leavenworth."

He didn't want to play that card but Brick recognized when Jimmy toyed with people or refused to take them seriously. Only one more snide dismissal stood between him and having to go nuclear on this psycho. A couple of the henchmen bristled. Teddy Callahan even reached back to grab his piece.

"What did you say, fuckhead?"

"Don't even try threatening me that fucking toy," Brick mocked. He didn't even bother intimidating the idiot with the promise of heat vision. These mafia lackeys were all the same. Dumber than a bag of rocks and trigger happy regardless if the bullets worked. Hence, Callahan pulled out the gun anyway as did the rest of them.

"It's going to be like that, is it? You boys sure you want to make your children orphans?"

The tension diffused immediately when Jimmy held out a hand signaling to stand down. They obeyed immediately. Draining his glass, he began to laugh in a hollow, mirthless manner.

"Take it easy kid. I know you could blow me into a million pieces at any time. But business is business. Someone's gotta look out for the bottom line."

"I'm not looking for a raise. Just an advance."

"Fair enough."

He took a wad of cash out of his back pocket, slipped out a dozen or so one hundred dollar bills and handed them over.

"Take my advice, kid. I've been around the block a few times and you're way smarter than any of those mooks in that high school. Being a bouncer is beneath someone like you."

Brick snatched the money and pocketed it.

"I'm flattered, Jimmy."

"You and your brothers have always been hoodlums without a vision. I can offer that and much much more, Red. There's more to life than graffiti and whatever cheap kicks you kids seek out these days."

"Duly noted. I'll pass."

Having received what he came for, Brick held no desire to chit-chat further. Except for one last minor item.

"One more thing. Butch and Boomer will be in at some point tonight."

Jimmy's expression gained another notch in intensity as it transformed into a stone cold frown.

"Keep 'em on a short leash."

"Believe me, I will."

Brick left the room and shut the door without looking back. He preferred to look forward.


Shorter chapter. Next two will go into much more detail and action.

Rock on!

~The Wasp