CHAPTER 2 : Retaliation and Compensation

My alarm clock wakes me up at five A.M. Dad is gone, as he usually is around this time. As quietly as possible, I wake up Shaun, and we get dressed, in all black clothes and balaclava masks, for what we are going to do. I signal him for a weapon, and he nods in return. He walks over to the closet, and I hear the sound of rustling around in boxes. Two minutes later, he returns with two 9mm Glocks and two black switchblades. The weapons of Dad's trade. We check the clips, and stash the weapons on our belts, before heading out into the hallway. We were through the living room, and almost out the front door, when a voice called after us, "Wait up, guys!"

I turned around to see Jack, with Dad in tow, both of them dressed all in black, dad carrying a black duffel bag. "Nobody fucks with my son and gets away with it." dad snarls through clenched teeth. "Do you two have weapons?" Shaun and I flash our nine-mils and knives. Dad is visibly impressed. "Are those mine?" he asks. I nod, and he shrugs it off. "Good. I've got clips and a little surprise in here for the leader." With that, we all pile into the new Model XV, and take off, at a speed of 220mph, towards downtown Houston.

-- The Dark Hall --

The Dark Hall was a metalhead club on the far side of Houston's New Westheimer Strip. The Old Westheimer strip had become unusable in the 2050's, so a new road had to be built to house all of Houston's major clubs. Jon parked his XV behind the black-brick building, and the four of us exited. I took the lead, and Shaun and I walked around the side of the building to the back door. The bouncer stood still in front of the door and refused to allow us admittance. All of a sudden, Dad whirled around the corner and swung a right hook which connected with the large man's left temple, sending him to the ground unconscious. "You gotta know how to drop em'." he joked. He swung open the back door,and motioned for all of us to head inside.

Shaun and Jack cleared out one of the VIP rooms, while Dad and I went looking for the Death Squad. We found them at the bar, a group of males with their women, downing multiple shots while cussing and head-butting one another. Dad walked up to the biggest guy, an albino gargoyle with pure white skin and hair, and sky-blue eyes, and shoved his beak into the bar. There was a sickening "crack" as the male's beak cracked down the middle, followed by the guy's scream as Dad pulled him up by his hair, and slammed him onto the floor on his back. The whole gang went silent. A few of them began to slowly back away. From where I stood I could hear whispers. "Holy SHIT!..." , "Is that who I think it is..." and "Goddamn...Goddamn..." were just a few of the phrases that they were saying. Dad's eyes swept the group.

"Who knows Spike?" He yelled. When nobody answered, he repeated the question, at a roar. This time, all hands went up. "WHO WAS THE ONE WHO BEAT HIS BROTHER NEARLY TO DEATH?!" he yelled. Everybody pointed to a tall, black male who had his arms around his woman, and a beer in his other. "You..." dad snarled... "Have some business with my family..." With that, he snatched the guy by his collar, and dragged him along the floor to the VIP room, while I followed and covered the rear.

Inside the VIP room, a setup had been arranged. There was a single chair in the middle of the room, to which dad tied the gargoyle whom Jack confirmed was the one who'd beaten him. When the guy was safely tied, Jack attacked him. He kicked the guy straight in the chest, sending the chair against the far room wall. Dad roared, and delivered a left hook which spun the chair around. When it came time for me to attack, I didn't. Instead, I looked to dad, with rage in my eyes, and said, "Let's jack him." He literally froze for a moment, before regaining his senses, and slowly nodding his head. He reached into his duffel bag, and pulled out a 12-gauge riot shotgun, an antique, but one known to cause hellish damage to flesh. Upon seeing the large weapon, the gargoyle screamed.

"Noooo! STOP! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

Jon pumped the shotgun, and pressed it firmly into the guy's temple. "We want the drugs and the money. ALL OF IT." came Jon's calm reply, the shotgun unmoving. "...Or I'll paint the walls red."

The male began to go into hysterics, first uncontrollable sobbing, followed by his pissing himself. We all laughed when the guy pissed himself, and this only made him even more scared of us. Finally, after ten minutes of sobbing, he came to his senses.

"Get me my phone... in my left pocket."

Jon did as instructed and dialed as the guy chanted out a number, before sticking the bluetooth into the guy's ear. Using a listening device of some sort, Jon remained silent as he took note of every word said over the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Tommy?" The guy asked, his voice still shaking.

"Speaking. Why?"

"C-c-can you bring the money from my closet, a-along with the two black bags to the Dark Hall?"

"Five minutes."

"O.K."

Jon ripped the phone from the male's ear, and smashed it against the floor. "Good work. Now, you're gonna sit here until he gets here. And when he gets here... Well, you'll see."

Jon motioned for me and Jack to hide inside one of the small closets in the room. "Don't come out until the screaming stops" he instructed. I scoffed and offered him the finger. "Thank you, but I'd like to cause the screaming." He chuckled at this, and nodded. "All right, boys. Lock and load those guns. You're gonna have to use em'."

Five minutes later, right on time, a trio of men entered the room. Upon seeing their friend tied up in the chair, knives were drawn, and he was immediately cut free. All of a sudden, before the guy could issue a warning, shots rang out, and the three men fell. I watch as Jack blows the smoke from the barrel of his nine. Dad walks over to the lone surviving gargoyle, and gives him a pat on the back.

"You got lucky, man. I'm gonna give you a pass today."

Jack and I grab the bags stuffed with god-knows-what, and head out the door. Before leaving, Dad turned around to face the survivor.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

The guy nodded nervously, on the verge of more tears. "Good." dad replied. "Then you know of a few good reasons why NOT to fuck with me."

We cheered and screamed and head-butted each other all the way home. When we got back to the house, dad cleared away the card table in the living room, and set the two fat duffel bags down. I eagerly walked up, and unzipped both bags. We all shared a collective gasp as the rewards came into view. One of the bags contained nearly 500,000 in cash, which we would verify after many painstaking hours of counting by hand. The other bag contained two kilogram-bricks of what appeared to be cocaine, which Dad confirmed with a short line of it. Underneath the coke bricks was a lonely half-pound of regs, or regular weed, which is still, after hundreds of years, grown and smuggled in from Mexico. I rip open the bag of weed and separate by hand a few ounces. "That oughta last us at least a week." I tell dad, who nods in agreement. Jack uses a razor to chip off a tiny bit of coke, about a line's worth, and chops it into powder. He rails his line and leans back on the sofa to bask in his high. Dad chuckles and sits next to him, pulling me down at his side by my shirt. I cut off a larger piece, about a gram, and separate it into lines for the three of us. Just as we are about to enjoy the fruits of our labor, the doorbell rings. Dad gets up, and goes to answer the door. When he returns, we all get to our feet in surprise.

Spike walks up to me, and, instead of hitting me, wraps me in a tight bear hug.

"What's up, bro? How've you been, man?" he asked.

I am amazed, shocked even. Spike was never this nice to me, and has never shown any such intent. "Dude, what did they do with you" I ask him, returning his hug as best I can. "They got me off the liquor." Spike explains. "I realized that the liquor, being the root of my problems, should be the first thing to go." I smile and offer him my seat at the couch. He nearly screams when he sees the drugs and money. "What the fuck?! Where the hell did you get this, bro?!" He asked. "We stole it tonight." Dad replies for me. "From your 'friends', the Death Squad." Spike's jaw drops. "You robbed the Death Squad? How'd they piss you off?" Dad grabs Spike by the shoulders, and repositions him so that he faces Jack. Jack raises his shirt, showing his wounds. Just then, we catch a glimpse of the old Spike.

He lets out a bloodcurling roar, and sits down next to Jack. He looks at dad with blood in his eyes. "You made them pay for this insult?!" he demanded. "Indeed, my son." Dad replies. "Three dead, plus all their cash and score." Spike calms quickly, returning to the state he'd been in previously. "Cool, dad. Can I try some coke?" Spike asks. Jack and I burst out in laughter at his curious stare at the bricks. I cut him a line, and he snorts it all up.

"Now THAT'S a good rush." Spike comments, as he sits back with Jack on the couch. "Damn right." dad agrees, snorting his line. I snort up mine as well, and give a small moan followed by deep, sinister laughter as the rush kicks in, and I feel for a split-second weightless, all-powerful, and to say the least, FUCKING AMAZING. I open my eyes, and see that all heads are turned to me.

"That was a spooky laugh, kid." Dad comments. "Not even I can do it that deep."

"Oh...Well, shit." I say. I hardly noticed the laugh. In an attempt to change the subject, I produce a pack of zig-zags, and commence with the rolling of four fat joints for the family. "How long will you be back, bro?" I ask Spike. "Until Sunday." Spike replies. "that's two days." I say. "How long did they give you?"

"Six months." Spike replies. "It really straightened me out, man. They actually beat the shit out of you there for LOOKING at them wrong, so I'm straight now."

"Did you find that out the hard way?" I asked, curious. Spike sighed, and nodded slowly. "Yeah... First day in, I stared down this senior, and the next thing I know, He gets me from behind with a haymaker, and I'm on my ass, getting ghetto-stomped." He says. "Then I get payback, by creeping up on him at lunch, and putting fist to face for about two minutes. But after class, his friends jumped me in the hallway, threw a sack over my head, and kicked the hell out of me again. So I pretty much learned not to start shit, or at least without backup."

I nod in agreement to his statement, and pass him a lit joint. "Do you want backup?" I ask. He gleefully nods. "I'll fight alongside you any day, bro" I furnish. "Do you want to go to his school?" Dad asks me. "Can I smuggle shit in?" I ask him in return. He shrugs. "You can if you CAN" We all look at each other, and Jack and Shaun nod their heads. We will go to that school. We will take it over. We will fucking rule.

I begin to formulate a plan for a complete takeover.

The chapters may seem short, but believe me, as the story progresses, they get longer. If you like my story, I'd feel happy if you write reviews in support of my attempts. They may not mean much to some, but to a guy like me, encouragement is more than enough.