CHAPTER 1

RETURN OF THE DEVIL'S HAND

After a typical day of being a total piece of shit, I came back to my home away from home, RDP, or Red Devil's Prodigy. I'm such a frequent customer that the bar workers are always there to greet me personally. Well, not always, in fact I'd say I'm more welcomed by the occasional biker in the middle of a bar fight that I somehow manage to avoid. I guess I really am just so slimy I can slip away from most trouble.

At any rate, I ordered the usual, an incredibly strong alcoholic beverage discovered within the coldest tundra of Russia. A certain drink that is said to open the doors of your mind and reveal the truth of one's self. Just one sip and you're floating on cloud nine. Yeah, bullshit, but hell I like it.

As I was taking sips of my drink, enjoying the current brawl that was going on, something about some guys girl or some other nonsense, I see a man emerge from the within the brawl, unscathed and looking towards me, approaching me, and as soon as he made contact with my eyes, his own eyes widen with surprise. I didn't know what to think, there was a certain thought of uncertainty going through my body, I felt as though that when he made contact with me, be it a "friendly" hello or a simple handshake, I knew my days as your normal mechanic would be forgotten.

I sat there, trying my best to avoid eye contact as I my body away from him, and I staring at the bar's drinks. Behind the shelf was a mirror, which allowed me to see him a bit more carefully without giving away the fact that I, too, was examining his every move. This man was old, black, and big. If I had to hazard a guess, he was probably near his late 40s, possibly even early 50s. He had on a black denim shirt, a big gray beard, and aside from the streaks of gray hair running along the sides of his head, he was a bald man. He was looking at two polaroids and quickly looked up towards me, and down to the photos. Every time he looked at me, I'd look down as to avoid eye contact if he saw the mirror. I was staring at my drink, looking with the corner of my eye at the mirror, waiting for the moment he was going to look down so I can gather whatever detail of him I could get should anything happen. I knew he was coming for me, I could just feel it, even before he pulled out those two photos.

The fact that he has two polaroids, which I assume both have pictures of me on them, means that he's been following me, looking for me, and by possible coincidence or by some info he's extracted from some low life, here we were in the same bar. He got me. I looked up at the mirror to catch more details, but what I saw made me jolt a little. It was him, looking directly at the mirror, directly at me. Furrowed eyebrows with the look of determination. He's definitely got me. As he approached the bar and somehow slipped past through the chaotic brawling, I thought to myself; thought about why he was looking for me. Was I mistaking? Maybe he's just confusing me with someone else. No, I knew that wasn't the case. That's the kind of look of a job well done, the look of a tired man ending his journey. I could sense him coming closer, I was paralyzed. I had no idea why I didn't move, I guess I just wanted it to be over with. Whatever "it" was. I hear the barstool next to me be pulled out, and he takes his seat.

"What will it be?" asked the Bartender. The mysterious man doesn't answer. "Hey," the guy persisted, "are you getting a drink or what?"

"Nah." he finally responds. The bartender shrugs and heads off. As soon as he left the scene, I felt his stare burrowing into me. I knew he was looking my way, but I didn't want to respond by looking back. I had two choices, either look at him and ask what the hell he wanted, or just drink and hope he just leaves me alone. I know I sound cowardly, but if by chance you were ever caught in the situation I was in, you wouldn't feel any different.

I couldn't take it anymore, I had to say something. I feign a double take, act surprised as to not give away any suspicion. Sure enough he's staring right at me with those cold black eyes. They were sharp eyes, the kind that have seen daggers penetrate a man's chest. No, actually his eyes were worse. It's as if he's seen genocide.

I asked "Can I help you?" This man looks away momentarily to pull out the two polaroids he had earlier and threw them in front of me.

He said "That's you, isn't it? You're Rey Camino, aren't you?" Shit, I was finally piecing it together as soon as I saw those photos. They were pictures of me in the shop, one captured from behind with my head turned, and one from the front, but they were both from a distance away. I knew it was going to happen eventually, just didn't know it was going to happen so soon. He was probably some sort of mafia gang member, and I must've gypped his boss or something. I swallowed my wad of spit and was ready to face my sins.

"Well, it sure looks like me. And that is my name." I threw the photos back at him. "How about you take a guess. IS that me?" I'm such an idiot. I don't know why I taunted him, just wanted to feel big I guess.

He scoffs "Sorry, boy. I'm just getting old. Can't really see shit that well anymore you know?" He starts putting the photos away in his jacket. "Nah, you're definitely Rey. Even a blind man can see that."

"Why are you following me?"

"Straight to the point. Good. Don't have to waste my time chit-chat. Breaking the ice ain't my thing."

"So, will you answer me?"

"I will, but not now."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's hard to explain shit to someone who's going to be shot soon."

The moment he said that was when my blood turned to ice. I wasn't sure if it was a threat, a warning, a premonition, whatever the fuck. I was too shocked to think rationally. Who is this guy? Why was he saying I was going to get shot? Why would anyone target me? Just what the fuck was going on!?

"What the fuck did you just say?" I exclaimed.

"Keep your voice down. He'll know."

"Who!?"

"The guy after you. Don't turn around." He turns away to look behind him. The brawl was still going on, this time more guys were involved and tussling around. I could only catch what I could see through the reflection of the mirror, and even then I wasn't too sure of the details. The old man turned back and said "He's definitely there. The guy with the bandana covering his mouth and the sunglasses." I turned my head to look at him.

"Don't fucking look!" he practically shouted at me. "In fact don't even fucking look at me!" I turned my head back to my cup. The brawl going on behind us was so loud that nobody heard this old man yell. Makes me wonder why he even told me to lower my voice in the first place, I can barely hear myself.

"Why is that guy trying to kill me?"

"He knows you're Conway's kid."
"Who?" immediately after saying that, the name strung a cord in my memory. "Conway...Jake Conway? The man who fucked my mom? My dad?"

"Exactly that man."

I looked up at the mirror to see the man with the sunglasses. He was standing up.

"Oh shit," exclaimed the old man "Rey! You have to trust me! This man isn't the only guy who'll be after you from here on out!"
"What!? What do you mean!?"

"It's your dad, Rey! I can't explain much, just know your dad did some crazy shit in his prime, and now that shit's coming back up the toilet and biting him right in the ass! We have to go! NOW!"

I still had so many questions, I don't even know what this guy's name is. Even if I followed him, I wasn't sure if it was going to lead to my death or not. Either way, I had the glorious choice of dying here, or dying with him. I might as well delay the inevitable.

The old man stood up, and I stood alongside with him, but as soon as I did, there was a loud crash and bang that was audible throughout the entire bar. For the first time since I arrived, the bar was silent. There was no noise, there was no movement. All I heard was the dripping sound of a water or something hitting the wooden floor. The mirror in front of me was cracked, like someone had punched it. Three bottles were broken on the shelves, two of them completely decimated. With the tiny bit of reflection I got from the broken mirror, I saw myself, standing, with a red splotch growing from my left shoulder and onto my shirt. I touched it with my hand, and pulled my hand off my shoulder.

I was bleeding.

I was shot.

Fuck.