"Keep your eyes closed… no peeking!" Alex said cheerfully. Mark let out a deflated sigh, as he reluctantly obeyed. Alex had insisted he put his hands over his eyes like a damn child while they prepared… whatever it was they had in store for him. Truth be told, Mark didnt want to uncover his eyes. He was sure whatever it was she and her brother had in store for him, it was going to be awful. Mark took the time to reflect over the events that brought him here, of his pent up aggression he had unleashed on some Russian trash, but mostly of the last week he spent as Alex and Ash's… "guest"
After revealing the way he was to pay the twins back, Mark did what any sane adult would. He tried to weasel his way out of it. After all but kidnapping Mark, driving him back to their apartment against his wishes, they had took turns keeping him company. He briefly remembered it was originally "for his safety" in case any of the mobsters figured out their comrades were missing, and had connected the dots to Mark somehow. His situation had long since escalated. He was trapped in a house with two people he suspected more and more, of being psychopathic killers.
It was worse then just being trapped in a house with them, they were playing house. Alex especially, had been doing some kind of "perfect hostess" routine. In reality, they had been doing the shopping with his credit card, feeding him instant and boxed meals. Despite all of Alex's the matronly mannerisms she adopted, the woman didnt seem to know how to make anything that didnt involve a microwave.
His "master suite" was a spot on the couch, while Ash slept on the love seat. To make matters worse, every time Alex left for work, or when Ash when out job hunting, one of them staid behind to keep him company by probing his mind for information. It was as if the darkest, most awful moment in his life was some kind of case study to them. Mark wasnt sure if there was a heaven or hell before, but after spending over a week with the sociopath twins, he was certain the universe was punishing him.
"Ok Mark, open your eyes!" Alex chirped. Mark hesitated a long while, keeping his hands tightly in place. "Common man, dont make me pistol whip you." Ash teased, or so Mark hoped. He slumped his shoulders in defeat before removing his hands. Mark grunted in dismay and closed his eyes again, as he got a glimpse of the spectacle front of him. It was just as awful as he thought it would be.
Alex and Ash were dressed in head too toe in what Mark could only assume was their murder costumes. They wore matching swan masks, the only thing that differentiated them was a purple number 1 and number 2 written on the foreheads of the otherwise identical masks. It took Mark a moment to realize who was who, since their matching outfits covered them from head to toe.
They wore neon green shirts underneath bulky form hiding football pads. The athletic armor made their bodies look equally bulky and Mark noticed additional padding over Alex's biceps. Mark wondered if the added padding was for protection from physical blows, or to make her arms look more masculine to better mimic her brother's shape.
The other differences he noticed, besides the 1 over Alex's masked forehead, and Ash's 2, was the color of their shoulder pads. Alex's was green, like the rest of the padding, but Ash's shoulder pads were painted bright orange, matching the orange knee pads they both wore over their simple blue jeans. Other then that, Alex sported her chainsaw that she held proudly in a somehow graceful pose, with her shoulders back, her head tilted downwards, the saw held in front of her at an upward angle. Ash stood next to his sister's back, hovering near her like a guardian angel. Like his sis, he posed with his weapon, a gun Mark recognized as a glock model 17, a 9mm pistol, that he held upwards by his masked head.
Mark stared at the twins in silence, for what felt like minutes, as they remained statue still in their poses. Alex was the one to finally break the silence. "Well?" She said suddenly, the impatience in her her voice impossible for Mark to miss. Mark blinked and looked back and forth between the two of them dumbfounded. He had no idea what they expected him to say about this. Well, he assumed they wanted him to be pleased somehow and beaming with positive reinforcement. He decided to humor them.
"Oh, you two look great." Mark said, nodding. Alex and Ash both let their weapons sink to down to their sides in eerie unison. "Great huh…?" Ash said, an unnerving suspicion in his voice. Mark felt his knee begin to bob up and down against his will. "Yea well, I dont know what else you want me to add, you both look good." Mark quickly said. The two swans glanced at one another, before looking back to Mark. "Good…?" Alex said, her voice brimming with disappointment. This of course caused Mark's anxiety to worsen.
He gave a fake laugh and a forced smile. "Yea I mean… if you guys could maybe give me a hint at what you want me to say…" Mark said. Alex thrust the saw blade towards Mark's face suddenly, making him flinch and lean back on the love seat. "We're supposed to look fucking scary Mark!" Alex said, reminding Mark of a spoiled brat who didnt get the right Barbie for her birthday. Ash shook his head and chimed along. "Yea, scary and cool… you dont like how the football pads make us look like we're both like the same build and stuff?" Ash said, gesturing to where the padding covered their upper chests and shoulders.
Mark shrugged nervously. "Look, I didnt say you didnt look cool, and you both definitely scare me…" Mark said, far more truthful then he originally intended. Alex pulled up her mask and beamed at him. "Really? Your not just saying that right…? We worked really hard on these costumes!" Alex said. Ash, likewise, lifted his mask up and watched Mark inquisitively, not nearly as excited as his sister, but genuinely curious to hear Mark's honest opinion. Mark nodded reassuringly. "Yea I mean it… I wouldnt want to run into the two of you in a dark alley." Mark said. The twins smiled in what Mark took to be a mixture of relief and satisfaction.
"So uh… why are you showing me this?" Mark asked, trying his best to sound casual. The twins glanced at one another in puzzlement. "Why do you think?" Ash answered, giving him an incredulous look. He felt his stomach gurgle with anxious energy. "Look… we've been through this…" He said, dropping his eyes to the floor. Alex scoffed and shook her head. "No, you've been living in denial since you got here!" Alex said indignantly. Mark grit his teeth in frustration, while Ash took a step towards him. "And we dont need to remind you that you owe us… you really, really owe us." Ash said matter of fact.
Mark's teeth clacked together briefly from anxiety, as he racked his brain for something to say. "Look… I keep telling you…" Mark said, before Alex set her chainsaw down onto the ground with a loud thud, cutting Mark off. "We're not interested in hearing from Mark… we wanna talk to the bear." Alex said, pointing at Mark's bear mask they had left on the end table in front of the tv, a constant reminder to Mark of what he had done. He glanced at the dark eye holes of the empty mask. It was the face of enraged surrender, of his brutal release. He shivered and turned away from it angrily. Mark looked back up at the twins, his teeth clenched in frustration.
"Look, I'm not like you two, I'm not a fucking psycho! I dont want to hurt anybody, I dont!" Mark said desperately. He fidgeted, as the twins just stared at him, their faces unemotional, for the longest time. Ash turned and glanced at his sister, who nodded as if affirming what it was her brother was about to say, even before he said them. Mark braced himself for whatever speech they had in store for him.
"Mark… you dont just come back from that kind of violence like nothing happened…" Ash said gently. Mark felt his skin crawl as Ash's words entered his ears. He shook his head, not wanting to even entertain the idea, but Ash continued. "Whatever your intentions, you have something big and violent inside you. Normal people dont have that level of violence in them. It's something strange and scary to most people… We know this, because we're just like you." Ash said, giving Mark a reassuring smile.
Mark's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, appalled by the notion. "I am nothing like you two, nothing! You two talk about killing like its some kind of game! You wanna kill just to kill! I got backed into a corner, and I lost it. Thats all, you-you… fucking psychos!" Mark said through watery eyes and clattering teeth. He felt an intense rage well up inside of him. He knew it was ironic to feel such familiar feelings now when trying to argue his sanity, but he couldnt help it. He knew he was not like them, and even if he was, he wouldnt allow himself to be, he couldnt.
Ash hardened his jaw and glared back at Mark. A strong sense of unease fell upon him as he noticed a dark shift in the twins composures. He felt an icy chill as they glared back at him, a cold silent wrath emanated from their bodies like a toxic aura. Mark's stomach burned as if it was filled with acid, as he saw Ash's finger move to the trigger of his pistol. "Fine… but you still owe us Mark." Ash said, his voice grim and sober. Mark flinched as he carefully worded his next sentence. "I understand… but…" Mark started, but was quickly interrupted. Ash stepped foreword, one of his fists clenched into a ball, the other one still stroked the trigger of his pistol with a terrifying longing. "No buts Mark, we are way passed excuses… we pulled your ass from the fire, if it wasnt for us, you'd still be there, hugging your knees to your chest, waiting for some Russian to torture you to death. Try to tell me I'm wrong!" Ash said in a quite, but angry voice.
Mark knew it was unwise to argue with psychopaths, especially when one held a gun at his side… but he couldnt just agree to their demands either. His back was to the wall. "Anything else! I'll give you anything else, just not that! You want money? Guns?" Mark yelled, standing up. Ash took another step foreword, the smaller man was less then half of Mark's body mass, yet it was Ash who approached him fearlessly. Mark stood his ground, he would not be roped into the twins's insanity, that would not be his future.
Ash looked Mark up and down, a disgusted sneer stretched across his lips. Finally, he spoke, his words spitting from his lips like tiny daggers aimed for Mark's heart. "The Mark I knew… the big fat fucking pussy I knew…" Ash said. Mark felt his upper lips, his nostrils tremble and snarl, as if trying to separate from the rest of his face. He bared his teeth in a furious scowl, as an internal war raged inside of him on whether or not to bring his fist across Ash's flapping jaw, consequences be damned. Ash watched Mark, taking mental note of his reactions, before raising his pistol suddenly, leveling it at Mark's face.
Mark's entire body tensed, but otherwise, he remained still, his expression as angry as before, even as his narrowed eyes stared cross-eyed down the barrel in front his face. Ash kept the pistol pointed at Mark's head for a moment, studying him all the while, before he continued. "The Mark I knew… would do anything, to avoid confrontation. He would never stand up for himself… he wouldnt be fantasizing about ripping my head off, like you are now." Mark's mind blossomed in realization. Ash was right… he had been thinking about taking his gun and shoving it through Ash's teeth. His fingers were curling just at the thought of it alone. The old Mark would have just went along with the twins ideas, no matter how dangerous, through fear of death, he would do anything in his power to avoid disappointing those around him. The only reason he was standing up to Ash and Alex right now… was the very thing he was trying to resist.
Ash lowered the gun and pointed with his free hand at the rubber mask on the table. "That bear, that mask, that loss of control, whatever it is to you… it changed you Mark. And your going to have to deal with it now." Ash said, softening his tone. Before Ash could continue, however, Alex stepped up to his side and placed a hand on her brother's arm. Ash glanced at Alex who gave him a nod and gestured towards the kitchen. Ash frowned and turned from them, seemingly following his sisters orders and walking towards the spot between the kitchen and the living room. He kept his gun down at his side, and placed his other hand on his hip, as he looked down at the floor, deep in thought.
Alex approached Mark, who stiffened defensively at her presence. She took a seat where Mark had been sitting moments earlier and patted the cushion next to her, signaling him to join her. He sighed through his nostrils and reluctantly sat down next to the crazy blonde.
Mark didnt want to look at her, so he kept his eyes foreword. Finally Alex spoke, patting his broad shoulder with her fingertips. He winced, but didnt pull away. "Mark… you know we're right." Alex said softly. Mark shook his head stubbornly, pulling his body away from her, leaning off to the left. "I dont know that, and it doesnt matter if I did." Mark said insistently. Alex let out a sigh before she continued. "You're trying to hide what you are." Alex said looking off towards her brother. Mark crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So? Doesnt matter does it?" Mark said.
Alex gave Mark a look of pity that managed to unnerve Mark more then Ash's gun in his face. "It does matter…" Alex insisted. Mark turned to look at her, before shaking his head. "It doesnt, if your right about me, I chose to keep it to myself. No one gets hurt that way…" Mark said. Alex raised a brow and stared at Mark as if he had said something preposterous. Mark racked his mind for what he could have said to provoke such a response. When he couldnt find a hole in his logic, he waited for Alex to enlighten him.
"Isnt that what you were already doing…?" Alex said. Mark narrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" The corners of Alex's lips turned ever so slightly, into knowing grin. "You already were keeping it to yourself… and all it took was one bad day and it all came pouring out…" Alex said. Mark felt a horror blossom in his chest, like someone had splashed a bucket of ice water onto his open heart. "Thats not the same!" Mark yelled loudly. Alex raised a brow. "Not the same as what?" She said.
Mark's lips twitched in frustration. "Its not the same… as having some serial killer fantasy!" Mark declared. Alex leaned back against the arm of the sofa. "How is it any different?" She asked, unconvinced. "Do I really need to explain it?" Mark asked, to which Alex simply shrugged. "I killed criminals, Russian mobsters, pieces of human garbage who would have killed me if I gave them the chance!"
"This time it was Russian mobsters, next time… who knows?" Alex said slyly. Mark blinked and shook his head in desperation. "No way! I'm not like that, and I never will be!" Mark said. Alex raised her hands out, trying to calm Mark. "Look, I believe you, ok? But that doesnt prove your different then us… because we're going after the same people! Tell him Ash."
Mark narrowed his brow in confusion, glancing at Ash as he turned to rejoin the conversation. "We've been talking it over with some friends of ours… do remember that Russian heavy you took out, the one who lost his head?" Ash said with a smirk. Mark winced, before glaring. "You know I do…" "Yea, well he is working with a group of Russians that's been branching out into our neighborhood… lately." Ash said.
Mark raised his brow. "What does this have to do with us though?" Mark said. Alex giggled. "We're going to kill them, silly!" She said, giving Mark's stomach a playful poke. He instinctively sucked in his gut and swatted her hand away in irritation. "We're what? No we're not!" Mark said. Alex and Ash exchanged annoyed looks of their own. "Relax Mark… we have it all planned out, its going to be a simple job, get in, kill some drug dealers and mobsters, get out… maybe take any reefer we find on the way out. Win win!" Alex declared happily.
Mark didnt even know where to start. "I… what… whose got it all planned out? Since when did Ash become a mastermind of the streets?" Mark said. Ash shrugged. "I hear things… but I cant take all the credit. We've been getting a lot of info from this cat, Darius." Ash said. Mark narrowed his brow. "Whats his angle?" Mark said. Ash shook his head. "No angle, he's like us. Local celebrity of that bar downtown, The Fan's club." Ash said.
Alex smiled at Mark. "Yea, we thought he was a joke at first, all bark and no bite, but recently he and his crew managed to take down a turn coat drug supplier who was dealing for the Russians!" Alex said excitedly. Mark raised his brow. "They killed a drug dealer working for the mob?" Mark said in astonishment. Ash wagged his finger at Mark before responding. "Ah ah ah, drug supplier, higher up the food chain, dealer of dealers." Ash said. Mark nodded, looking down as he lost himself in thought. "Right right…"
Mark felt a twist in his stomach. It made him sick to admit it, but this was all very interesting for him. He took a few moments to ingest the twin's words. "Your friends… they're a vigilante group?" Mark asked, trying his best to sound indifferent. Alex bit her bottom lip before answering. "Mmm… not really." She said. No sooner then Alex answered, Ash raised a hand, signaling to Alex he'd take over from here. "They arent a true organized group, but a bunch of individuals with similar goals who meet and give each other advice." Ash said with a confident smile. Mark nodded. "And they only kill criminals?" Mark continued warily. Alex smirked and shrugged. "So far." Alex said.
Mark felt his face redden with embarrassment over ever entertaining the notion. Truth was, becoming a real vigilante street cleaner… was always a fantasy of his. His favorite movies were such grind house classics as "Vigilante" "Exterminator" and who could forget "The Toxic Avenger"? Movies about ordinary guys, who decided to become something more, to clean up their cities where no one else had the balls to do so. Maybe the twins were right, and he didnt have an output for whatever beast he had been raising in his chest. As long as it was the right kind of people who wound up shot, he was pretty sure he could live with that.
"Could we uh… meet with these guys?" Mark muttered. He held his breath as he waited for the twin's reaction. "Hell yea!" Alex spouted cheerfully. Ash once again raised a hand, to interject into Alex's sentiment. "Hell yea we can… but these guys… their a tight knit group, for… obvious reasons." Ash said with a slight grimace. Alex, likewise, dawned a reluctant look. "Oh, yea… it would take some work to earn their trust." Alex said sadly.
Mark nodded before responding. "Yea, I get it. Well, what did you two have to do to get in?" Mark asked. Alex raised her brow and glanced towards her brother. Mark followed her gaze and looked up at Ash expectantly. "Well, we didnt really have to do anything, Darius knows us, hell I installed his car stereo." Ash said. Mark shrugged. "Well, what do you have in mind?" As soon as the words escaped Mark's lips, he saw a twinkle in Ash's eyes. He didnt need to turn his head, to look to the side to confirm Alex's eyes shared the eerie glimmer, he could feel the excitement from her body. "Like we were saying… we have been planning a job." Alex said with a sadistic smirk. Mark felt the sickening feeling of dread return in the pit of his stomach.
Mark sat in the back of the van, silently. He was clad, head to toe, in the same equipment he wore during the gun store masssacre. He wore his Kevlar vest over his light blue t shirt. On his lower half he wore a pair of black cargo pants, and his steel toed combat boots. His MP5's, were stuffed inside the black backpack buckled securely to his massive frame. He was wearing nearly everything he wore back then, all but one piece… the mask. He held the enraged bear mask in his hands weakly, staring down at it as if in a trance.
In the front of the van, Ash drove, and Alex sat in the passenger seat. Alex and Ash were positively beaming, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, but not Mark. He was looking down into the empty eye holes of the mask and its bellowing rubber jaws. He felt… empty, listless. He expected to feel more. When he was finally convinced to join the twins in something truly insane, he expected there to be at least be some kind of revelation, but the truth was, he was feeling something very familiar. That tired, exhausted feeling that he usually felt, when his friends and coworkers pressured him to do something against his will… Doing something he didnt want to do because his peers pressured him into doing it anyway was hardly a revelation for Mark… Despite the cheery whooping and crowing from the twins in the front seats. Mark didnt even know how he would be any help to the psycho twins in this state anyway. Putting on the mask now wouldnt mean anything, it would be plain dishonest.
"You still with us back there buddy?" Ash said, looking back at him from the rear view mirror from his swan mask. Both of the twins were fully equipped in their costumes, pads, masks and all. Alex was patting the chainsaw she was cradling between her legs, like some kind of pet monster made of metal and plastic. He couldnt see her face, but he knew she was grinning ear to ear under her mask. Ash continued to glance from the road, to the rear view mirror at him, waiting for his response. Mark nodded unenthusiastically. "Yea… where are we going?" Mark muttered.
Ash and Alex exchanged glances, before Ash answered. "You dont remember? The Russians are gathering at the used car dealership, the "late-great Conrad" used to own. Probably naming a new smack successor." Ash said with a chuckle. Mark nodded sullenly, to which the twins glanced amongst themselves. "You getting cold feet on us?" Ash asked. Mark just shrugged and stared out the window.
They were going on a joyride, that would end with an attempted hit of a drug deal between Russian mobsters. Mark knew in his heart of hearts, if they went through with it, they would all end up dead before the night was out. Mark should have felt something more by now… fear, regret, but no, he just felt hollow. Hollow and something else… Mark probed his mind for the right word to describe the feeling. He smiled bitterly as the word popped into his head.
Powerless. He felt like a hostage, being lead by executioners to the gallows, and he didnt even get a decent last meal. Mark closed his eyes. Perhaps this was all for the best. The twins could have been right about him, he could be just as sick and corrupted as they were, and what better end could the three of them recieve if that was the case? To be shot to pieces in a fool hardy assassination attempt. They wouldn't be around to concoct more hair brain murder schemes, no one else would have to get hurt, and it wasnt like Mark was expecting to have a huge turn out for his funeral either.
Well… Corey might miss him. Mark felt a well of sadness bubble up from his stomach, and his eyes began to water. He never did get to tell Corey how he felt after all this time. Not that it really would have mattered. She never wanted anything more, and Mark should have been content to just leave it at that. He felt his lower lip tremble, as he thought of the times they sat and watched bad movies with one another over a few boxes of pizza and a twenty four back of beer. He wished he could transport himself to one of those moments and cursed himself for not having more of them, because of a one sided feud over his rejected feelings… Rejected feelings he was never brave enough to express to begin with. He felt his hands begin to shake, as the van pulled to a stop.
Mark blinked away his tears and looked around at the surroundings. Ash had parked the van, but kept the engine running. They were next to a car dealership, the target of their planned killing spree. He felt like throwing up. Ash and Alex turned to him in unison. Even through Mark's overwhelming sense of dread, he could feel the giddy, joyous energy radiating off the twins. They were gleeful of the slaughter to come.
"Lock and load big man." Ash said, pulling back the action of his glock, loading a bullet into the chamber and clicking off the safety. "Oh yea!" Alex said, a bloodthirsty craze in her voice, as she held her chainsaw upright, keeping its weight rested on the seat between her lap, as her hands found their way to its handle. Mark reached for his submachine guns and gripped them weakly in his hands, before setting them on his lap. He once again clutched the mask and attempted to put it on, but a cold anxiety kept him from putting it on.
Ash noticed Mark's hesitation. "Common, get your shit ready. Bring out the bear." Ash said. Alex giggled gleefully as her fingers played with the start cord handle of the saw. "Yea! Bring out the bear, bring out the bear!" Alex chanted playfully. Mark glanced at the two masked psychos grimly, before looking back down into the empty eye holes of the mask. This entire trip, he had felt nothing like the bear, he felt more like a pussy. He had given up and was letting the twins push him around, just how he let everyone else in his life push him around. He was sick of it, no more. They wanted the bear, he would give them the bear.
Mark snarled his lips as he slid the mask over his face, the deep seated rage welling up inside of him once again. He gripped the handles of his MP5s and held them firmly in his hands before clicking off the safeties. The twins nodded in approval. "Alright, lets play!" Ash said. "Hell yea!" Alex whooped. They turned back ahead, as Ash began to lay down the battle strategy.
Before Ash could even finish his sentance, Mark raised the MP5s up and pressed them firmly against the head rests in front of him, behind the back of the twins's heads. They stiffened, sensing the weight behind the back of their heads, and the barely audible sound of Mark's fingers placing themselves on the triggers of his weapons.
They slowly turned their heads in unison. When they saw the submachine guns pointed at them, and the bear masked behemoth behind the guns, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, they became very still. For the longest time, no one spoke, only the sounds of Mark's bestial breathing was heard. Mark was the first one to break the silence. "Drop the gun, now." Mark growled. Ash didnt move a muscle. "Why…? You're not going to shoot us." Ash said calmly, though a slight waver betrayed his true emotions.
"I'm the only killer here in this van… your about too become two more notches on my belt… now drop the gun." Mark said gruffly. Ash's body shuddered with emotion, and Mark saw his grip on his gun tighten. Mark held his breath, he didnt want to do it… but he would put a bullet in Ash's head if he moved that gun in any direction but down towards the floor. Ash suddenly released his grip on the pistol, and let it fall the short distance to the floor of the van with a tiny thud.
Mark didnt bother trying to disarm Alex, she chose a clumsy, unwieldy weapon that was more of a danger to herself in the cramped van. Even if she managed to hoist it up and around the seat, Mark would just plug her in the dome the moment she tried to operate the starter crank.
Alex reached up and pulled off her mask, her eyes were wet with tears, her teeth clattering against each other in a mixture of anger and sorrow. "Why are you doing this?" Alex said piteously. "You're ruining everything!" Ash snarled. Mark leaned foreword, bending his arms at the elbows to keep the guns in place. "Take me home." Mark commanded.
Ash lowered his masked head, and Alex stared back at Mark with devastated bewilderment. Mark leaned back, and kept his guns snugly held against the backs of the headrests, behind the backs of their heads. Finally, after the longest, most awkward pause any of them could remember, Ash angrily popped the van into gear and peeled out of the parking spot. Mark lowered his guns, but kept them both pointed at the twins, resting his hands on his lap. Mark knew he was in for a silent, uncomfortable drive, but it beat the alternative.
When they finally pulled up in front of Mark's apartment building, Mark had an awkward moment, where he had to stuff his submachine guns and mask into his back pack, while still keeping it somewhat within reach to pull one of them back out again, or at least enough to shoot Ash through the bag should he force Mark's hand. He sat there for a moment, one hand still holding the handle of one of his MP5s, the rest of it stuffed in the bag cradled between his legs. He reached a hand for the lever of the sliding van door.
Mark didnt know why, but he felt a sudden pang of guilt for what he had done, even though he knew he had essentially saved them all. "Look… I'll make it up-" Mark started to say, before Alex sharply cut him off. "Just go!" She cried. Mark quickly obeyed, sliding the door open immediately and walking from the van with quickened steps. He half expected to hear a loud pop, and feel a pain in his back, but it never happened. The twins sped off, the tires of the van squealing loudly, as if it too was protesting him. Mark sighed and lowered his head after he watched the van speed off. He was emotionally raw, tired, and frustrated… but he knew, he had just dodged a bullet. Mark turned away from the street and entered his apartment building.
Earlier
Roman narrowed his eyes at Dimitri as he sat back in his black leather executive chair that he had purchased to replace the cheap and tacky one the original owners of the club had been using. Dimitri shifted uncomfortably. The young, athletic Russian man nodded, looking off to the side. "Like I said, the wife, the mistress, neither have seen or heard from him. His mistress seemed worried." Dimitri said, looking off to the side.
Dimitri's voice had no traces of an accent. If it wasnt for his white blazer and slacks, few would be able to pick him out as a Russian mobster. Roman knew he had been living in America for longer then he had, he also knew he had a thing for American blondes. Roman didnt really want to know any of this, but his recent forced reliance on the man, as his make shift number two, forced him to pick up these details about the man, essentially elevating him from the rank of nameless goon to an actual associate.
Roman didnt get to where he was in the Russian mob by relying on people he didnt know how to control. He kept his face expressionless, as the young man checked his gelled up hairdo in the reflection a wall light fixture. Roman brought one of his hands down onto the desk, just loud enough to make a sudden noise. The vain mobster jumped a bit, snapping back to attention, meeting Roman's stern gaze attentively. "Is anyone else missing?" Roman asked.
Even his dimwitted muscle picked up on the severity of his bosses tone. "I dont know boss, should I look into it?" Dimitri asked hesitantly. Roman's intense glower answered Dimitri's question for him. "Ill look into it boss, dont worry about a thing." Dimitri said with an exaggerated nod, as if the muscle brained playboy couldnt decide on whether he should bow or not. Roman sighed in contempt as he watched his minion leave, closing the door behind him.
Viktor had been missing for far to long. It was clear at this point, he was dead or arrested. Since Roman had an informant in the MPD, who he had gotten off the phone with moments earlier, Roman was certain his right hand man was gone. Roman leaned back in his chair, frowning in thought. He didnt need distractions right now. Losing a powerful enforcer like Viktor, who without a doubt, was the most effective man under his command, was more then a simple setback.
Men like Viktor were rare, you couldnt train men to be like him, they had to be forged in the harsh reality of the world. They were the products of the cruelty of man. Most strong men died before taking in enough experience to become what Viktor was. Replacing Viktor would be a serious undertaking of time and energy, and he was in dire need of the man's talents now.
Less then a week ago, his drug supplier, Conrad, was found lying in a drug house, with his face smashed open. It couldnt have happened at a worse time for Roman. Conrad and Roman had been in business for less then a month, before he wound up dead. This made Roman and his organization look weak. The dealers Roman managed to track down, from Conrad's place of business were spooked. Many of them stopped answering their phones. Roman would have to set them straight at tonights meeting, a display of power to let the feeble dealers know he was still very much in charge.
After a few hours, Dimitri knocked on the door to the office. "Come in." Dimitri opened the door and walked back to the spot in front of Roman's desk, where he stood hours earlier. "Yea, few of our guys are missing. No one you'd know though… think somebody iced them?" Dimitri asked with a casual shrug. Roman didnt answer, he kept his expression calm but stern.
A flicker of recollection sparked behind the Russian playboy's eyes, and he pulled a piece of paper from his white pant's pocket. "Oh, and we found the guys you were looking for… they were laid up in the hospital." Dimitri said, looking over his own atrocious hand writing with a furrowed brow. Roman hardened his gaze. "Where?" Roman said in a serious tone. Dimitri winced and shrugged. "One of them checked themselves out, ones till there though, got the address and room number right here." Dimitri said showing it to Roman from across the room.
Roman didnt even look at the paper, maintaining his burrowing gaze. Dimitri shrugged and shoved it back into his pocket before speaking. "So, want me to take care of that too?" Dimitri asked. Roman stood, and straightened his vest, instead of answering. He walked around the desk and stood in front of Dimitri. "Get it straightened out before the sit down tonight. Do not fail me." Roman commanded. Dimitri raised his brow and nodded, before turning to leave once again. As Roman watched his gel headed underling leave his presence, he picked up the phone to make inquiries into finding a new enforcer.
Roman leaned back in his chair and let out a small sigh. He had spent the last few hours in that office, making phone calls to the illiterate buffoons dealing his product, in an uphill attempt to corral them all in the same building at once. Roman knew he would have to replace many of them with his own men, he just wanted to vet them in person, to see who would be an asset, and who would be removed.
He predicted the event would go smoothly and without bloodshed. After all, he had already made an example out of one of the dealers who refused to work with them, out of misguided patriotism. Roman didnt like resorting to barbarism, and the man did not defy him personally, but a message needed to be sent. Roman made sure his men left the body parts where Conrad and his people would find them, scattered in the dumpsters around his territory. No one else refused to work for Roman.
But now that Conrad had his skull split open, another message would be needed. The only real worry of Roman's, on that that matter at least, was that his marginally competent muscle wouldnt come back to him with any information on the matter before the meeting. He wanted more ammunition then a simple "We're looking into the matter" when he arrived at the meeting.
Roman raised his eyes to the door to his office, as he heard Dimitri's footsteps approach. Roman stood and smoothed his vest before allowing Dimitri to enter. "Come in." He ordered. Dimitri opened the door and swaggered in. Roman gave the man a hard stare before speaking. "You were coming dangerously close to disappointing me. We leave for the meeting soon." Roman said. Dimitri flinched and nodded quickly. "Yea yea, sorry I was just being thorough you know?"
Roman let out a small sigh from his nostrils. "And what did you find?" Roman asked, allowing his impatience to bleed into his voice. Dimitri winced. "Not a whole lot, I dont think it was an inside job though. The guy with the broken arm is still in the hospital, Reggie, he had a bad attitude, called me a pecker wood, had to rough him up a bit." Dimitri began. Roman hardened his jaw, later when he had the time, he would instruct Dimitri to reveal only the useful information, and not burden him with the meaningless details.
"He was a dick, but he didnt know anything about the two that did this…" Dimitri continued. "There were two attackers?" Roman inquired. "That he saw yea, they were wearing masks, probably just some speed freaks who watched to many movies you know?" Dimitri said. It took a surprising amount of willpower on Roman's part to resist the urge to belittle the man in front of him. He wasnt depending on this man to think. "So they were two guys, and they wore masks, and you dont think the bodyguards were involved? This is… less then Id hoped." Roman said, genuinely disappointed. Dimitri nodded. "Sorry, thats all I got." "It will have to do."
Roman meditated the entire ride to the auto dealership. Dimitri rode with, in the front passenger seat. Roman was able to meditate in peace, since Dimitri knew better then to try and make conversation with him or his large, ghoulish driver. Any attempt would have been almost laughable to Roman. He almost wanted to waste the brain cells to try and guess what it was Dimitri found interesting enough to pass as conversation. From what he already knew about the man, his favorite pass times were bedding women and strippers at the clubs, and watching movies at the theaters. Roman hated the movies, and he had Suki to satisfy his carnal needs. Movies like "The Midnight Animal" were little more then-
Roman's brow twitched. Something sparked in his mind, something that sent a small chill through his body. His eyes snapped open. "What kind of masks were they wearing?" Roman said suddenly, his voice firm and commanding. Dimitri jumped a bit, jerking his head around to glance back at Roman. "The guys who whacked Conrad?" Dimitri asked. Roman glared back, dropping his stern professional mask for a brief moment. Dimitri blinked and stammered a response. "Uh um uh… animal masks." Dimitri said, stumbling over his words. He opened his mouth to say more, but when he saw the tempest behind Roman's eyes, he turned back around in his seat.
Animal masks… could this mean… it was starting again? But why here, why Roman, and why now? If the vigilantes wanted to destroy the Russian mob in Miami, they should have kept hitting them after cutting off the head of the organization. They were in shambles, the Colombians began moving in on them, yet the masked killings stopped. It was possible that they wrote them off, thinking the Colombians would finish the job for them. That would make Roman a target… he was the top earner, and the one to pull the Russians out of their tailspin.
Roman wasnt sure if he should be flattered, or terrified. The last encounter he had with the masked killers, Roman learned almost nothing about them. He remembered when he and the henchmen were sent to torture and interrogate one of the few masked killers they managed to take in alive. It was just some big heavy set guy with a tiger mask. No matter how much the henchman beat him, nothing intelligible came out.
When it was Roman's turn with the prisoner, he attached electrodes to his balls and interrogated him until he could do nothing more then sob and piss himself… but still he gave them nothing. It was like his brain was already broken. As if his mind was an over wound toy whose spring had snapped. The masked man knew he wanted to kill them, knew he was supposed to, that someone wanted him too do it… but nothing else. He was a programmed weapon, who could only give "The phone" as the one giving the orders. It was a small detail of how the group operated, but nothing of their motives or intent.
The group somehow attracted violent, empty, unstable people and molded them to kill using phone calls. Roman would never admit it, but the concept both fascinated and horrified him. He respected the skill it would take to train and condition someone over the phone, to turn a man into a dog, to kill on command, but that respect ended when it was now directed at him. Still, with the small amount of information he had to work with, it was very possible he was overestimating the vigilantes abilities. His colleagues all told him he was paranoid, but then again, most of them died at the hands of Jacket. Still, he couldnt do anything about this now, he had under achieving plebs to vet.
Roman's mind was on autopilot as he ran the meeting. He had been in similar positions so many times he could do it in his sleep. Gain the confidence of a bunch of thieving goons with a promise here, a subtle threat and implication of pain and death there… but in reality, Roman was already planning his next moves. He needed game plan on how to approach his "mask" problem.
He did, however, skip a beat when a van parked along the sidewalk in front of the dealership lot, and sat there idling. Roman would glance up at the dark silhouette from time to time, a paranoia creeping into his mind. He hated the loss of control he had over his emotions in that moment… but the thought of the shadowy group of killers that managed to cut his organization in half, that they could be gunning directly for him now, it gave him a lot to think about that was beyond his control. Roman hardened his heart and forced his mind back into the here and now.
The meeting went like clockwork. The dealers all agreed to go back to hitting the streets, and Roman made a mental list of which ones he would slowly phase out of his organization, giving them less and less product to sell each month until they took the hint. It wasnt until the van sped out, squealing its tires, that Roman's body tensed once again. Dimitri and the other four of his goons who arrived in a separate car, were watching him cautiously. Roman scowled and forced a stern, controlled sneer over his face. He would not be second guessed by a bunch of common thugs. He was telling them they were leaving for the club, that they had business to attend too… when he saw it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimpse of the van under a street light as it made a right turn. It was that symbol… the circle and three lines. He had seen that symbol painted on the sides of bus stops, on the sidewalks, on the walls of buildings… all on mob locations where the masked vigilantes left blood and carnage in their wake. That symbol, it was some kind of marker, for the crazed programmed killers to follow. It labeled those marked for death. Roman watched the van drive off, he knew his face must look like he had seen a ghost. If his men hadnt picked up that something was amiss earlier, they had now. He grit his teeth and glared at them. "Get to the club… now."
# # #
Mark spent the next day and a half in his apartment. He ordered Chinese and pizza rather then go out for groceries and watched TV until his eyes were sore. He didnt feel safe going back to work. The twins made it seem like he had knocked over a real power player in the Russian mob, so it was still too dangerous to show his face anywhere near his last known location.
Mark sighed, and switched off the TV. He glanced at the telephone on the corner table and recalled the sappy emotions he felt when he thought about his pal Corey. He wanted to call her, to see how she was doing, just as an excuse to here her voice, but for some reason he kept procrastinating. Perhaps he thought it would somehow get her in trouble with the Russians, or maybe he was just psyching himself out… either way he wouldnt have to worry about it if he was going to keep putting it off.
Mark looked at his watch, if the pizza guy was a few minutes later, he'd be eating a free pizza soon, if it ever came. He heard a knock on the door, and his heart rejoiced, cheesy carbs was the only thing that brought him any happiness these days. He buttoned back up his black cargo pants, and dusted off the cheeto dust from his t-shirt, before walking to the door.
He opened the door, and saw the pizza he ordered being held in large hands with long calloused fingers. He blinked and looked up at the massive figure holding the pizza, a tall lanky giant looked down at him with dull sunken eyes. Mark felt a surge of terror jolt through his body, as he swung the door hard against the giant. The giant dropped the pizza box as he slammed his forearm against the door to keep it open.
Mark struggled to force the giant out of his doorway, but the ghoulish man was inhumanly strong and did not budge. The door was flung open and Mark shoved back by the force the giant's arms could produce. He watched as the massive, looming figure leaned his head foreword to fit into his doorway before he slowly approached.
He felt a sharp blossom of pain as the large well dressed attacker flung his open palm out, crashing it against Mark's chest. He winced in pain as he slammed against the wall behind him. He had two choices now, fight or flight. As the grim giant walked towards him silently, his eyes as cold as a corpse, Mark felt any desire to fight evaporate from his body.
Mark turned trying to run into the bedroom, but the long fingers of the tall man wrapped themselves around his arm and swung his momentum off to the side, slamming him, face first against a framed family photo. Mark groaned in pain, before the giant swung him around again, sweeping his legs out from under him and slamming his chin down against the short carpet of his apartment. Mark saw stars, and his eyes watered. He nearly slipped from consciousness, but the feeling of his arm being lifted up behind him, twisting at his shoulder socket and pressing his face tighter against the ground woke him up.
Mark cried out in pain. "Oh god, please dont break my arm!" "What a waste of good pizza, eh fat boy?" Said a young, arrogant voice, as another figure entered his apartment. Mark struggled to turn his head, and saw the man's skater shoes and white trousers, affirming what he had already predicted. This guy was Russian mob. Mark was fucked.
The young man who swaggered into his apartment looked like a real douche bag, with his spiky hair and that shit eating grin. He looked down at Mark. He glared up at the asshole through pain filled eyes. The douche bag slammed his foot across Mark's forehead, driving the aggression he managed to muster from him. He grunted and squirmed, but there was very little he could do in his current situation.
Mark caught the glimpse of a shiny expensive dress shoe step through the doorway of his apartment, its heel crushing the center of the pizza box. Mark felt a chill run down his body, at the slow, meticulous movements the third figure. The young, brash goon, straightened at his presence. "Toss the place." The stern man said, who Mark figured was clearly the leader of this group. Mark felt his blood freeze in his veins as the cold, lizard like eyes of the man studied him carefully. "Please… you got the wrong guy, you've made a mistake!" Mark blurted out. The man's expression's didnt so much as shift in reaction to Mark's voice. He watched Mark, his face to controlled to be called calm.
The young Russian mobster proceeded to turn Mark's apartment inside out, knocking over his book shelf, flipping his couch, knocking his CD collection onto the floor. Mark held his breath as the mobster moved his search to his bedroom. He looked back up at the mob boss, who continued to study him. Mark winced at the small sense of delight he found in the bosses eyes. He must have picked up the fear behind his eyes, that Mark had something in his bedroom… something he didnt want anyone to find.
"Got it!" The young mobster said, prancing from Mark's bedroom proudly. Mark turned his head and felt his heart sink. There, held in his hands like a trophy was Mark's bear mask. Mark's body went numb, as he looked up at the mob boss's eyes. The boss smiled ever so slightly and gestured to his giant bodyguard. Mark felt his body pulled up so fast, he barely had time to get his feet on the ground. Mark was a big guy, and the bodyguard was swinging him around like a rag doll. He tensed, as his arms were held behind his back, trapped in the tall man's iron like grip.
The mob boss took two meticulous steps towards him, bringing his expressionless mask of a face up against Mark's. "I hope you havent made any plans this evening." The mob boss said. Mark nearly fainted. The veiled cruelty behind the mob boss's eyes sapped his strength. The eyes became like caged beasts, lapping at Mark hungrily behind their bars. Mark had no illusions. This was a one way trip. "Take him." The boss said.