2. Dominic #2
It wasn’t always this way, the living together.
But a few years ago, it was the obvious choice if we wanted to continue on our path to the top.
It’s not like any of us had other family or friends to be concerned with the shift in dynamic.
We’re all loners, but even more, we’re all aware that those types of relationships only threaten to ruin what we’ve worked hard for.
The sound of feet clobbering the stairs steals my attention, and when I turn around, Bryant is setting three glass bottles on the table.
Okay, he’s good for two things.
“You were saying.” I pick up where we left off prior to the interruption.
We take our spots around the large oak dining room table.
“Face time,” Hayes adds.
I raise my eyebrow at him, wishing one of them would just fucking elaborate already.
Hayes bites off a chunk of his hamburger, chewing it quickly and bobbing his head as if that will somehow make him finish quicker.
“Yeah,” Bryant continues, popping a fry into his mouth. “If people see you out in the field, knocking heads and enforcing shit, I think it would get them on board. A fear-induced vote."
“I knock plenty of heads,” I tell them. Two today, actually.
“Discreetly. Because that’s your thing, you’re like a shadow. A ghost. They’re afraid of the idea of you, not necessarily you. Give them a reason to step back in line.” Bryant reaches into the take-out bag and pulls out a packet of ketchup.
I hate to change things up. To be a different version of myself. To stray from the one that has proven effective for countless years. But if I don’t do something, I may lose everything. And I can’t afford to do that.
Hayes shrugs. “It’s worth a shot.”
“You think this will garner support?” I look between them, reading their energy and the smallest tells they give off. I might be the boss of us, but at the end of the day, I do value their input, because it’s what’s gotten us this far.
“If they see you in action, and word spreads, there’s no doubt they will either run for the hills or bow down and pledge their allegiance.” Bryant pitches a pretty good case.
“You said you wanted to draw the line in the sand,” Hayes reminds me.
So that’s what I will do. Step out from the darkness and show everyone just how brutal and ruthless I can be.
Hayes and I walk side by side into the dimly lit corridor of the packaging warehouse where today’s shipment is being processed.
Security pinged a potential situation, and I figured, what better time than now to test the new theory.
Tension rises the second we enter the room. Heads turn our way, eyes widen, and stare, only to avert once they realize they've been spotted. Everyone falls into line, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to themselves. Too afraid that what they've heard about me might come true.
They recognize me, and they’ve heard the stories about where I go, destruction and death follow. Only usually, it’s from whispers told, no one ever really witnessing it firsthand. Because no one typically makes it out alive when I show up unexpectedly.
There must be thirty of them, in rows of five or so, weighing and bagging up product, placing them in cardboard boxes to be picked up from the workers waiting to double-check and seal them off for shipping.
Armed guards stand posted on the north and south wall; rifles slung over their shoulders.
I approach the man in charge of today’s outfit. A chubby fellow with thick glasses and bags under his eyes. He reeks of coffee and nicotine. His face glistens and he does his best to wipe his brow with the handkerchief from his pocket.
Hayes exchanges a few discreet words with him while I scan the group of men at work before me. Ages ranging from barely legal to mid-sixties. Body shapes and sizes vary between each of them. The only thing they have in common is the look of terror they're all trying to hide.
One man sweats a bit more than the rest, and without hearing a bit of the conversation going on behind me, I know that’s the guy I came here for. I lock my gaze on him, noting the way his jaw tenses, and his hands shake.
I wonder if people can sense when the end is near? When their time is almost up?
I unbutton my fitted jacket, sliding it off my arms and folding it in half. It cost me a pretty penny, and I refuse to allow it to suffer because of a little occupational hazard. That’s how you keep nice things, you take care of them. No one appreciates genuine Italian craftsmanship anymore.
I keep my stare glued to my target as I hand off my jacket and glide across the room. I stop in front of his spot and roll up each of my sleeves. “Stand,” I order him.
Silent tears roll down each of his cheeks, telling me everything I need to know about him being guilty.
“Empty your pockets.”
He fumbles his hands around, flipping them inside out to show me.
When each of these workers arrive, they are to put all their belongings in an allocated bin, only to collect them after they have clocked out for the day.
They are searched, then granted to do their job, then checked again before leaving.
It's how we keep product loss to a minimum.
But sometimes, things slip through the cracks.
The workers get smarter, think up new places to stash their stolen goods to smuggle them out.
“Take off your pants,” I say calmly. A bit too calm, considering.
The man’s bottom lip drops. “What?”
Someone calls out from behind me. “You heard him.”
The man flits his gaze as if to consider he has any other alternative than to comply. He chooses wisely, gripping the waistband of his cheap denim jeans, unbuttoning and dropping them to the floor. He trembles but remains firmly in place.
“And those.” I point to his boxers, not caring that we’re in a room full of people.
“I’m sorry?”
I let out an exasperated sigh, reaching into my own waistband and pulling out one of the handguns strategically placed on my person. I grip the slide, tugging it back and loading one into the chamber.
This seems to get the man to cooperate. The second his eyes land on my weapon, he starts blubbering and whining, a bit of his piss trickling onto the concrete floor.
The men around us tense but stay in place. For good reason, because with my rising annoyance, I’d shoot anything that moved at this point just for the thrill of it.
My suspicions are confirmed when the man exposes himself. His shriveled-up cock and balls covering the few small bags taped to his upper thigh.
We had been tipped off that someone had been exceptionally fidgety in their seat tonight. This man and his stolen goods no doubt being the person of interest.
“I—I can explain.”
I perk up my brows at him. “Oh, you can?” I fold my arms across my chest, waiting for him to tell me how the product got strategically placed in his nether region.
“Well, um…”
But if there was a legitimate reason, he would have already said it by now. So, I choose to waste no more time with this pathetic excuse for a human. Before he can spit out another word, I uncross my arms, extending the one holding my gun, point it at him, and pull the trigger.
His mud-colored eyes go wide, shock rattling his features as the bullet is expelled from my gun and impaled in his forehead.
Blood splatters and his body falls back into the table behind him. A collective gasp fills the room.
I tuck the barrel into the holster on the back of my tailored suit. “Someone clean that up.”
People move in my peripheral and begin the job that I have assigned.
Making my way to the front of the group, I clear my throat to silence the mild disorder. I steal a glance at Hayes, a sadistic grin across his cheeks.
“Thievery will not be tolerated. Dishonesty. Disloyalty. Not a part of our business motto.” I turn, facing the remaining terrified faces. “The pay is generous. Isn’t it?” I tilt my head at a young man in the front row.
He avoids eye contact like I might have the power to kill him with one look. “Yes, sir.”
“I am not an unreasonable man. If needs arise, I expect you to come to me. But I will not take to this…” I wave my hand toward the scene that’s being tended to. “Treachery.”
Hayes comes to stand at my flank, as if to show his support of my words.
I continue. “If you do not agree with my ways.” I point to the door and keep my hand held in place. “If you wish to join the opposing side. Go. No one is stopping you.” I flit my gaze at them, sensing a small shift in energy.
A man from the third row moves, stepping around his line-mates and mumbling under his breath. “Fuck this shit. Beckett doesn’t…”
I don’t quite catch what he says, but it doesn’t matter either way. He crossed that line in the sand and sealed his own fate.
In one swift motion, I yank my weapon back out and plant a bullet in his dome before he can even comprehend what hit him.
His body hits the concrete with a thud, and the second the gasps from the men conclude, a pin drop could be heard from how quiet the room becomes.
I put my gun away once again. “Have I made myself clear?”