Chapter 11

I’ll give them points, they were serious people. I think they had to move on us to keep their reputation. A guy was caught trying to torch the bake shop, and he was found on the sidewalk of the restaurant they used as a cover, unconscious. Seems someone had set his crotch on fire. Rumor had it everything had to be amputated to save his life.

I think the lengths the boys went to shocked them. They hired a rival gang to do a drive-by on Miguel, but as soon as their car came into the neighborhood they were made, and when they came roaring up, automatic weapons sticking out the windows, blue lights started flashing. A guy in the car panicked, from what the report said, and opened fire. They counted three hundred bullet holes in their car later, all six occupants riddled like Swiss cheese.

They got to one of Michaels’ guys, blowing him to bits. I sent over the food for the wake, the grandmothers furnishing the cakes. I shocked them all by paying for the funeral, insisting it be done right, and kept his mother in groceries for a year, giving the younger boys jobs to keep them off the streets. They went to Michael anyway, but he turned them down. “Stay straight, little brothers. This ain’t over yet, and your momma don’t need to lose any more sons.”

Two weeks after the death Michael hit a butcher shop, killing a nephew of the boss and shooting the place to ribbons. War was rapidly escalating.

They tried to hit me, but I got lucky. One of my guards made him, and came to my office. “Got a hot one, boss. This guy look like he’s shopping?”

I looked at the camera, noticing the way he looked around nervously, and how he held his hand under his jacket.

“This guy is an amateur, Cody. A professional would walk into the place like he owned it. Let’s go see if he’ll be reasonable.”

I took the Bond, and held it down to my side, coming up behind him.

“Can I help you find something, sir?”

Like I said, amateur. A real pro would have said no thanks and walked out, aware he had been made. This guy turned around, dragging the pistol out of his pocket. He was incredibly slow, but didn’t stop despite my warnings. I was too far away to trap his hand, so when the pistol finally cleared I gave him both barrels, center-mass. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I had the video tape to prove it was self-defense, and I only fired when it became apparent he wasn’t surrendering, so it was an open and shut inquiry, reported as an armed robbery gone wrong.

Did I feel good about taking a life? No, not a bit. Could I have handled it better? Probably. I was pragmatic enough not to let it bother me too much.