Until The Trial

Davon

"If we do not destroy the remaining evidence while we can, then we are sitting ducks for when they come!" Davon shouts into the phone, his voice echoing in the empty warehouse.

"They fail again and again to catch up to us. The trial is soon, and afterwards, I will not be getting my hands dirty any longer. I need this last shipment," the voice on the other end replies, cold and unyielding.

"To hell with the shipment! We can all get out of this right now and no one will ever truly know what happened," Davon counters, desperation creeping into his tone.

A sigh comes through the phone, calm and patronizing. "Calm our pet, will you?"

Davon glances to the table next to him where the masked lunatic is seated. He ignores the shivers threatening to pass through him. The man always unsettles him, with that creepy mask hiding whatever insanity lies beneath. Tap, tap, tap—the man taps his finger over and over again. It drives Davon mad, which he suspects is the lunatic's intention, to unnerve and annoy the living hell out of people.

"I am no one's pet," Davon mutters, going back to pretending the man isn't there with his eerie mask staring into his soul.

"Bullshit. You are a puppet. A facade. A person simply there to keep up the illusion and ensure that pesky gang of yours follows orders. You don't have a choice. You do this last shipment and you're done with us. Get your part and get out. If you don't... well, you've personally seen the results of disobeying us. What happened to Mr. Crow."

Davon growls, a pang of hurt and regret tightening in his chest. "Jamier wasn't going to talk. His death wasn't necessary."

A light chuckle flows through the phone. "Bull. We both know that's bull. Our friend eliminated the loose end, Agent. Once the trial ends, the rest will follow. Now, I have to go. Keep up your part. In six days, I go under trial and come out the other end with a clean slate. You finish getting the shipment and the money for it. I expect it to be done in three."

"Three!" Davon exclaims, his voice rising in frustration.

"Yes," the voice confirms. "Bye, bye now."

"There is NO—" The phone hangs up before he can finish. He lets out a growl of frustration. Keeping his circle of trust for the operations while keeping most of his members on dumb stuff has worked up to now. No one can talk if they don't know, but how the hell is he supposed to finish in three days with less than one-fourth of his manpower? He puts both hands against the desk and takes a deep breath. He dials into his phone and waits as it rings.

"What's the move, boss?" his man answers.

"Transfer the shipment and start moving it immediately, but with the same stealth. We have three days."

"Three days? That's too tight a timeframe."

"Start it. I will join you briefly," Davon says and ends the call.

Calmly regaining his full composure, he turns to the masked man. Everything about him screams horror movie, especially in the dark, scrappy warehouse they are in right now.

"I don't suppose you're going to help? We could use the hand."

The man shakes his head and stands.

"Why are you here then? To scare me straight? I am not stupid; I will do as told. Even though three days is a completely unreasonable request."

The man nods slowly. Davon wonders what his name is. If he has some sort of normal life hiding past the mask.

"I was here to kill you should I have deemed it that you were no longer cooperating."