The Mafia's Conman

Chapter Six: Confusion Comes At A High Price

Chapter Six: Confusion Comes At A High Price

   Sometimes you just know you're screwed. 

   Maybe it's when your wife catches you in bed with another woman, or when a cop pulls you over and you're carrying a metric ton of cocaine. For me, it was standing in a roomful with cold-hearted criminals, and least half you've either scammed them out of their entire life savings, or have taken their identity to commit a crime that would have otherwise landed you the death penalty.

   So no, I was not having the time of my life.

   Well, when the forsaken mafia boss had practically dragged me down this goddamn castle, I hadn't expected him to take me to a freaking party or whatever the hell this was.

   Whatever the case, I was just glad that he didn't take me to his harem room and make me mingle with his concubines or some shit. Or, that he didn't up and dump me in some brothel. You'll be surprised at how many times that's happened before. No, really. You'd be surprised.

   Anywhore, as my eyes scanned the place, I made a quick mental map of the layout, determined to remember this fucking Victorian mansion and escape.

   Avoiding awkward eye contact with the piercing stares following my every move, and being me, I resisted the urge to smile and thrown them the middle finger. I figured they deserved it. But, alas, they did not receive.

   I was confused.

   I know, I know. When am I not confused? Pfft. Here's the thing, I'm never really confused. No, shut the fuck up, let me explain. Everything is always under my control, even if it doesn't seem that way. Everything I do has a meaning, even if that means acting out of control for just a few seconds.

   Everything is under my control.

   Except this.

   I had no fucking clue what the hell was going on.

   They could gang rape me and put on a theatric show for all I cared, and I would still be wondering how the hell I managed to get myself into this situation.

   It was a rookie move, that's how!

   Chris, you fucking dumbass! You had literally one job! And that job was to stay one step ahead from the person next to you, behind you, in front of you, that old guy living in the opposite apartment complex that always complains about the "young people these days", and to be two steps ahead than all those low-lives that decide to think that me being an easy target was a good fucking idea.

   Most of the time, those shit-for-brains were petty thieves. And I fucking hate those little rats, squirming around for spare change and steeling the wallets right off people's unassuming jackets. It was so boring! And I didn't accept boringness. They lacked the ideal thrill of actual confrontation, of holding a knife up to someone and making them hand over their wallet. Then again, maybe I'm just insane. Maybe.

   Back to the topic at hand-- I'm confused.

   I look over at Jackson, seeing that he had neither stopped walking in that power walk of his, nor has he looked back to see if I was still even following him. I could make a run for it and the bastard wouldn't even notice with all this ruckus going around.

   Dammit, Chris! Never underestimate the opponent! Haven't you seen any freaking movies?

    And dude, what's with this mental conversation with yourself?

   Then again, what can I say?

   When life gives you lemons, sell them to your crack whore neighbor for double the price and tell them it's a new super-effective drug. Always works, if I do say so myself...

   I double my speed chasing after the annoying bastard, narrowly avoiding jamming my hip into a table as Jackson made a sharp, abrupt turn. I was sure he was doing it on purpose.

   Bastard!

   Keeping my mouth shut to prevent the profanities from raining out of me, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other instead.

   We walked, and walked, and walked, walking across the room and into a door. 

   It was just a two-minute passage, but when you have a bunch of eye's piercing at you, you tend to think that you're walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, and walk-

   -Ing through eternity through the pits of hell with nothing but the simple metal sword strapped across your back, your shredded clothes do nothing against the chilling winter wind, you have no fear as you yourself control the fire inside of you, a fire brighter and hotter than any of hell's fire-

   Well, that took a dark turn.

   As we neared a new door, ignoring the shouting and noise, I couldn't ignore the sudden feeling of dread that neared when I got closer to the locked door. Slowly but surely, the reality of my situation came crashing down.

   I've been kidnapped.

   (Technically adult-napped. Wait, what's the "kid" part for? Is there something like elderly-napped? Or is it just considered abduction?)

   I've been adult-napped by the mafia boss. No, not my boss. But as in, if you opened a dictionary and turned to the word "mafia" it would say: Jackson Kaaz. 

   As in, if the word "crime" had an associate, it would say Jackson Kaaz. 

   As in, if the word "justice" had an enemy, it would indefinitely say Jackson Kaaz. 

   As in- you get the idea.

   And not only that, oh no no no. No. No, not only have I've been napped, but I've been forced into an engagement with the antichrist himself. (At least, metaphorically speaking.)

   And now I'm being held captive.

   Yet... why don't I feel like a prisoner?

____

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