The Rules Of Revenge

RN | TWO (pt.3)

"Boss," Bobby said as he rushed into the rooftop with all the brevity of a surgeon about to perform his most complex surgery.

I turned towards the exit door just in time to grab the controller being hurled at me. "Jesus! Bobby! Didn't Alfonso tell you how dangerous this thing is?"

The block of plastic in my hand was the most complex weapon I had ever held in my hand, and I once had the liberty of firing a Barrett MRAD .388 Sniper Rifle. Holding it simultaneously sent a jolt of power and fear to my heart. The coolness of it in my hand was familiar, like that of a toy I played with as a toddler, but that made the lethality of it even more intoxicating. Alfonso was right—this was not a weapon for the faint of heart.

"Sorry, boss. I didn't mean to throw it at ya. Alf's toys just creep me out," he said, the slight stutter in his voice becoming more pronounced with fear.

I looked at him with an air of stony indifference. "Consider yourself lucky that it wasn't triggered. Otherwise, we'd both be dead."

"S-s-sorry, boss," he repeated. His adams apple bounced as he gulped harshly. Sweat trailed down the side of his face, making it glint under the night sky. Similar sweat stains colored his ripped gray t-shirt, which once prominently displayed the American flag. I couldn't tell if it was the bomb in my hand or my lack of empathy that made him nervous, but in that moment, I didn't particularly care to ask.

"Won't happen again," he choked out once he could control his tongue again.

"Good—now get lost before I give Alfonso a call," I said, not bothering to look at him.

He didn't need to be told twice. Before I could look up again, the sound of the metal door clashing against its frame riveted through the air, as loud and powerful as a thunder clap, filling the otherwise quiet night. With him gone, I held the remote control with both hands and examined Alfonso's handiwork. Everything looked in order, and I had to praise the sleekness of his design. The controller had been made with cutting-edge technology not even available to the CIA, and I couldn't be more proud.

I made a mental note of thanking Raul the next time an opportunity rolled around for recommending him. It was the best decision I had ever made.

The time on my watch caught my attention. It was a quarter to eight and the fireworks were due to start in less than an hour. Suddenly taken over with adrenaline, I carefully rose the walls I had fabricated within my mind. All the necessary precautions I had to take to avoid another mental breakdown, or an episode, in the middle of a battle, were done in the matter of minutes. After doing on a smaller scale for a little over a year, pre-battle prep had become second-nature. It only took a little tinkering here and there and I could easily slip from the anxiety-prone Angie to the more hardcore version of myself. Agent A, I called her and she was everything I was not.

Gingerly placing the controller beside me, I sat on the edge of the chair facing a run-down four-story building. It was quite similar in structure as the Klein Brother's warehouse, but the Blue Vultures had hollowed out the first two floors, making it a ballroom of sorts. Like Jack and Peter Klein, Santiago also had multiple hideouts sprinkled throughout the New York state. The one in front of me, however, was his most cherished possession.

"Who's this?" Santiago hollered. "If this is you...I swear to GOD!"

I chuckled. "God's a bit busy right now, so let's keep him out of this, alright?"

"You!" he exclaimed. "I knew you would call me sooner or later. What do you want?"

"What do I want? Hmm...let's see. Not much. I just wanted to check in with you—how're you doing now that the Kleins are out of the picture? You must be overjoyed, no?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, bitch. You better keep your mouth shut."

I smirked. Just the reaction I had been expecting. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying. Rumor has it, you've been planning their destruction for ages. I merely helped you out."

He stammered, unable to find the appropriate words. Frustrated, he sighed in defeat. "What do you want?"

"I already said, Santiago, I don't want anything from you. I just wanna talk."

"You listen to me! I've been in this business for thirty years now! So, I know the last thing anyone with your kind of power wants to do is just chit-chat," he said. He spat, as if the words disgusted him.

I smiled and puffed out my chest. A sign of dominance, borrowed from our cousins, the primates, usually associated with males. Hearing that I had power, however, proved once and for all that I was not beneath any man. "Hey, cool yourself down, man. We're just getting started. Where would the fun be if you died from a heart attack?"

"I ain't dying from no heart attack any time soon, understand? So, cut to the chase. I got other things to do."

"Don't we all?" I quipped. "But, I'm curious. Tell me, Santiago. What's on your itinerary? What could possibly be better than talking to dear ol' me?"

He spoke harshly, separating each word as one would if they were speaking to a dim-witted child. "None. Of. Your. Business. Sweetheart."

"Could it be possible that you're simply intimidated by me?" I asked in an astonished manner. "Does my voice scare you?"

He scoffed, the mucus gathering in his throat. "In your dreams."

I laughed. "Funny you bring up my dreams...just last night I saw something quite interesting. Wanna hear it?"

He growled, his patience dwindling by the second. "Keep it to yourself! If you're not gonna cut to the chase and spit out whatever the hell you want from me, I'm gonna hang up. I'm warning you! Don't mess with me."

The hairs on my arm stood up as the tingles of anticipation coursed through me. Uncle Sam's rules had helped me thus far, and in this case, specifically, the second rule was working like a charm. He couldn't have been more accurate. Almost all criminals had big egos—overcompensating for the skills they lacked—but they were as fragile as glass. One blow and it all toppled down.

"Ooh. I'm so scared!" I exclaimed in a melodramatic voice. "But, really. Hear me out—in my dream, I snuck into your Catskill warehouse in the middle of the night and stole your two million dollars' worth of drugs. Sounds prophetic, don't it?"

This hit him harder than anything I had said thus far. "Don't you dare! I'm gonna kill you if you so much as go near my drugs."

I laughed, but not a trace of amusement could be found. Instead, had someone overheard me, it was quite possible that I would've come across as delusional and unstable. "As if you can stop me. A little birdy told me you went into hiding out of fear. I'd say you, yourself, cleared the path for me."

"That's a lie!" he exclaimed, but his shrieks of defense did not faze me. The louder he screamed, the more anxious and aggressive he became. Like a bull, once he was enraged, it was only a matter of time before he became blinded, making it that much easier for me to lure him into a trap. "I would never hide from the likes of you. An ant! That's all you are!"

"An ant?" I asked. "Why, then, don't you come see for yourself? I'm already here, and there's nobody to stop me. If you don't come, stealing your money won't be any fun. And, you know, how much I like fun. Just as the Klein Brothers."

He was a man on the edge of madness, and it would be a lie if I said pushing him off the cliff wasn't the least bit thrilling. It was only now that I could honestly say I knew why people gave up everything for a life of crime. It was, for the lack of a more apt word, fun.

"You!" he exclaimed, out of breath. "You...you stay right there! I should've killed you the minute I heard your name...but no worries. I will do it tonight! You better call your family and say goodbye, cuz this is gonna be your last night!"

I threw the floor across the roof and watched it smash into smithereens. Although he was no longer listening, the urge to have the last word gnawed my inside. Into the river-soaked air I bellowed, "I would, but they're already dead!"

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