In the bustle of life, a person becomes powerless to dictate how fate may orchestrate events into fruition.
One mistake too many can prove to be the cause that drags him to the dungeons of social destruction.
A place filled with human ghouls, murderers, and demons...
A place where every nightmare that a man could imagine, had the chance to blossom into reality.
Within this realm of chaos, there are many doors of entry, but not a single route of escape.
When a person becomes a prisoner of such corruption, betrayal is like a pandemic run rampant.
Most people claim to hate it.
Some people choose to embrace it.
But no one alive can stop it.
That thought was what had Swaylo driven to take advantage of the opportunity, that he had been given.
When he pondered over his predicament, he knew that to win, he would need to establish an alliance with someone who could protect his interest.
Someone who stood to lose just as much, if his safety or his freedom was somehow threatened.
And, Johnathan Weatherby could prove to be the best solution to his problem...
Nestled within the historic district of East Atlanta,
Candler Park was located a few blocks away from Eastlake Meadows.
It was a familiar area, close to his neighborhood, with winding streets, alleyways, and apartment buildings.
Within its cove of eclectic bungalows, and the hodgepodge of businesses there were countless routes that could provide him with ways to escape capture, if Johnathan Weatherby had decided to betray him.
There was too much at stake, to risk being arrested.
As sunset cast its prism of colors across the sky, there were gatherings of pedestrians passing by.
In the background, beyond the window, the lush image of Maple, Elm, and Pine trees gave the city its rich southern distinction.
Its surrounding neighborhood was filled with drug dealers, who plied their trade amidst the district.
Within its sphere of houses, stores, and a cluster of activity, Swaylo felt protected.
Hidden amidst the black market hub of vice and prostitution he was like a chameleon, in a woodland.
As the purple, bronze, and blue hues of sunset paint the horizon Swaylo sat in silence, watching Charmaine devour her meal.
They were seated within the Vertigo Cafe', watching the passage of traffic, as it flowed past the business.
Before he was a plate of shrimp fried rice, strips of pepper steak, and jumbo shrimp.
With his mind preoccupied with how fate would play out his situation, he sipped at a glass of lemonade.
Charmaine was eating from both of their plates as if her appetite could not be abated.
The establishment was packed with people, seated at various tables eating, and conversating.
The succulent aroma of herbs, spices, and cooked meat, intermingled with the smell of cakes, pies, and pastries.
Beyond the large picture front windows of the restaurant, Swaylo could see several of his friends, positioned about the street, acting as early warning lookouts.
Each of them was watching out for any sudden appearance of police officers, trying to establish surveillance of the area.
No one knew the extent of his involvement, in the bank heist, or the assassination of Melissa Weatherby; not even Charmaine.
All they knew was that Swaylo was paying them a thousand in cash to watch his back.
Something that each of them would have done for free, but the fact that he was paying, had them anxious to earn the money.
From one end of the block to the next, there were ten of his friends carrying flashlights.
Whenever a cop car approached, they would signal to the next person, to alert them.
Anything out of the ordinary, and Swaylo would vanish through the rear of the restaurant.
In an alleyway behind the line of businesses, there was a motorcycle waiting.
"Damn, babe... You're eating like a Russian refugee." he joked, with a teasing grin, before turning back to monitor the area beyond the window.
"You might want to slow down," he added. "People might get the impression that you're pregnant."
"Maybe I am," she muttered under her breath, avoiding his gaze as if he had not heard her speak.
"Can you pass me some of that sauce, please?"
"Whoa. Hold up," Swaylo stated, turning his attention back to Charmaine. "What do mean by that?"
As he tried to read her features, Charmaine reached across the table, to grab the sauce herself.
She pretended not to have heard his question, as she continued eating.
"What was that supposed to mean?" he asked again, his gaze perusing over her body as if to find some sort of anomaly.
There was nothing out of ordinary, that he could see.
"I haven't had the courage to check, but it's going on eight weeks since I've had a period." Charmaine confided, her eyes downcast, to avoid his gaze.
Swaylo sat in silence.
Unsure of what to say, he remained quiet.
As the silence began to approach that critical thirty-second point, a silver-gray Lexus pulled into the parking lot.
Swaylo saw Weatherby seated behind the steering wheel.
His gaze surveyed the street beyond, and none of his friends had given the distress signal.
His heart was pounding.
"Hold that thought. We'll discuss it later," he stated, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
He stood from the table before there was a chance for either of them to entertain any type of discussion.
"I need to handle this business, first..."
When the mysteries of destiny come into play, to recalibrate the landscape that people see daily...
Life takes on a completely different perspective.
Even if the picture displayed one day, seems similar in its monotony, a person can never control the cards that may be dealt with them.
After Charmaine had announced that she could be pregnant, he found himself confronted with something that he had not expected.
As he went to meet with Johnathan Weatherby, Swaylo knew that his life was about to take on a major transition.
When Johnathan Weatherby saw Lemario Mitchell emerge from the cafe', he appeared to be on the verge of driving off.
His gaze swept over the area as if he expected to be ambushed by a pack of wild dogs.
Swaylo slid into the passenger's seat and adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could continue to monitor the street behind where he sat.
Weatherby watched him with uncertainty, his hands clutching the steering wheel as if it were an anchor in a turbulent sea.
"Listen, I don't know what sort of games you're playing, but this is inappropriate for us to be seen together."
Swaylo turned his full attention to the judge and smiled.
"You think that I'm stupid, don't you?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I received a message, requesting me to meet someone at this location and I showed up..."
"Don't insult my intelligence, Johnny. That's what Nathan Briggs called you, right?"
Weatherby swallowed hard, his eyes blinking with a look of indecision.
The mention of Nathan Briggs let him know that Swaylo had unmasked the man's alias.
It also confirmed that he had spoken to Briggs about him.
What was still unknown was how much he knew...
"This isn't about who did what, or why..." Swaylo stated, pulling a small office recorder from his pocket.
"This is about two guys, coming to agreeable terms, to solve a very complicated problem," he added.
Weatherby stared at the device as if it were a stick of burning dynamite.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, but let's say that you think that I do... How are you suggesting that a problem can be solved?"
"Don't play games with me, Johnny. You know exactly what I'm talking about, otherwise, you would not be here."
Swaylo had a hostile glare in his eyes, as he pressed play on the recorder.
The interior of the Lexus was filled with the recorded voice of Nathan Briggs.
"I recorded this during my discussion with Briggs," Swaylo stated. "It's amazing what a man will tell you, to save himself," he added, as Briggs could be heard explaining how judge Weatherby had taken a five million dollar payoff, to make a favorable ruling, and orchestrated the murder of his wife, to avenge her infidelity and protect himself from being sent to prison.
Johnathan Weatherby had the frightened look of a homosexual prostitute, standing before an Iranian hangman.
The prospect of survival, at that moment, seemed to have vanished.
"The way I figure," Swaylo continued. "You had your reasons for doing what you did, the same as I had my reasons for doing what I did." He switched off the office recorder but left it atop the dashboard.
Weatherby was looking at it, as though he wanted to snatch it and destroy it.
"You can keep it," Swaylo stated with a shrug of indifference. "I've got another copy."
Weatherby did not make a move to grab it.
He stared at Swaylo with a vacant look in his eyes.
"I've been thinking about this for a while, now...
And, the way that I see it, we both stand to lose a lot, if this were to ever get out." he continued.
"Right now, there are only two people who know about this," he added, his eyes riveted upon Weatherby's face.
Swaylo paused, to allow his words to take root in Weatherby's mind.
The sound of people walking past the vehicle, talking, filtered into them.
Swaylo cast a glance into the rearview mirror.
There was no sign of any police, and none of his friends had given the signal for any sort of surveillance.
"Technically, you can't prove that I was involved in anything illegal, and I am not the type to divulge secrets.
But, just to make sure that we both stand to profit from this relationship of mutual silence, I'm going to have to suggest that you share the wealth."
"What are you talking about?" Weatherby croaked.
"I'm talking about a half of a million in cash. Ten percent of the five million that you got from the payoff."
Swaylo held up a hand, in a gesture of restraint.
"And, before you attempt to convince me that I'm wrong, or that you don't have that sort of cash to give, let me express how infuriating it feels to have someone attempt to take your life, and give you their ass to kiss; for the privilege of eliminating their problems."
Weatherby wiped a hand over his face, the pressure of his dilemma weighing upon his shoulders like a boulder.
He emitted a heavy sigh of discontent.
At that moment, they both knew that there was no way around him giving his complete cooperation.
"You're going to have to give me a day or two, to get the cash," Weatherby told him.
"You've got forty-eight hours," Swaylo replied, and tepped out of the car. "Meet me back here, at the same time."
Before he closed the door, Swaylo added:
"As of three o'clock this afternoon, Kenny Mathis was killed in Fulton county jail, so I need those bank robbery charges against me to be officially dismissed."
Federal district court judge Johnathan Weatherby gave a somber nod of consent.
When the silver-gray Lexus pulled out of the parking lot, Lemario Mitchell felt like a man who had been rescued from a plunge into an active volcano.
The landscape of destiny had a completely different view, from the dismal realm of poverty that had once plagued his existence.