Jake sits cramped between two crew members in the back seat, jaw clenched and hands clammy in his lap, staring out the window as the car speeds down the freeway.
"Now, Jake, we're in somewhat of a predicament," Tyler says slyly.
"If this were a normal Tuesday, we'd have dumped your body over the Brooklyn Bridge and been on our way. But some important shit went down today, right after of our little accident and I need capable people by my side."
"What are you even talking about?" Jake interrupts.
"Just sit there quietly, and listen," he says. "That shit you nabbed from that china shop last week. It got us in good with the Brotherhood, like, really good. They made me a goddamn prospect."
"Brotherhood? What the hell are you talking about?"
"For the love of God, just shut your mouth and listen," he snaps.
"The Brotherhood are the fucking kings of organized crime this side of the pond. Drugs, guns, protection rackets, money laundering, you name it. These guys are no fucking joke, and now we're on their radar. Now I don't even know what the hell we took for them, but they are happy."
Jake interrupts again, "I didn't sign up for any of this. I mean someone's dead, man! I just wanted to make some quick cash, not get dragged into some crime syndicate shit!"
He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath.
"This isn't just some job anymore. People like that don't let you walk away. I'm out, man. Just let me out and you'll never hear from me again."
Tyler snaps, "What'd you think this was?! Some afterschool gig? This isn't a part-time job where you hang up your apron and go home. You don't make serious cash without getting your hands dirty."
He takes a breath, voice lowering. "Think about your mom. Doesn't she deserve better than rotting away on that couch all day?"
"How the hell do you—" Before he could finish, Jake lunges at Tyler, but the two men squeezed next to him grab his arms and hold him down.
"I told you, this isn't just some job. We need to know who's running with us. And who do you think moves that product in this area?" He leans in slightly. "Now you've got two choices, Jake. And I like you… so I really hope you pick the right one."
"You can keep running with us. Make more money than you ever thought possible. Get your mom off the pipe, maybe even pick up a few nice things for yourself along the way. Yeah, your hands'll get a little dirty, but that's part of the life."
He pauses. "Or you can get off the ride. Walk away. Though… with everything you know, I can't promise that'll be safe."
"But hey no pressure. Sleep on it, if you can. But come tomorrow, I'll need to know where you stand… Anyways, we're here. Slim, bring him home for me."
The car slows to a stop. Tyler and the two goons crammed next to Jake push open their doors and step out.
Tyler leans into the back window, "And Jake… if you try to run —don't… Think about your mom." He tightens his jacket and heads towards a rundown building tucked away in the slums of the city.
Jake says nothing for the rest of the ride, staring out the window as city lights blur past in the dark.
The car slows, coming to a stop outside his run-down apartment.
He climbs out, and without a word, the car speeds off as he trudges up the cracked steps to his door.
He eases the door open, careful not to make a sound. He tiptoes past the living room, the tension in his shoulders finally easing when he sees his mom passed out on the couch.
Don't know why I thought she'd notice…
He makes his way up the stairs, stepping over the kicked-over trash from yesterday. He pushes open his bedroom door, lets it swing shut behind him, and drops onto the bed with a heavy thud.
The weight of it all sinks into his chest. He lies motionless, eyes fixed on the ceiling, breath shallow and slow.
If you were here, I wouldn't be in this mess. I wonder what's got you so wrapped up that you forgot about us. Whatever it is I hope it's worthwhile… I miss you dad.
His eyes shut slowly, fatigue overtaking him.
The sharp ring of his cell phone cuts through the now quiet morning. Sunlight streams through the blinds as he groans, burying his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the persistent noise. Slowly waking, panic floods in with the memory of the situation he's in.
He jumps awake and snatches up the phone, heart racing, as he presses it to his ear. "Hello!"
"Jeez man you good? You sound spooked."
"Oh, JJ, yeah, man it's nothing. Just woke up a little shook, bad dream or something."
"So... you showing up today or what?"
Jake looks up at the clock on his wall.
Damn it's already 9?
"First period's almost up. Don't tell me you're skipping again."
"Yeah, man… I've just got some stuff I need to take care of." He hesitates, "Hey, uh, your dad around by any chance?"
"Yup same place as always. He's at the gym like always. Everything good?"
"Yeah I just a lot of shit going on right now."
"What kind of shit?"
"Just stuff at home, Y'know?" Jake mumbles.
JJ exhales on the other end. "Got it… Well hit me up if you need anything, yeah?"
"Appreciate it man, but I'm all good. I'll catch you tomorrow."
"See ya—if you actually plan on showing up." JJ hangs up.
Ha. Ha
Jake sighs, tossing his phone onto the side of his bed.
What the hell have I gotten myself into…? Should I go to Marcus? Maybe he can get me out of all this.
He lets out a frustrated groan and sits up. He grabs his phone and scrolls to Marcus's contact. His finger hovers above the call button, frozen mid-air. He takes a single breath. Then, slowly, hits "Back" and stuffs the phone in his pocket.
It's like Marcus said I can't just think about myself anymore. Can't put him at risk too.
He grabs his jacket and heads out his bedroom door.
Later that day, the warehouse buzzed with quiet urgency.
Tyler and his goons stand around a long table lined with black plastic cases, each one thick, locked, and built to carry weight.
Tyler addresses the room, "Listen, we need to tighten things up around here. No more stupid shit, no more slip-ups. If we disappoint them, we're fucked."
"Now, they gave us a task, and we sure as shit are gonna make sure it gets done. Think of this as a promotion fellas, now come and claim your bonuses." He gestures, and two thugs start cracking open the cases.
Under the low light, rows of pistols, submachine guns, and rifles glint on the table.
Suddenly, there's a loud thud pounding on the sliding door.
"Let's hope that's who I think it is," Tyler says, striding toward the door.
As the door slides open, Jake steps into the entrance, calm and resolute.
"You got here just in time. We're handing out gifts." He says, with a sly grin. "I'm assuming this means you've made up your mind?"
"Not like I had much of a choice," Jake says, sarcastically.
"That's why I like you, Jake—always so cheeky. Now here, take this."
He holds out a brand-new Colt 1911, polished black steel with a smooth brown grip, offering it grip-first.
"Standard from now on, everyone carries, no more schoolyard bullshit."
Jake stares at the pistol, the weight of what it means sinking in.
"Remember, you made your decision the moment you came in here. You know what's at stake, I'm not going to keep reminding you. Now take it."
After a pause, Jake reaches out and takes the pistol firmly by the grip.
"Now, come in. We were just discussing our next job."
They enter the warehouse, the sliding door shutting quietly behind them.