Chapter 4 : First Followers
The thin man moved fast for someone who looked half-starved.
I matched his pace through the Narrows' twisted streets, my cut palm throbbing, ribs complaining with each step. He hadn't introduced himself. Hadn't explained where we were going. Just walked, expecting me to follow.
I followed. What choice did I have?
We turned into an alley behind the street market, narrower than the one where I'd fought Marco's thugs. Garbage bags lined the walls. A cat hissed and bolted at our approach.
Two men waited at the alley's end.
My body tensed. Trap. The word flashed through my mind as adrenaline spiked, but the thin man raised a hand—calm down gesture—and kept walking.
"This is them," he said over his shoulder. "My associates."
Associates. The word almost made me laugh.
The first was short, wiry, maybe twenty-five, with quick eyes that darted everywhere and hands that wouldn't stay still. He fidgeted with a cigarette lighter, clicking it open and closed in a nervous rhythm.
The second was the opposite. Huge. Six-four at least, with shoulders like a refrigerator and a face that looked carved from granite. He stood perfectly still, watching me with the patience of a man who'd learned that size meant he rarely had to move first.
"Darek," the thin man said, "meet Julio and Big Pat. Boys, this is the guy who ran off Marco's crew."
Julio's eyes went wide. "That skinny bastard? He looks like he'd blow over in a strong wind."
"He broke Vinnie's nose and popped Tony's knee," the thin man said. "With a bottle and a boot."
Big Pat grunted. Something that might have been approval.
I stood still, letting them look. My ribs ached. My palm burned. But I kept my spine straight and my eyes level.
"They're sizing me up. Deciding if I'm worth following or worth rolling."
"I'm Terry," the thin man said finally, offering his hand. "Terrence Mack, if we're being formal. Which we're not."
I shook. His grip was firm, callused. Working hands.
"What's your game?" I asked.
Terry's thin smile returned. "Same as everyone in the Narrows. Survival. Used to work the docks under Falcone's people. Good money, steady work. Then the Bat came through and everything went to hell." He shrugged. "Been looking for someone worth following ever since."
"And you think that's me?"
"I think you fought two of Marco's boys when you could barely stand. I think you helped that woman when you could've walked away." Terry tilted his head. "I think you're either very stupid or very interesting. Either way, we're curious."
Julio had stopped clicking his lighter. Big Pat hadn't moved, but his posture had shifted—less watchful, more attentive.
They were waiting. For me to sell them something. Promise them riches. Spin a story about the empire I'd build and the money they'd make.
I was too tired for lies.
"I'm building something," I said. "Don't know what yet. Don't know how. But I've got rules, and they're not negotiable."
"Rules?" Julio's voice cracked with skepticism.
"You don't touch women who aren't in the game. You don't hurt kids. Ever." I let the words hang. "Anyone breaks these rules, I kill them myself."
Silence in the alley. The cat reappeared, watching from atop a dumpster.
Big Pat spoke for the first time. His voice was surprisingly soft for a man his size.
"Old Falcone never had rules like that."
"I'm not Falcone."
Another silence. Terry looked at Julio. Julio looked at Big Pat. Some communication passed between them—the kind that comes from months or years of shared desperation.
Big Pat nodded.
"Alright," Terry said. "We're in. But we need something from you first."
"Name it."
"Leadership. Direction. We've been floating since the crews fell apart. Running penny-ante scams, sleeping in shifts, waiting for someone to put a bullet in us or give us something better to do." Terry's eyes met mine. "Be something better."
[NETWORK OPPORTUNITY ACCEPTED]
[FOLLOWERS GAINED: 3]
[NETWORK: +3]
[INTIMIDATION: +2 — Respect earned through code establishment]
I pushed the notifications aside. "I can work with that. What do you have?"
Terry reached into his coat and produced a plastic bag. Gas station sandwiches, three of them, wrapped in cellophane.
"Lunch," he said. "Been saving them for something worth celebrating."
We sat on overturned crates and ate. Turkey and cheese on stale bread. The mayonnaise had gone slightly off. It was the best meal I'd had since waking up in this world.
I ate slowly, savoring each bite. Real food. Actual calories that didn't come from a moldy sandwich I'd found in a dead man's pocket.
Julio talked while he ate—nervous energy spilling out in words. He'd been a numbers guy for one of Falcone's bookies before everything collapsed. Good with math, bad with confrontation. Terry had found him sleeping in a car two months ago.
Big Pat said nothing, but his silence was comfortable rather than threatening. He ate methodically, eyes tracking the alley entrances with the practiced awareness of someone who'd been jumped before.
"These are my people now. Three desperate men in a dirty alley, eating gas station food. This is the start of my criminal empire."
The absurdity almost made me laugh. Almost.
"I know a place," Terry said when we'd finished. "Old warehouse on the industrial edge. Working plumbing, solid walls. Better than wherever you've been sleeping."
"How do you know where I've been sleeping?"
Terry's smile turned knowing. "I've been watching you since yesterday. Saw you at the heating vent. Followed you to the tenement. You're careful, but you're new." He shrugged. "Figured I'd see what you were made of before making contact."
"He's been watching me. Testing me. This whole thing was planned."
I should have been angry. Instead, I was impressed.
"Lead the way."
We stood. Julio gathered the sandwich wrappers—habit, Terry explained; leaving traces was how people got caught. Big Pat moved to the front, his bulk clearing a path through the narrow alley.
"One more thing," Terry said as we walked.
"Yeah?"
"That woman you helped. The one Marco's boys were shaking down." Terry's voice was carefully neutral. "That's Marco's sister. Rosaria Santini."
My feet stopped moving.
"His sister?"
"His baby sister. Only family he's got left. Word is he's obsessive about protecting her." Terry met my eyes. "Those boys you beat? They weren't robbing her. They were collectors who got too rough. Marco sent them to shake down a vendor, and Rosaria got in the middle trying to protect the guy."
"I saved Marco's sister from Marco's own men. And now Marco thinks someone attacked his family."
"He's going to take this personal," Terry continued. "Real personal."
Big Pat grunted agreement. Julio's lighter started clicking again.
I stared at the alley wall. A poster for a band that had probably broken up years ago. Graffiti proclaiming someone's love for someone else. The ordinary debris of a city that didn't care about the drama unfolding in its gutters.
"Then we'll have to be ready for him," I said.
Terry's smile widened. "Now you're talking."
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