I cupped my little stick of death, shielding it from the wind and rain as I lit it's head on fire. I could almost imagine a little cigarette head with an expression of terror on it's face as I drew in the first cloud of smoke and exhaled it into the night. I was standing outside the Crow Bar, a horrendously named yet comfortable place to have a drink or two and sit down with friends. Unfortunately, the man I was with wasn't my friend, and he wasn't alone.
My enemy was wearing a nice suit and a rather nice hat that looked like a fedora, his two thugs wearing dark suits and sunglasses even in the depressing gloom, 'legally obtained' police batons outlined against the thugs clothes. I was in the bucket for a hundred grand, and I was out of time. Sadly, I knew exactly what 'good ol' boy' Fred and his oafs were going to do, and it really wasn't going to be pretty. I had burned the money in the numerous casinos that dotted the slums and seedy districts below the river, and I wasn't exactly careful about what I smoked, injected, or snorted these days either.
I'm pretty sure they had already whacked Mary. She hadn't come home last night, and I sure as hell wasn't a friend of the Ferreria family. I used to have Dewey behind me to back me up, but Dewey was dead, killed in a drive-by three days ago. Dewey had been a fairly major drug dealer with a lot of people to back him up, but once you deal on Ferreria turf, you're a marked man.
Fred turned to me, looking at my cigarette in disgust. We were both getting wet in the gloomy night, and he gave a tired smile as he said, "Justin, my good man. You haven't paid us back the loan, and we've heard quite a few rumors about your recent actions. Do you have the money?"
I shook my head, my black hair becoming slick with rainwater, and Fred sighed. He made a little gesture to his thugs, and they promptly pulled out their batons. I promptly reached into the right pocket of my motorcycle jacket and pulled out a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum, the last purchase I had made.
The thugs halted for a single instant, and then I started to pull the trigger. I cheerfully puffed on my cigrette as the shots screamed out, watching the thugs crumple as the fourth shell clinked onto the wet pavement. Fred's expression was one of utter shock as I sifted my aim and fired a round between his eyes. The back of his head blew out with a revolting noise. I depressed the clip release, slid out the clip, and jammed in a new one. I turned to look at the bar, the patrons looking at me with expressions of horror. I pocketed the .44 and begun to walk away, getting soaked to the skin but not caring. After walking for roughly half an hour, I arrived at the downtown bus depot. I quickly bought a ticket for the next bus and hopped onto the metal beomoth twelve minutes later, joining the legion of sleepy passengers. I didn't know where I was going, but that was fine by me.