Basics: An enforcer for a small-time drug baron in Brazil, who he hates with a passion. Only does the work to support his 9 year old son.
Motivation: They can give him a new life with money, power and make sure his kid gets the best life possible.
Thiago straightened his jacket and turned left into a deli.
"We're closed!" said the man at the till with out looking up.
"Guess what? I don't care." Thiago reached over the counter and grabbed a handful of his flowered shirt pulled him close. While his shirt was cheap, the liquor on his breath certainly was not.
"My boss isn't happy. When my boss isn't happy, I'm not happy."
Thiago had to stop himself from smiling at the horrified expression on the mans face, and he hadn't even made a threat yet. While he hated his job, he had to admit he was good at it.
"Three days, that's all I ask!" pleaded the man.
Thiago dragged him over the counter and threw him through the front window, giving him a kick on his way out for good measure. No one looked at him as he made his way down the street, no one even moved to help the shop keeper.
Thiago passed a dead dog rotting in the street. There were bruises on its side and a hole in its chest where some kids had stabbed it with sticks. He just shook his head and kept walking barely giving it a second glance.
God he hated this place. No morales, no honor and not a cop that wasn't being payed off for a hundred miles. He looked down at the blood on his shoe and quickly wiped it with a rag from his pocket. Sure he wasn't any better, but when in Rome...
He turned up a street that had more shacks then houses, stopping beside a field of dirt and grime where kids were playing soccer.
"Papa!" screamed a little boy who wrapped himself around Thiago's leg. Thiago's face softened. He bent down and picked up his son.
"How was your day Paulo?" he asked, eying some young men shooting up and smoking every drug imaginable. One flashed him his middle finger and motioned at his crotch.
I swear to God...
He listened to his son as he carried him the rest of the way to their little apartment. The door was ajar. Thiago put down his son and reached inside his jacket.
"Stay here Paulo."
He entered his home and slide the gun free from his coat, pulling the slide. Nothing was taken from the kitchen or living room and even Paulo's toys were where he'd left them that morning. He quickly checked his and his son's rooms. Nothing. This had become the routine since he started working for his boss. Never was there day he didn't worry for his son. He called Paulo in and then he noticed it. An envelope sitting on the counter. It was too thin to be dangerous, and not thick enough to be a bill either. He picked it up and flipped it around, holstering his gun.
It simply read; Thiago Torres
Not even a return address or a postage stamp. He ripped it open and pulled out a single piece of paper and unfolded it.
Would you like to play a game?
- Godfrey De Vries
- Ebisawa Hitomi
- Tony Blake
- Kamali Ncube
- Elias Heikkinen
- Alexi Bogdanov
- Mei Yu
- Vahide Younan
- Michelle Sanchez
Kill these people and we can give your son the life he deserves.
Thiago glance over the top of the letter at his son playing with his toy cars. He reread the names. Why does someone want them dead? But more importantly, do they know someone wants them dead?
He found it strange that he didn't doubt the legitimacy of the letter, then again, most of the people around here knew what he did for a living...