>Chapter 1 >Chapter 2a >Chapter 2b >Chapter 3a
Still 27 years earlier
Manuel rolled up his window and glanced at the clock on his dashboard. It was just after midnight. He’d come early to make sure the block was relatively quiet. The interaction with Silk was a bonus for the night. Now it was time to turn his attention to the goal. A few minutes later, another dark-tinted car pulled up behind his own. Two large men stepped out. Manuel grabbed a Glock from the center console and tucked it into his jacket pocket before getting out of the car.
Nodding towards the two men, he turned and started walking towards the flickering street lamp. He made sure to turn the corner of the building slowly. He wanted to be seen going inside. He needed his name to travel. A few people on a stoop across the street eyed him and his men suspiciously. Manuel looked across at them steadily before turning his attention to the thick glass of the building’s door. His grip tightened around the handle, and he yanked with all his might, the metal groaning in protest as the magnetic lock gave way with a sharp pop. Inside, Manuel walked quickly toward one of the four first-floor apartments. Taking the gun into his hands, he knocked on the door with his knuckles. Inside there was shuffling and someone cursing to themselves. The thick metal cover of the peephole moved to the side and Manuel stared into the eye.
“The fuck?” The voice inside could be heard saying as two heavy locks clicked open.
Manuel didn’t wait for the person to open the door. As soon as the knob was turned, he thrust his shoulder into it, pinning the man behind it. The men behind Manuel added their weight, effectively turning the door into a battering ram. Manuel, seizing the opportunity, darted inside and pressed the cold steel of his gun against the man's cheek.
“Sit down and shut the fuck up.”
“Mutt? You’re fucking bugging, son. You know I work for those Portuguese boys. They’re going to kill you.”
“ I told you to shut the fuck up,” Manuel said, before bringing the handle of his gun across the man’s cheekbone with force. The impact let loose a loud crack. Manuel had broken the man’s face with his first swing. He didn’t let it stop him from beating in the man’s face with a few more blows.
The living room had about 2 kilos of cocaine that had been in the process of being broken down and cut. In the opposite corner was a 10-pound pack of marijuana, tightly wrapped in clear plastic. One of the men who’d followed Manuel inside pulled a large nylon laundry bag from inside his jacket and began to fill it with the drugs. Manuel turned his attention to the small hallway that branched off the side of the living room. 2 closed doors and one open bathroom door at the end. Manuel opened the first door and found a dimly lit bedroom. He could hear the movement of someone behind the large, sheet-less bed in the middle of the room.
“Get up or I shoot you through the mattress,” he barked, his voice devoid of emotion.
A woman emerged, tears streaming down her face, arms crossed in a futile attempt to shield her vulnerable body.
“Please don’t hurt me. Please. Please,” she sobbed.
“Sure. Where’s your boyfriend keep his money?”
“There’s a safe in the closet.”
“Do you know the code?”
“Yes. I mean I think I do. I haven’t opened it in a while. He may have changed it.”
“Let’s hope he hasn’t because old boy is looking a bit brain-damaged outside and if it’s not open in the next 30 seconds I’m going to be in a bad mood.”
She ran around the bed towards the closet. It was a pricey digital safe, bigger than what he had expected. The first code she punched in failed and she started to sob harder.
“Calm down. Try again,” he ordered.
The digital beeping of her inputting the numbers gave way to the sound of the gears turning, and opening the lock. She pulled the door open and jumped back. Manuel looked inside the safe. There was probably somewhere around one hundred thousand if he had to guess. He took a laundry bag from the inside pocket of his jacket and threw it towards her.
“Put whatever is inside into that bag. Keep a couple thousand, for the trauma. Does he have any guns?”
She stammered, glancing nervously toward the unconscious form in the living room. “They’re… they’re in the top drawer of the dresser,” she said, pointing to the dresser on the other side of the room.
“Good. Put those in also, when you’re done.”
Manuel left the room and walked down towards the other closed door. Faint music played inside and the edges of the door glowed with purple light inside. A grow room. Opening the door confirmed his suspicions. There were about 50 plants inside the converted bedroom, and not much else. Manuel closed the door and walked back to the woman, who had wrapped a towel around her body and held the bag out to him. He took it with a nod and walked back to the living room, where his two men had created a mess while looking for anything else worth looting. When they saw Manuel, they stopped. He motioned towards the door and one of the men grabbed the laundry bag from him. Manuel walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. It was empty. Opening the door, he heard the sounds of the building bouncing off the walls of its central stairway, but nothing else. The three men walked out the front door and into the cool night air, laundry bags hanging over their shoulders.