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9
Ethan
I parked the white van at the end of the alley, quickly checking my appearance in the driver’s side mirror. The brown contacts were a nice touch. I tugged at the sides of the black wig, insuring it was secure. I ran my hand along my smooth face, then yanked the black baseball cap closer to my eyes. The gas mask was positioned on top of the baseball hat. I glanced out of the side and rear-view mirrors, making sure my surroundings were clear as I patted the holstered Glocks resting on my bullet proof vest and waist.
I tapped the ear piece. “Peter, are you ready?”
“Yes, move now.”
Climbing out of the van, I quietly closing the door. I stuffed my leather-gloved hands deep into my leather jacket pockets.
“Ethan, Arty Rios is wearing a green leather bomber jacket coming up on your left. He is surrounded by his crew of five.”
Lightly, I trod through the fluffy white snow in the black Gore-Tex boots. I glanced up. The street lights were blown out. I smirked. Just what I need. Dark Boston streets.
“I am killing cameras at both ends of the alley, Ethan. You are good to go.”
Slowly, I retrieved my extra Glock from my hip, holding it behind my back.
“Hey, who the fuck are you?” one of Rios’s men asked.
“Who I am is none of your business. I am here to have a talk with Arty.” I glared at the men before me. “I can talk to him quietly or not. It’s up to you.”
Arty stood from the crouching position, facing me, palming his hands in front of him.
He laughed. “You can’t do shit to me out here in these streets.”
He looked me up and down. “My boys ‘bout to light you up.”
I pulled my left hand from my pocket, throwing the smoke bomb in their direction. I slid the gas mask over my face, then wrapped my arm around Arty’s neck. Arty coughed and wiped his eyes. His guys dropped to their knees, pointing their weapons with one hand, wiping their eyes with the other.
“What the fuck, man!” one of the guys choked out.
Arty punched me in my side, trying to get loose. I squeezed my arm tighter around his neck. “Call off your boys. Or I will shoot them all.”
“Shit! Back down! Back down,” Arty ordered.
“Arty, I’ve noticed you like to harass and steal from the elderly. That stops today.” I pushed him forward, raising my muzzled Glock, pulling the trigger. The bullet released from the gun, slamming into his forehead. Arty’s body went limp, falling to the ground.
Pointing the Glock from right to left, I stared into the shocked eyes of the other men. “Anybody else want to die tonight?”
“No!” they sounded off.
“I see everything on the streets. If I see any of you harassing the elderly and homeless, I’ll be back. Next time you won’t see me coming. Got it?”
“We got it, man!” One of the men sniffled.
Watching your boy die before your very eyes softens the hardest of hearts.
Releasing another smoke bomb from my hand, I disappeared into the shadows of the night.
I stepped through the door of my condo. Malaysia sat at the custom counter drinking a glass of wine.
“I watched, Ethan.”
I sighed. “Malaysia, why did you do that?” I stuffed my gloves into my jacket pockets.
She jumped out of the chair, stalking toward me. “You killed a man!” she yelled in a whisper.
