Fearless and Vicious sat in the jail cell. They were still drunk from the night before. Like most mornings these days. Their clothes were covered in blood. But it wasn’t their own. They had tuned up those wannabe gangsters outside of the nightclub pretty good. The ones in the black suits with the red trim on the lapel. Neither of them remembered how it started. They just knew how it ended.
Fearless yawned. “You think they serve a decent breakfast? I’m starvin’.”
Vicious stared back at him. Dead eyed. His expression dripping with sleep deprivation and sarcasm. “The jail? Oh yeah. Omelet bar. Carving station. It’s exceptional.”
Fearless raised an eyebrow. Excited. “For real?”
“No, the jail doesn’t serve breakfast, you moron,” Vicious snapped back. “At this rate we’ll be lucky if we get out of here in time for breakfast on Thursday.”
Fearless scoffed. “What crawled up your ass?”
Vicious took a deep breath. Then shook his head. “I’m just tired of this, man.”
“Tired of what?”
“This.” Vicious motioned around the jail cell. “Getting shit-faced, then getting into a fight with some guys we don’t know, ending up in jail, then doing it all over again next weekend.”
Fearless shrugged. “And what would you have us do instead?”
“I don’t know.” Vicious contemplated. “But we’re destined for more than just this.”
An ISSP officer approached and punched an access code into the keypad mounted on the cell door.
SHUNK! The cell door opened.
“Frick. Frack. You made bail,” the officer relayed.
Fearless side-eyed Vicious. “Who the hell would bail us out?”
The mystery donor approached. His hair was slicked back with Vaseline. He wore a gold chain around his neck. He too looked like a wannabe gangster.
Fearless’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man grumbled. “Those men you tuned up last night? They were my men.”
“Well, your men fight like shit,” Fearless snapped back.
The man’s eyes narrowed. He took them in. “Where’d you two learn to fight like that?”
“None of your fuckin’ business—”
Vicious quickly stepped between them. Then turned to the man. “Excuse my friend. He’s got a hell of a right hook but shit for manners. And look, we appreciate you bailing us out and all, mister. But mind telling me why would you bail out the two guys who beat the piss out of six of your guys?”
The man collected himself. Then took a deep breath. “Because I could use a couple guys like you in my outfit.”
Vicious raised an eyebrow. “And what outfit is that?”
“The Red Dragon Syndicate.”
Fearless chuckled. “Thanks but no thanks. We don’t take orders from the mob. And we sure as hell don’t wear uniforms.”
Vicious concurred. “Yeah, look. We appreciate the offer but that life’s not for us.”
The man chuckled. And shook his head. “And what is for you, exactly? Because I’ll tell you what, fellas. I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ve seen lots of guys like you. And at some point, life’s gonna catch up with your asses whether you like it or not. Up to you two assholes whether you want to make something of it before you end up in the back of some guy’s trunk on your way to a shallow grave.”
Fearless grabbed the cell door and pulled it shut. Clink! He grinned. “Keep your money. We’re doing just fine on our own.”
“Youth is wasted on the young.” The man shook his head with a chuckle as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out a weathered business card and handed it to Vicious. Then spoke directly to him. And him only.
“Here’s my information. You call me when you’re ready to talk.” And with that, the man strutted down the hallway and then disappeared.
Vicious watched him go. Then looked to the business card in his hand. There was a phone number and a single name. There was no telling if it was his first or his last. But it was one that would change the course of their lives forever—