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Broomhandle45
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Morjete.
Like any proper South American locale, it had all the amenities that people thought it did if they watched the gritty, hard boiled action movies. But Morjete was a special slice of heaven, the place where people that were too dangerous for Rio De Jeneiro found themselves, the place where ex-FARC decided to call it quits, gangsters and thugs all seemed to just migrate to it. The promise of a life working for a Colombian Cartel was almost too much for some scum of the earth, until they got to Morjete and realized that crime, much like law, operated under a system of checks and balances people who wanted an anarchist dream were usually dead before the next week. The reality was is that there was no business in chaos.
You cut a man in the stomach and he bleeds until he dies, you cut him on the shoulder and you can cut him again, and again. That was Morjete, a man slowly bleeding, never dying, but always in pain.
In a dreary, two story building on the north side of Morjete was someone, or some people who knew that morbid metaphor well. The bathroom sink turned on, and a pair of calloused hands gathered the water to splash across his face with a heavy exhale. There was a time when Gabriel De Sena was proud of the intricate tattoo across his neck, and maybe in some ways, he was. It was like a noose he couldn't escape from, as well as the ugly, jagged enter and exit wounds skirted across his chest. It was luck, the doctor would tell him. Maybe it was God giving him a second chance, or maybe he was just some stubborn motherfucker who didn't want to die to a bunch of idiot kids with guns and a lot of ego.
Really, in the end, what did it matter? He was still alive to get shot another day. But at least now it was on his own terms. He ran his fingers through his medium length undercut and headed out of the bathroom, the day had barely started and he was already in a contemplative mood. Rain always did that to him around here. But some days, he really did wake up and wonder if he was dreaming. If everything that had happened was some bad memory and he'd wake up and he'd be with Elvio and the others like nothing was wrong.
But the world never spun how you wanted it to. He knew how reality worked, he knew that when he sent six heads in a box in an all too clear message that Gabriel didn't enjoy doing. But he was free, in a town where freedom meant no affiliation to a gang, no debts to be paid...freedom was it's own reward, but everyone had to eat. He knew people, lots of people...people who enjoyed his particular skillset. It was funny how people were so easy to smile and shake hands when they knew he wasn't a Preto anymore, how people didn't look at him so much in fear as they did wariness. He kind of liked it, if he was being honest. Maybe it was the stupid child in him that was still bleeding out on a street corner for an initiation to a gang that had only about four people, thinking that it was going to be a good thing, and it was all for a good cause. Now he could do good causes.
What was one person's 'good' was another person's 'bad', but at least now he had the choice...to a point. He slid on a shirt over his worn, scarred chest and headed out to the kitchen, where Shizuko was making a breakfast of rice and beans, with grilled sandwiches. He noted there was a faint little hum in her voice, her light hair cascading down her shoulders. She had cheered up a little since she was living here, it was hard to believe it was the same girl he found months before.
“Good morning, Shi.” Gabriel said as he sat at the table with a faint sigh, looking out the window. Even in a crime ridden shithole like Morjete, life still moved on. The Asian teen nodded faintly, shifting food off the skillet to prepare him a cup of coffee. He didn't ask where she had learned to cook, or why she insisted on doing so. She never talked much, and barely responded to anyone but him in the first place.
“Message for you this morning, Gabe,” Shizuko said, her Portuguese was slightly rough and jerky. But she rarely spoke in the first place. He arched a brow, digging into his grilled sandwich. “From Mrs. Anderson.”
“...Come again?” Gabe swallowed lightly, tongue slipping over his lips to catch stray flavors. Shizuko nodded faintly, her expression as impassive as ever as he let out another long, weary sigh. Today was just not going to be his day, was it…?
–
“So nice of you to be punctual, Gabriel,” The even, husky voice of the Northern Heavenly Saint purred through his phone. He never liked dealing with the Four Heavenly Saints, all of them knew more than he did, and he was always hired for very specific purposes. It went against his usual terms to follow such a strict job, but there were some calls you just couldn't ignore.
“Well, you know me,” Gabe said dryly, rubbing his forehead at the impending headache. “I was always taught to be a gentleman, what do you need, Mrs. Anderson? Happy to help.”
“It's cute when you try to kiss my ass, Gabe. But let's not act like anyone enjoys my phone calls, mm?” Her laugh was light and airy, and if Gabe didn't know who she was, he almost thought that she was being flirty. But the Northern Heavenly Saint being flirty with you sounded more terrifying than arousing, even if she was a beautiful woman in every sense of the word.
“Right,” Gabe said, a slight chuckle escaping. “Still, what's the job?”
“Got a bit of a...incident going on in my territory, Gabe. Some Argentinians are sniffing around my property trying to find a pair of lost kittens, the man who is looking for them is rather...influential, and it would do me more harm than good to personally handle the matter. It seems his kitties have some claws, and he's looking to get his hands on them. It's all supposed to be a very hush-hush affair, but I'm almost insulted they thought they could get away with it. Do me a favor and clean the streets up and find those wayward kittens. My schedule is rather clear, so I think I'll be stopping by to see them myself.”
Kittens. Girls. He was being the courier for two hookers now? Wait, what?
“Yourself?” Gabe mumbled. “May I ask why?”
“Yes, but you won't get an answer. You'll find them on the North Mile. Bring them back as untouched as their pretty little heads can handle. I'm counting on you, Gabe.” Before Gabe could say anything, the line went dead. He closed his eyes a moment and hung the phone up on the plunger with a heavy sigh. Unsurprisingly, Shizuko was watching from the doorway.
“Dina up yet?” He asked, and she shook her head.
“Good, guess you and I have to find some lost kittens.” Gabe said, rising up. “Get your gear, we're leaving for the North Mile.” Fancy term for Main Street, but it was a straight mile that lead right into Argentina, that meant it was also an interesting place to find the most smuggled goods and sometimes, where the human trafficking moved through.
He was really hoping it'd stop raining, but it just seemed to have gotten worse when the phonecall was over.
