Bite the Bullet - Saints Row

8: Two Words Too Many

**Content Warning**:
This chapter contains descriptions of past/current opiate dependence and use, withdrawal, violence, and suicidal/depressive thoughts from the character's personal perspective. As much as I appreciate your desire to read my story, I ask that you please prioritize your comfort and well being if these subjects would bring you any bad vibes or distress. These struggles will only continue to be compounded upon within the story narrative from this point forward, but I can say that there is a silver lining to it all. Regardless, thank you for your time and interest!

****

What the fuck am I doing?

I laid there in my hospital bed, staring at the crusty ceiling and chewing on an ice cube for the fever. The fentanyl made sure I didn't give a shit about anything, not when my phone was blowing up with a dozen restricted numbers, or when Julius and his stupid beret helped themselves into my room.

He switched on the news. Wanted to show me something. It was annoying, but I let him. I wasn't really paying attention, anyway— not until I saw the firemen hosing down a burning building with the old "Brown Baggers" sign in the glass and rubble, black smoke choking out the block. I knew that place; it was an abandoned flophouse right down the street from Athos Bay's docks. I think my heart stopped when the janky camera took us down Mission Beach, some shitbox car smashed into the highway bridge abutment directly behind my house. The evidence markers strewn in the sand said it all: somebody took their last swim.

"—The victim was accused of multiple counts of felony drug trafficking and sexual assault, in connection to last year's music festival sting operation, but was released from prison following a hung-jury, resulting in mistrial, due to Stilwater PD's mishandling of evidence and reluctance to permit the investigative officer responsible to testify. While no conclusion has been made, authorities are calling this a homicide with retaliation as a possible motive, with five confirmed deaths as a result of the blaze. CCTV footage shows a young male, standing 5 foot 2 inches, wearing a plaid shirt and face covering leaving a gas station near the scene sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 AM Saturday morning, but no other identifying details could be gathered. If anyone has any information, please contact our toll-free hotline—"

The network returned to Rich's live press conference. He was adamant on making it sound like a lone-wolf incident, more than likely because that freshly-sprayed, yellow VK tag on the bridge looked very incriminating. By the afternoon, that part of the footage would get cut. I was surprised it even aired at all.

I was furious.

Julius just wouldn't shut up, and all of my hunches told me he put Nacho up to this, making him frame the murder of a Carnales dealer—a personal vendetta—as a VK hit in order to speed up the brewing turf war. That probably wasn't true, but God, did I want it to be.

I had three weeks to ponder the 'why.' Ponder was all I could do, because Nacho wouldn't answer his phone no matter how many times I called, and I was climbing the walls . Nobody could tell me shit about the situation, Saint or cop, with Maquette calling it an 'act of public service' — wink, wink, nudge— like I had something to do with it .

I finessed a copy of the autopsy report, skimming in my car on the way back from picking up $2K's worth of prescriptions and a $2 coffee. There he was: murderer, rapist, and self-proclaimed cartel badass, bloated, bruised, and filleted. In layman's terms, COD was drowning.

Fitting.

It was eating me alive. I had no idea how Nacho knew where to find that asshole or his lab, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. The only one I could trust with any shred of confidence was Sam, and once I was on my feet again I treated him to that beer I owed him. "Friend o' mine towed the car—overheard the fire marshall sayin' a Molotv cocktail set off the lab. As for the kid, well, he works hard and don't make a peep. Hard to believe he's smashin' windows and roughin' up pimps, now."