Vindictive #4

2. rules

Gary has a rule. Actually, Gary has many rules—hundreds of rules (some he feels we should just know, like we're a bunch of fucking psychics or something)—but there is one rule that he lives by and that he firmly believes others should live by well. If somebody starts something they can't finish, it becomes your job to finish it. Now, I guess that could mean anything to regular folk. But to Gary, that means if someone tries to fuck with you, you take a broom stick and you shove it up their ass.

You have to have the last laugh. Unless Gary's involved. Then Gary would always have the last laugh.

You have to be the man on top. If you're not the man on top, then you're the man on bottom. A loser. A pussy. A pushover. Predictable.

Predictability was a weakness. Can't afford to be weak.

I could say a hundred bad things about Gary, and have a hundred left to say, but there was one thing I couldn't deny. He was one smart fucker. He knew things. Essentials to being on top. How to talk, who to talk to, how to act, and where to act that way. How to leave an impression. First impressions are everything, after all.

So his rule. He'd enforce it in many ways. Six months ago, Gary brought me along during a simple goods exchange. When I say goods, I mean bricks of crack and bags of heroin in exchange for weapons and alliance. My job was simple—observe and listen. Don't say anything, don't do anything. He was aware of my talent, my ability to pick things up. Languages, for one. I spoke five—well, four of them fluently. I was still better at understanding German than speaking it.

Regardless, it came in handy.

Gary didn't understand Russian, which is why he brought me along. Halfway through the trade, a guy spoke up. He'd been eyeing me the entire time, and had turned to the guy on his right, whispering something. The guy nodded and the one who'd been watching me switched to his mother tongue to say something to the head, who's been speaking with Gary.

What he said made my heart skip a beat. The head looked me over for a long minute before raising a finger at Gary, one second, and turning to talk to his men.

I inched towards Gary.

"What is it?" Gary asked me.

"Me," I murmured softly, watching them. "They want me as well. Him, specifically. The blonde."

Gary scoffed. "What are they saying?"

I strained to hear. "Something about price increase."

He was growing irritated. These men were plotting right in front of him, it was understandable. "We got a problem?"

The head turned and sized him up. Then he jutted a chin my way. "Her. How much?"

Gary's eyes narrowed considerably. "Not for sale."

The men laughed, but it was the head that spoke once again. "Name a price."

"What the fuck did I just say? She's not for sale."

The blonde who'd been watching me said something Gary couldn't understand and Gary turned to me for translation.

I swallowed. "He says 'just take the bitch, then.'"