BLOODY DOLLAR BILL

In-House

Please note, I've yet to separate this work into chapters but please feel free to read on and enjoy. thanks.

Bloody dollar bill

1

Point break

"One must summon one's own hope through some kind of manifested or borrowed faith to overcome suffering." A message read, the words inscribed onto a switchblade in the hands of a large African American man, sat at his desk after the news of his murdered son just broke to him.

The angered man's large black thumb stroked over the switchblade. He felt his long deceased father's history in the words and recalled the moment he passed the blade down to him, in a time where dealing in crime was simple. The man's hands clenched around the handle with white knuckles, his muscular body kept tort and sizzling with anger that he was not able to pass the blade on. His family's future now stumped was becoming a terrible history with the news its soundtrack that broadcast from a television opposite his large desk. Somehow, the large high-rise office walls shrank and blackened the sky framed by floor to ceiling windows, no longer blue and clear through anguished eyes.

A fellow member of the New York crime syndicate lay dead by the same tightly held inscribed weapon next to his boss' large desk, much too late to deliver the news in person to the boss as the reports came in. The news reports had yet to name the young victim of fifteen but his father knew it to be his son they reported on.

Some hours later...

A Female driver of a coroner's van transporting the young murdered decedent had to wonder if before the night ended if she'd be the one in a body bag. Her temple began to bead with sweat as she did her best to remain composed. She kept to the instruction given by the passenger and followed the big car ahead of her. The blacked out SUV drove out of town into Hunts Point, The Bronx. The further she followed the more her heart sank and anxiety pulled on her hands to twist the wheel to a safer place.

Dark narrow eyes peered into the passenger-side mirror of the coroner's van at a single police car tailing behind, assigned to ensure safe passage of the victim's body. As the van passed into a rundown residential neighbourhood, the police car shut-off its red and blue lights, shifted down a gear to slowdown, and made a turning off route, disappearing out of sight from the van.

'Relax, don't get so close'. The Asian man in a sharp black suit said to the van driver. He sat in the passenger seat pointing from his lap his heavy silver handgun. 'Pull over here' he ordered pointed to the side of a quiet road littered with trash.

The sun moved on and night gave cover to these battered worn out streets. The streetlights overhead provided no light for the coroner's van, vandalised and ashamed to light the derelict buildings on this side of town. Female prostitutes loitered far ahead down the road passing comments to potential customers brave enough to walk at this late hour. Their pimps could be seen from above in the boarded up windows of derelict rooms keeping watch over their assets.

The black SUV ahead casually carried on its way down the road; the women of the night did their best to flag it down for business. Some experienced prostitutes waved to the vehicle with a sense of familiarity hiding their fear behind drugged glazed-over eyes.

The coroner's van sat idle, the engine humming away, the only sound left on that part of the street once the trains had passed over the bridge. The van caught the attention of a shifty looking man in the shadows over the road. The female driver stared ahead too afraid to eye the Asian man with his flat expressionless face and steady hand holding his gun. The silence between his instructions was too long for the woman. 'Please, I have a daughter...' she found the courage to say realising how vulnerable and alone she became. A tear ran down her cheek expecting something terrible to happen.