Too Far Gone (Urban)

01| The Struggle

"Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses."

Proverbs 27:6

"Fuck!" Pierce Washington hollered, tripping over the curb of the sidewalk as he narrowly missed getting rammed by the careless driver of a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. He collapsed on his butt with a quiet thud. Particles of dirt and dust was caught in the tailwind and flew up into the air, seemingly going straight for his eyes, invading their personal space, stinging them.

"Shit!" he cursed and squeezed his eyes shut, his hand automatically going up to rub and comfort the irritation. He blinked away the tears that formed and picked himself up off the ground, groaning as he dusted his bottom and looking down the street to see the car swerve left at the stop sign, nearly running into a fire hydrant.

"Motherfucker!" he shouted, though, he knew the driver was too far out of earshot to hear him now. He sucked his teeth and shook his head, adjusting his black snapback before proceeding to cross the street. He let out a gust of air from his dry mouth, wishing he carried a bottle of water with him instead of stubbornly ignoring the weather man's forewarning of the current heat wave. He, as well as the many other Stilwater residents, reflected the hellish summer heat. His tank top stuck to him like a second skin. His shorts did too, but they were a bit more airy. He contemplated on taking off his shirt to keep cool from the suffocating temperatures, but opted out, deciding to ride out the wave as long as it lasted.

Pierce peered over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't being followed. He was intruding the Brotherhood territory whose base was located adjacent to the docks. He wasn't strapped whatsoever, unable to protect himself if any shit went down.

Dipping into a shady alleyway that gave way to a large and deserted parking area, he made his way towards the warehouse that was the Brotherhood headquarters. It was another one of the numerous zombie buildings of Stilwater, a situation that had been avoided and long ignored since the election of Dane Vogel as the city's new mayor.

The hot metal door rattled on its hinges as Pierce banged on it with his meaty fist, and it was silent for a brief moment before it swung open. Pierce was greeted by the slender end of a rifle held by a pale, slim man with a dirty blonde shaven mullet, the hollow cock of the gun doing the talking for him. Pierce raised his hands, quickly stating, "I'm here for Maero."

The man squinted his eyes at him and took in his appearance from head to toe before canceling his aim and patting Pierce down. Afterward, he gave Pierce a curt nod and gestured for him to follow his lead. The inside of the headquarters was dark and dank, moldy floorboards rebelling against carpentry and the white painted walls chipped and yellow from rat piss. Big patches of green and black mold sunk the center ceiling while also providing a free yet sickening scent. The condition of their headquarters was horrid, however, kept them under the radar from police.

Pierce froze and let out a labored breath as a rat scurried past his foot. He shook his head and continued following the blonde towards what he could only assume was their personal tattoo shop. His eyes scanned the interior and paused on a needle crusted with a murky mix of ink and blood that screamed hazardous. The blonde was oblivious to Pierce's disgust and continued to guide him through a door frame that introduced a shitty version of any modern man's kitchen.

The room carried extensions of the previous tattoo parlor: needles, a repeating pattern of colored ink, stencils, and a lone leather reclining chair where a rather bulky man sat with a paper in his hand, lacking awareness of Pierce's presence. Pierce took a few steps forward until the man had looked up at him, his cold stare speaking before his voice did. "What are you here for?" The man asked, his voice husky as if he had just gotten through yelling. Pierce rubbed his clammy hands together and licked his lips habitually.

"You said you'd give me my seven-fifty for telling you about the Ronin's shipment, Maero," Pierce replied, slightly teed off he forgot why he was here.

"No, you're not," Maero responded, raising his paper up to cover his face.

"The fuck you mean? You said you'd pay me, where the fuck is my money man?" Pierce cursed as he ripped the paper out of the man's hands and tossed it aside. Maero gave him a deadly glare before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened them, he folded his hands together and leaned forward, speaking in a low and frightening voice.

"I suggest you watch yourself."

Pierce refused to be intimidated. "Fuck that!"

"Is this a bad time?" a soft feminine voice questioned out of eye-shot, causing Pierce to turn around. There stood a short, red-haired woman who he immediately recognized as Maero's girlfriend, Jessica, from the many times he'd come to this forsaken place. She wore her favored red camisole with gray slacks and black heels.

"No," Maero said, sitting up as she walked over. Jessica gave Pierce a curious look over before sitting on Maero's lap and disturbing the tension in the air.

"What's he here for then?" Jessica asked, lacing her arms around his neck.

"He says I owe him seven-fifty," Maero replied as if Pierce wasn't standing before them.

"Damn fucking straight you owe me seven-fifty!" Pierce bellowed, "I busted my ass giving you that information! I followed the Ronin, recorded and translated their conversations, pinpointed where and when they said they were going to make deposits-I earned that money, man, I have bills to pay!"

Maero glanced at Jessica, and she nodded and stood up, moving out the way. Maero lifted himself up and straightened up, towering over Pierce, his body casting a large shadow that engulfed Pierce entirely. Pierce wasn't a small dude, though, Maero was just a giant standing at close to seven feet with his chest and arms coated entirely in tribal-patterned tattoos, a known thing for those involved in the Brotherhood. For all he knew, the giant probably ate steroids for breakfast.

"Then I suppose you're going to go into debt," Maero growled. Pierce knew better than to try to fight a man that was near twice his size. Being able to bench press four-hundred and fifty pounds was nothing compared to a man that could probably lift up an entire car with his pinky.

"Fuck this shit," Pierce mumbled, heading towards the exit. The blonde that let him in earlier escorted him out silently. Pierce shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow bone, breathing heavily as he made his way outside and back to the main road.

"How the fuck am I going to do this by myself?" Pierce whispered, balling his fists angrily. He took off his cap smoothing his waves back in place before putting it back on.

He knew more about the Ronin than anyone else in town and it hurt that he wasn't getting rightfully paid. He should've kept his job at Freckle Bitches instead of quitting to pursue his said 'rap career' that'll most likely never take off. Now, he was struggling to pay his rent and refused to go back to that place for them to say, 'I told you so'. He wished he wasn't so ignorant and haughty. Now, he was going to have to suffer through this struggle.

"Fuck my life..."

✝

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