Harlem's Kitchen

The Streets

     He looked around him at the plethora of bodies scattered along the floor. A thought crossed his mind, but he brushed it off. The pressing matter is the evil that sparked within him, an evil that had been building up for as long as he could remember.

     He hadn't always been like this. He was once a quiet child, never daring to speak out against his peers, but Harlem changes people. Nowhere in the world is quite like Harlem, a place where even the nicest of people are filled with reckless abandon. No street is safe in Harlem. No one is safe in Harlem. He had to learn that the hard way.

     Johnstone, United Kingdom, was such a nice place, which begs the question of why his parents would move to such a scummy place. His father said it was for a job opportunity, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. At least, he wouldn't know until the night of November 8th, 1979.

     "It's just a quick job Helen, I'll be back in no time! You know what being on-call is like."

     "Gordon, you said that last night, and you weren't back until midnight! It's our child's birthday for goodness sake, can't you call it off?"

     "I'm afraid I can't, there's a very important matter I must attend."

     "You have an office job, is it that important!? Isn't our son important enough for you!?"

     "This can't wait. I'll be back by 8:00, I promise."

     Gordon left the house at 5:00 after reluctantly bidding his family adieu. He hopped in his 1975 Chevrolet Corvette C3, the colour of which matched his matte black coat. Going to an office job in a long coat and an expensive car may seem out of place, probably because it is. Does Gordon have an office job? No, how silly that would be. 

     Gordon's family could be considered quite rich, viewing their financial status, large house, and many luxurious items, but how could they be that rich with a nurse and an office worker providing their wages? The answer to that query would be that Gordon is not an office worker, he is in fact a paid assassin. Does he work for one man? No, just whoever provides the money. 

     "32 Main Street. This is where my employer said he'd be," Gordon thought as he stepped out of his vehicle, suitcase in hand. It was 7:00 pm, but already dark as midnight. He scoped out the area and found it was an abandoned container port. The containers were stacked as many as three on top of each other, obstructing Gordon's vision. Voices rang from across the port, echoing between the sun-bleached cargo boxes.

     "Man, I didn't sign up for this! I did the deed, now gimme my money!" yelled a younger man with a Puerto Rican accent.

     "Not so fast," replied an older, astute male, "You didn't carry out the deal."

     "So what if he's dead, he's still here! Come on man, cut me some slack!"

     "You expect mercy? Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought."

     A lone gunshot flies into the young man's skull, perfectly pinpointed between the eyes. He fell slowly backward onto the rough pavement, his arms positioned awkwardly at his sides.

     Gordon crept over to the area of the crime and sat, watching what followed with a trained eye and a loaded gun. Upon further inspection, the man who committed the murder was the very man he was paid to kill, Dante Livingstone. Gordon waited for an opportunity to arise, but the bodyguards never departed from the man's side.

     Dante began to leave, still accompanied by his bodyguards, when he heard a gun cock nearby. Most wealthy, powerful men would take cover, but he decided to take matters into his own hands. Following the sound, he searched the vicinity for any people. Gordon began to retreat, but Dante was soon within range. 

     Gordon shot at the perpetrator, nailing him in the left shoulder, but immediately afterward Dante shot at Gordon's head. He's a good shot.

     Wounded, Dante fled the scene, followed quickly by his bodyguards. The two bodies were left in the container port, only to be found later by the HPD.

     News soon reached Gordon's family, and they were devastated to both learn that he was deceased and led a double-life. Gordon's son, Gordon Jr., could not have been more impacted. His nights after the incident were sleepless with sadness and anger, but something deep inside wanted revenge.

     As such, the Ramsays were never the same after the night of November 8, 1979. Helen went into a deep, depressive state and didn't come out alive, which left Gordon Jr., at the age of 14, to fend for himself in the streets of Harlem. Gordon Jr. left his home for the last time reluctantly, with the last possession in the house; a journal, being the only thing he took in his pockets. What he didn't know at that time was that the journal belonged to his father, and it kept track of each job he was assigned in Harlem.

     After reading the journal for the first time, he found the last recorded date was November 8, 1979. The passage read; 

     "Today is my son Gordon's 13th birthday, and I don't want to leave him today, but I have a very important job to take care of. I may regret missing it now, but this job offers a cash reward large enough to pay for his entire college education. Dante Livingstone will be my last job before I give up this life, as I should get an actual office job. Who knows if I'll come back alive? I don't want that for my kid anymore, it's too stressful.

     Signed, 

     Gordon Ramsay."

     This passage first struck a pang of happiness in Gordon Jr., but that soon evolved into remorse and anger. He knew who killed his father, and he vowed to put an end to his life.