We now return from commercial to broadcast the latest near death experience of mine. This is really my calling; fuck wrestling, drugs, all that shit. Getting guns pulled on me and facing the possibility of death. Shit, this is almost getting boring, the whole being held at gunpoint thing is. Because the one thing you learn as you wait for the person pointing the gun at you to talk themselves out of it is that if they were really gonna kill you, they would've done it already. So, instead of freezing, tensing up or going limp like a fucking novice, I make no change in the way I sit. I smile, not the accepting death smile because as I already pointed out, he ain't going to kill me. No, I smile right at him, a sneering grin begging him to find his balls and put a bullet in my skull. His eyes lock on mine, and for a second I have a bigger fear that he'll grab me by the back of the head and try to kiss me than him shooting me. Finally, he shows his true colors and lets his arm fall to the wayside. Called it.

"You ready to listen, or do you have a few more seconds of contemplation to get through?"

"You're lucky you aren't dead right now. I wouldn't act like such a smart ass."

"I'm lucky? No, you're lucky that I didn't kill you. You're lucky that I didn't do what I was told to do. So you might wanna drop the smugness if you want me to help you out of this situation."

"Help me? You're the one who's gonna kill me!"

"If I was gonna kill you, I wouldn't have advertised it. No, I'm not looking to do the bitch work for these motherfuckers, not without doing things my way. Here's what we're going to do. You're gonna name me second in command, and then you're gonna 'die'."

"Right, that won't look suspicious."

Shit, he had a point there. It would be best not to bring any unwanted suspicion on myself, especially when there's people who're distrustful of me without any rational reason to be. Think about what would happen if I gave them a reason, and I don't mean like Michael McBride. Like someone who's actually able to do something about that reason. I don't know any of the guys who work with him sans Jorge, so gaining their trust after their leader dies and I have to ascend to the position where I'd have authority over them.

"Right. Here's what we're gonna do about that: the promotion doesn't have to happen right away. I hang around, do jobs, the like until I get everyone's trust. You vote me in, or whatever fucking process you guys do to select a second in command and then, y'know. In reality, you still call the shots and I give your orders. Simple."

"So, for now I order you around like a lackey?"

"However you'd treat the other guys who attended the fuckin' meeting."

"Damn, thought I had you by the short hairs there."

"I'm desperate, not stupid."

"Desperate? The fuck for?"

"The less questions you ask, the better."

"Can't argue with that. Speaking of jobs, you down to roll with us up on them 18th street motherfuckers?"

"Those the guys who killed your brother?"

"Damn straight."

Though he'd never show it, I can tell just how fresh that wound still is for him. Something about the look on his face, or the conviction in his words regarding wanting to kill more members of the gang. I don't know, but I can't necessarily blame him; I'm going on my own roaring rampage of revenge against an organization that kidnapped my son. I don't even know what I'd do if they killed him. Granted, if they catch wind of my treachery, they'd kill him. Or, would they? I mean, that wouldn't exactly win back my support. Shit, I should stop thinking about it before I crush Heiman's throat like I shoulda done months ago.

"I'm down."

"Good to hear."

"One question; what happened to the guy we kidnapped that night? I'm guessing you beat him to death, but I gotta know. He was a fun one."

"I didn't kill him. You were supposed to, but you fuckin' vanished before you could. Soph did it."

"You're kidding?"

"Wish I was man. She volunteered, what was I gonna do? Stop her? Once she gets her mind set on somethin', that ain't even an option."

"Yeah, been there m'self man. Sometimes it's best to just shut up and let it happen."

Gah, I knew that feeling way too well. I stand up from the seat I'd been restlessly shifting positions in and slap myself in the face a few times to get my head in the game. If we're going now, I'm not going to be off my game. Bullet wounds aren't fun. Bullet wounds for a cause you couldn't give a fuck about are even worse. All a part of the job description, they'd use to say when I listened to them. I guess it still is, only their agenda isn't the one I'm following. For once in my life, I'm following my own agenda and right now, it was boring as shit. The longer I stand here, doing nothing, the more restless my thoughts become and soon I'm eagerly awaiting the possibility of throwing my life away for people who I don't know and couldn't give a shit if I lived or died.

"You good?"

"Fine. Not good."

"Whatever man, I'll rally up a crew and get you when we're ready to leave."

"Cool, cool, cool, cool..."

I keep repeating the word cool until he walks outta the room. The second the door closes, as if by some cosmic coincidence, my phone starts going off in my back pocket. Now, I'm not stupid enough to keep the burner on me that The Organizer insists I have on me until this job's over, only to dispose of it and get another one later. No, my actual cell phone. On vibrate of course. I pull it out of my pocket and see a vaguely familiar...

Oh shit.

I don't know why, but I answer.

"Luca Arzegotti. I always thought you'd be harder to track down after death."

"Rodriguez. What, you realize I was full of shit? The spooks finally tell you I went AWOL and for all the tax money that gets wasted on them, they couldn't find one shithead?"

"You need to give yourself some more credit. Not like everyone can die, come back to life, keep the same name, and somehow not find their decapitated head on my desk the morning after coming back to life."

"Is that the cartel side of you speaking? Always knew you were dirty."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth if you aren't answering a question."

"Kinda hard to do without a question to answer."

"Pryce Industries. Know anything about them?"

"Know of them. Hell, I got the owner on speed dial. Oddly, that didn't entail reading those nice little brochures. Sorry, can't tell you shit that you can't learn off Wikipedia."

"Oh, you know Theo Pryce?"

"Did I not just say that?"

"You know, that just might help me. Good. Real good Arzegotti. You have a knack for helping me with things."

"Care to get to the point?"

"You're gonna help me nail a scumbag who's got enough money to blow by most charges."

"Why on Earth would I do that?"

Seriously. What the fuck?

"Because we can get your son back."

The world stops turning. I can't believe I'm actually considering...

Snap back to reality. The door swings open again.

"I think you have the wrong number. I'm not interested in buying one of your high tech dildos. No, I don't care if they have a flashlight. What the fuck would I use that for anyway?"

Click.

I slide the phone in my pocket.

"Fuckin' telemarketers, eh?"

"Riiiiiiiight. Gotta crew. You still in, or do you wanna order one of those dildo lights?"

"I'm in."

I could use something like this, anyway.