CHAPTER ONE
LOUIS
I watched the low-life all tied up, pleading for mercy; his lips mumbling silent prayers no god would profer answers to. No god gets in the way of another. I am a god, and no god would get in my way. He didn't plan his ordeal well - the one that brought him to the situation he was tied up in. I watched him with scorn as he whimpered, sweat dripping from his body like water from a squeezed sponge. No one would have thought that he was afraid of death. My grip on the handgun tightened as I finally decided that he was of no use to me, the caress around its trigger turned to a definite pull as my upper jaw tightened with its lower part.
“Get rid of his body,” I said, handing the gun over to whoever was behind me. Nothing could go wrong, especially when a new virus could breed on dead bodies, so they say.
The best part of being a feared person is the fact that people rarely oppose whatever decisions I make, which is also tiring at the same time because I have to be responsible for whatever the aftermath of my decisions is. My orders are to be followed to the end, no matter how awkward and improper they may seem.
Suarez, the deceased, was one of my trusted men until he decided to gamble with my trust, forgetting that I have eyes and ears everywhere. Much of the transgressions committed against me are forgivable except the ones that are targeted against my trust. The whole room was silent as my remaining men made arrangements to tidy the place of execution. If anything, there should be no traces that someone was executed.
It wasn't so easy for me when the fingerprints of one of my men were found on one of our victims who was murdered. Thanks to Mr. Fletcher, my ally in the police department, I was able to bribe my way through the case until it was abandoned. One could say that we're one of the few who benefit from the corruption that eats deep into the affairs of the state.
I sauntered briskly toward my Cadillac with a few of my men after the execution, thinking about how Suarez's family would take the news of their dead breadwinner. I'll pay them off for the damages incurred - that is not a problem. I wondered how many more people I had to kill before I was seen as someone who was not to be messed with.
The view of the trees lagging as the car sped along the highway brought a sense of relaxation. I adjusted my wristwatch as I began to wonder how many of my enemies were planning to kill me as I made my way to my crib.
For me, every day is a risk, a gamble between life and death, an invisible line that blurs into reality. My oppositions are probably planning on how to take me off the face of the earth. A day without worrying about who is planning my demise is not a complete one, that is why I have several systems in place to counter the event, should it choose to come into play.
I watched as my mansion came into view, becoming larger and bigger with every turn of the wheels of the car I was in. The smell of fresh earth caresses my lobes as the car makes a turn around the fountain.
“Good evening, sir!” A man dressed as one of my workers greets me. I nod in approval, trying to remember his name. One thing about having several workers around is trying to remember details about them. Although that's not for me to worry about, they're all my responsibility as long as they're on my payroll.
The smell of cigarettes and cognac hit me as I stepped onto the ground floor of the mansion that was bought in my name a few years ago. I jogged up the stairs, anticipating to take off the pants I was wearing. I couldn't wait to change into something more free.
“It’s never been a crime to smile, you know?” Pam's voice echoes from the end of the bedroom. “Even if it is, you’ve committed so many crimes.” Something about her voice is its frailty, as though she would be penalized for saying certain words. And something keeps telling me that it's all a lie, there's something she's not telling me about herself. Who cares, though?
“I'm not a clown, no?” I said, bringing my brows together. Am I supposed to wear the face of a clown, being all cheerful and bright, knowing well enough that about eighty percent of everyone I relate with daily is anticipating my death one way or another?
I walked towards the mirror to make adjustments to my hair. Thoughts of Suarez flashed and hit me again as I stared at the mirror. Why do people keep thinking that they can mess with me? I thought to myself. How many more bangs do I need to make to get the attention of the audience?
“What?” Pam turned to me, “Was that for me?”
I realized that I must have thought out loud. Pam is someone I can confide in, someone who is always intrigued by my display of power. She likes to feel the tension of my domination around her, always showing concern towards the things that disturb me.
“Of course not!” I disagreed taking caution to not raise my voice at her. The scents of her skincare products taking over the room reduced the tension in my breathing pace.
“You need to make up your mind about who I am to you,” she started, “God knows why you find it difficult to confide in me.”
There she goes pulling the emotional card again, I thought to myself. Little did she know that such cards don't work for people like us who have heard pleas from the ones we ended up killing.
“Oh, no,” I said in exhaustion, “I am not having this discussion with you right now,” my hands up in the air. I reached for my towels and I walked into the bathroom.
Pam stresses that I don't tell her things enough. She'd be bored to death if I gave her details about how I go about my daily ordeals. Is it the fact that I find it hard to sleep at night? Or details about the people I've killed? She's not ready for that. Honestly. That's one thing about humans; they're always not ready for the things they aspire for. Taking myself for example, I never imagined this much responsibility would come with this life I'm living. A life where you have the whole world at your fingertips, yet some part of it finds its way to your shoulders, weighing the hell out of you.
I turned on the shower and stayed under its drizzle, hoping it would wash the iniquity I committed away. The jacuzzi would have been the best option, but I wouldn't want to be caught wallowing in another moment of self-reflection; the ones I've had were enough for the day. God knows how long I stared at the floor blankly, thinking about how I got myself into this life I'm living. I'm now like a general opposition to all the mafia groups in New York City.
