Free Ch. 03

Author's Note:

I apologize for the delay in this chapter. As I was going through doing my failed attempt at "editing", I realized that the third had to be split up. It made it easier for me, as well as separated the story at a critical juncture. So, for all who were hoping that this chapter would end it, I have one more. Chapter four will be the final.

Thank you all for reading. I appreciate you spending your precious time with me.

Previously in Free Chapter 2:

Rick returned home to face his life. When he did, he had an announcement. He was leaving Martha's house. Knowing it would probably affect his parole, he felt the risk was worth it. With the precarious nature of his relationship with his daughter, he didn't want to take the chance of damaging it irreparably by staying in the house with Traci. He knew that he wouldn't be able to treat his wife with respect and kindness after finding out about her and Manny, and he knew how that would look to someone as young as Anya.

He had to protect her; even if it was from himself.

This struck a chord with Martha. For the first time, she saw the lengths he would go through for his daughter. He loved her immensely; enough to want to change from the criminal he once was.

She convinced him not to leave; to do things the right way. So, she went with him to talk to his parole officer about finding housing recently freed prisoners. Unfortunately, there wasn't any available. Rick was put on the waiting list, but for now he was stuck in the house with his cheating wife.

To fill his time, he went on a job hunt like his sanity depended on it. The past of an ex-con is also his present, so finding work was impossible. He kept at it though; only stopping to spend time with Anya.

He did, however, find an unlikely ally in Martha. Now won over by his transparent honesty and determination to change, she formed a relationship with her son-in-law that neither of them thought possible.

Traci was still on the outside of Rick's love. Unable to talk to her, Rick just completely ignored her. A month later, and his resolve still hadn't softened. Even Martha couldn't convince him to talk things out with her.

And now, chapter three...

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"Pick his bitch -- ass up!"

Two large men towered over a poor, beaten man who was huddled over on the ground. Blood was spurting out from his coughing mouth and landing in spattered blotches in front of him.

Mo and Tuck, the two henchmen that Manny trusted most (as much as you can trust henchmen) each grabbed an arm and roughly hoisted the battered guy into a standing position. The man was unable to keep upright on his own strength, so he had to be held.

"Please Manny!" the guy said weakly. "It's not my fault! I would never rob you. You know me!"

Manny sauntered towards him. He walked in a smooth stride, using the baseball bat in his hand like a cane. It clanked on the concrete floor, echoing off the walls of the empty warehouse.

When he was close to the guy, he leaned in and looked him hard in the eyes. Then, his signature smirk appeared on his lips. In an almost friendly gesture, he patted the man on his cheek.

"Donnie, Donnie, Donnie..." he said, like he was filled with regret. "Here we are. Four guys who would rather be anywhere else right now. I know I had other plans. I was supposed to be getting some pussy right now. Lisa bought this little red number...you know...with the lace. And get this. She was bringing a friend!"

"Damn. What?" Mo exclaimed as he imagined Manny's fine ass girl bent over between another woman's legs eating pussy. The image almost made him drop the poor guy.

"I know; right?" Manny said, gleefully tapping Mo on his shoulder. Then, speaking to his target as if this were just a friendly conversation, he continued. "I mean, I had no idea she was bi. But, between you and me, I think she just breaks out that freak shit when she knows she's about to ghosted; you know what I mean?"

"Manny...please."

"Anyways..." Manny said, ignoring the man. "You can imagine why I'm not happy to be seeing you right now. My guys over here probably had other things to do to." Nodding his head at the other henchman, he asked, "What about you, Mo? You have any plans for today?"

"Tuck."

"What?"

Trying to hide the irritation, Tuck said, "My name is Tuck. That's Mo over there."

"Whatever."

Fucking henchmen. He just killed the setup. Who gives a fuck what their names are? For what he paid them, he should be able to call them Godzilla and King Kong.

Talking to the man in the middle again, aka Donnie, he said, "You've been working with me for...what; three years now? I brought you on when my man Rick got locked up. I thought you had what it took to run shit. That's what you told me. What were your exact words again?"

"Manny..."

"That's right! You said that I would never regret giving you a chance. But ever since you took the wheel, I'VE DONE NOTHING BUT REGRET IT! So far, four of my delivery guys have been robbed. Somehow, whoever did this knew the exact time and the exact route. You said you'd handle it, so I let you handle it. But now..."

Manny stretched out his arms and turned around, as if he was presenting the space around him. He allowed the bat to dangle between his fingers as he did this.

"Look, I know I fucked up. I know, Manny. But I can fix this. Give me a couple of weeks and I promise you that..."

"You know, I've known Rick for a while now." Manny said, once again cutting him off like he was getting ready to say wasn't even important enough to listen to. "He was like brother to me. Ever since his pops died, we've been really close. He was the only person I knew I could trust."

For a brief second, a flash of something genuine crossed Manny's eyes, replacing the playful cruelty that usually resides there. Maybe regret? Melancholy? No one could tell. It was a flicker of a moment; a glitch really. It gone almost as soon as it appeared.

Manny was never one to show emotion. That was that bitch shit; weakness personified. He was anything but weak.

Jumping back into his nonchalant character, he slung the bat over his shoulder and behind his neck. Then he rested his wrists on either end, like he was hanging on a cross. With a bit of nostalgia in his voice, he continued.

"Now, Rick knew how to get shit done! When he was my right-hand, I never had problems like this. I never, not once, walked into an empty warehouse. If someone were stupid enough to try me...well, let's just say that Rick made sure to teach 'em a proper lesson. And trust me, when he was done, he had all honor students in his class!"

Three of the four men in the room laughed at that; like this was a group of guys shooting the breeze. The only man that didn't laugh was the one mere seconds away from losing control of his bodily functions.

Manny's eyes iced over with a cold calmness; the type a serial killer would have. Even the smirk on his face held a sinister cruelty. Leaning in so close to Donnie that his mouth was right next to his ear, Manny softly said, "But, for some reason, you just can't get shit done, Donnie. My name is losing respect. People are starting to think that I'm weak; that they can take what's mine. I can't have that."

"Manny! Manny! Please!" Donnie exclaimed with a desperate plea.

Manny looked him over, as if he were making a decision. This scene, this man, was pathetic. No self-respect at all. He'd probably suck Manny's dick right now if he asked.

Manny took a few steps back. In an abrupt personality switch, he casually asked, "You like this shirt?"

"What?"

Swinging the bat from around his neck, he stretched his arms out and posed. "My shirt; the one I'm wearing. Do you like it?"

Confused, Donnie said, "Uh...yeah? I guess."

Truthfully, Donnie would have called him daddy at that point if it would have done any good. He knew Manny's temperament. Manny got a sadistic glee from doing monstrous things. Being at his mercy was a nightmare of Freddy Kruger proportions.

Manny nodded in agreement, and then said, "Me too. It cost close to $500. For a shirt! Growing up, I would have never imagined I'd be able to spend that much for one item of clothing."

He chuckled to himself as he strolled over to a wall. The three other men watched him oddly, wondering what the hell was going on.

Manny set the bat down, leaning it up against the wall. Then he slowly began to unbutton his shirt, showing his white wife-beater underneath. After carefully removing his shirt, he neatly folded it and set it to the side.

It wasn't until he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of vinyl gloves that his deadly intentions became clear.

As if to confirm Donnie's fears, he smirked and said, "After paying all that money, it would be a shame to get blood all over it. You know what I mean?"

He put the gloves on slowly, purposefully, pulling them tight and letting them snap around his wrists. He stretched and wiggled his fingers, as if trying to adjust them just right.

"Fuck! C'mon Manny! You can't just..."

"Shhhh." Manny calmly shushed as he finished dressing his hands.

If there is one thing more frightening than an out of control killer, it's a playful one. It takes a level of comfort with death to be nonchalant about inflicting pain. It also adds a sense of invulnerability to the mystique of the killer. To have a guy humorously taunt you as you are at his mercy is to be a mouse looking into the eyes of the cat that is battering you about.

This was part of Manny's mental torture; playing with his food. To keep Donnie on the edge wondering what was going to happen to him was almost as bad as just getting on with it. That was the real torment; the waiting.

What good is torture without the fear that precedes it?

With a sort of devil-may-care smile, Manny grabbed the bat by the handle and held it out in front of him, like he was testing the weight. By the time he spoke again, Donnie was on the verge of sloppy tears.

"So Donnie, here's the dilemma I have concerning you. Maybe you can help me out with it." He finally said to the trembling man. "Either you're the most incompetent lieutenant I've ever had, or you're the smartest spy."

"What? C'mon man! You know I'm not a spy!"

Chuckling, Manny shrugged and said, "Then it's just incompetence then? Okay."

With that he sharply thrust the butt of the bat hard into his ribcage. Screams mingled with the sickening crunch of bones that were probably broken. The poor man fell to the ground once again in a slump, only to be painfully yanked back up on wobbly feet.

Manny patiently waited for Donnie to finish coughing and sputtering. It didn't sound like that was happening anytime soon, so just talked over all the wheezing.

"Tell me who you're working with to steal my shit. You do that, I'll just have Mo and Tuck give you a quick bullet to the head. We don't have to do batting practice. But if you keep holding out on me..."

"I'M NOT WORKING WITH ANYONE!"

Manny dropped his head and shook it. With a sigh, he said, "Okay. I guess we're working on my swing, then."

"Manny please! Please! I'm your cousin!"

The loud, sickening thuds mingled with Donnie's screams. Occasionally, a bone could be heard cracking. The sounds reverberated off the walls until the screams and cries couldn't be heard anymore.

***

Manny threw the bloody bat into the trunk of the car, right next to the grotesque, mangled corpse of his cousin/ex-righthand man. The guy was unrecognizable as who he was. He barely even looked human.

Mo, who was covered in spattered blood, looked uncomfortably at his boss, like he wanted to say something. Manny rolled his eyes and asked, "What?"

"You said you were just going to scare him."

Manny snickered as he pulled the gloves from his hands and tossed them in also. "I did. To death."

"But..." Mo looked confused before he slowly said, "He was your cousin."

"So?"

The horrified look on Mo's face made Manny scoff. "See? That weak shit right there. That's why you will never be in charge. You're too soft. Nobody's gonna fear you. You need to be like Stephen Curry to get the respect to run shit."

Tucker, the other henchman, saw an opportunity to kiss ass and finally stop getting ignored as a faceless worker drone. Puckering up big time, he placed his lips on Manny's ass and gave it a smooch.

"That's right boss! You gotta be a superstar!" he chortled.

Manny shook his head and scoffed. "No, dumbass. You just have to be ready to shoot, no matter where you are."

Manny reached into the trunk and grabbed the car keys from his dead cousin's pocket. Tossing them to Mo and said, "You know what to do. Place an order with the butcher, then take of the car. Text me when it's done."

Mo looked at Donnie's lifeless body. The sounds of his screams still rang loudly in his ears. Manny's indifference as he beat his own family to death was haunting to say the least.

No matter what Donnie did, he didn't deserve...all that.

"Yo, Tuck!" Manny called, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "You need me to give you a moment with him?"

"No." Mo said, slamming the trunk down. As he walked around to the driver's seat, he yelled out, "And my name is Mo!"

"No one cares. Get it done."

When the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner, Manny pointed at the real Tuck. "You. Your nose is tickling my ass. Can you dislodge it long enough to clean up all this blood and brains and shit? And use a lot of bleach. I don't want to end up on the ID channel."

Tuck nodded, and he too went to go follow his orders.

Manny, now alone for the moment, let out a tired breath and leaned the wall. His lips tightened into a thin line as a look of remorse changed his face.

Dammit, Donnie! Why didn't you just tell me who the fuck you were working with? He thought as his hands started to shake.

All those emotions stirring inside of him were dangerous. Attachments make people weak. Plenty of kings found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun behind making an emotionally charged decision. With so many people itching to take his spot, Manny couldn't afford to be weak.

Who cares if Donnie was his cousin? Donnie was too much of a liability. It didn't matter if he suffered from a stunning display of incompetence or questionable loyalty; he had to go. Him being family made it that much more urgent. People can't stab you in the back from far away; they have to be close.

Right now, he had bigger problems to worry about. Killing Donnie didn't really solve anything other than cutting the fat off the meat. His real problem was a series of questions he had no answers for.

How does $750K worth of drugs just disappear? Who would have the ability to lift all that product? Who would have the balls to steal from him? Who did he have to kill to keep this from happening again?

More importantly, how was he going to pay the Columbians?

An icy shiver ran down his spine when he thought about the Columbians waiting for their money. The Sanchez family had a notorious reputation. They were ruthless businessmen. Cutthroat was a literal business strategy for them. They weren't just at the top of the food chain; they were floating miles above it like satellites.

There were two things they did not deal with; late payments and weakness. The reason why they chose Manny as their distributer was because he was as ruthless as they were. But at the moment, Manny was in danger of showing them both of their pet peeves. If he couldn't find his product or make the people who robbed him suffer, the Columbians would lose faith in him. If they lost faith, they would have no use for him.

When they "fired" a guy, there was no pink slip or final check being mailed to the house. One of the options was literally lighting him on fire.

Manny needed answers, and he needed them fast. His afternoon at the batting cage with his cousin was unproductive. What was his next move?

If only he had a good righthand man to take of it for him. But there was no one who measured up. No one but Rick.

His mind went back to that day he visited his one-time friend. Contrary to what he said, he didn't go over there just to visit Rick. And no, he didn't go over there for Traci either. As fine as she was, there was always one finer. He put her in the rearview the moment she ended things with him.

What Manny really went there for was to see where Rick's head was at regarding coming back into the fold. Things hadn't been the same since Donnie took his job. The problem was no one responded to Donnie like they did Rick. Rick didn't just use violence to get people to listen to him. There was something extra about him that they reacted to.

It was respect. As much as they feared him, they also respected him. Manny lost that when Rick went away. Without respect, fear is hollow and temporary.

"FUUUUUCK!" he yelled out in frustration at no one in particular. That vacant, empty echo mocked him.

Fuck Rick. Fuck his overly sensitive ass! How was he going to let some bitch come between them like that? After all they'd been through; he just ended a friendship over some pussy. Yes, Traci was fine as hell, but he could get Rick a bitch 10 times finer with a single phone call. Hell, Rick can have his girl if he wanted her! After all, she was bi now; apparently. He may even get a ménage out of the exchange.

Why couldn't Rick see that Manny really did him a favor? Didn't he see that women who looked like Traci could have their pick of men? Especially women with her considerable...talents. It would have been nothing for her to pull some rich, college educated man with a 401K and a stock portfolio. THAT guy would try to steal her; make her his own. There is no way he'd let her go. He would buy her everything her heart desired to make her fall in love with him.

How would Rick be able to compete with that once he got out? He was an ex-con with no job, no education, and no way to provide her with the lifestyle that she'd become accustomed to before he went to prison. The guy that would steal her would be able to give all that Rick gave her but do it legally. With Traci's mom playing cheerleader in the background, Rick wouldn't have even had a wife to come home to.

Hypergamy. It's a real thing.

But Manny wasn't that type of guy. When it was time to fall back, he didn't get upset. He didn't try to steal his wife or make her choose between them. He understood the situation for what it was. He was just a proxy to fill the loneliness; a surrogate body to warm her up whenever she felt that itch. That was his role, and he stayed in it. In his mind, it was better that he was the one on stand-by instead of some other guy.

You're welcome, Rick!

But of course, Rick couldn't see any of that. He didn't appreciate ol' Manny stepping in to take one for the team. It was a dirty job, but Manny did it with no complaints.

Sometimes, he was quite the humanitarian!

Besides that, Rick's memory of convenience omitted the fact that his books stayed full with money from Manny's pocket. His baby stayed fed from the same wallet. Yet, all Rick saw was hurt, betrayal, and heartbreak.