Date: 10.23.2013
Location: Warehouse District with @dermct
Cain stared out the window from the backseat, watching the rhythmic thump of streetlights as they drew by in the darkness. He held a semi-auto in a vicelike grip, worried he’d somehow set the volitile instrument off and lose a finger, or worse. The object felt foreign in his hands. The only gun he’d ever fired was a petite .45, shot once with intent. It had been more than nine months since the day he’d watched Thom Murphy’s brains leak out from the hole he put in him, but the image was still crystal clear in Scotty’s mind, despite however much drink he’d tried to flush it out with. An initiation, their new employers had called it. From where Cain was standing that day, it looked more like a condemnation.
Per his brother’s orders, an hour or so before they’d left, Cain had shaved and duct-taped the clay-like blocks of merchandise in a belt around his torso, like bombers did with bricks of C4 in the movies. The step seemed unnecessary and frankly a little counter-productive, but out of all the hills Dermot had offered him, this wasn’t the one he was rearing to die on. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, trying to calm his nerves with the counting technique Alex had taught him. One, Two, Th-. One, Two-. One, Two, Three- Before he could count to four, a bump or pothole in the road made the cargo tug and pinch at the hairs he’d missed, further adding to his irritation. Restless, the Made-Man propped his gun upright in the seat astride him before rearranging his long limbs to straddle the middle console, leaning between the driver and passenger seats, resting an elbow on each side to let his lanky arms swing freely. In the rear-view, the headlights of the caravan flashed, making green eyes squint against the harsh light. “The fuck are we going, Egypt?” Cain hissed, irritably.
His unease was bone-deep. Never before had they opted to gather more men than themselves for a mission, and the robustness of the arms they packed for a simple drop was unsettling to say the least. Peering at the sliver of his brother’s face he could see, he was struck to find the trademark boyish charm was gone from his face. He didn’t know it was something that could be taken from him. This life was unrecognizable. A year ago, it’d only been the two of them. No guns, no knives (unless for show), no killings. They’d done their dealings quickly and cleanly, without unnecessary damage. Despite his younger brother’s insistence that this choice was made for the better, Cain struggled keep his faith in the Syndicate.
“Usually I’d enjoy the silence, but here I am trussed up like Christmas dinner, and you still haven’t told me a single thing ‘bout this man we’re meeting.” The eldest said, trying not to let his nerves show through the statement. Then, after a pause “Have you at least met the man before?”Y
They’d been driving for quite awhile and Dermot was unable to stop looking back in the rear view mirror at his brother. Watching him as he remained in a nervous silence. This was bigger than anything they’d even done before, Dermot could recognize that. For once in his life, he was nervous. Maybe even second guessing himself as he turned down yet another long road towards their destination. One hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette out the window, which he’d occasionally take a drag from. Something to calm the nerves. Looking back in the rear view mirror yet again at his older brother who finally broke up the silence with another one of his jabs. “We’re almost there, take it easy,” Dermot spoke low, there was tension in the air. They were meeting perhaps one of the largest deals the syndicate has seen in Canada at the time, if everything went according to plan; everything would change for him.
No one ever met at their own homes to do a drug deal, however that certainly would make things a lot safer. No instead the buyer opted to meet close to the warehouse distract. A sketchy area where ‘no cops gather’ so they wouldn’t be compromised. Dermot wasn’t willing to take that chance, they were packing a whole lot of coke. This was a lot for two small crime boys. He was absolutely high on the idea that they would become so much more. Or at least that was the plan. “One more stretch of road, boys. Get ready,” he spoke up again. Flicking the butt of the cigarette out the window and looking back up to look at his brother in the rear view.
“I told ya, you don’t need to know anything about the man we’re meeting,” the blonde scoffed, turning his seat slightly to face his brother, “it’s better for you if you don’t know anything,” he turned back around to watch the road, listening to his brothers comment. He’d met one of the men they were meeting, if only once. The man who he needed to pull this whole plan together, “They’re not cops if that’s what you’re wondering, this ain’t a sting,” “all ya need to know is this man is rich ‘n important. He’ll have what we need.”
As the car slowed down, the caravan behind them following suit, Dermot turned in his seat to look at his brother head on without distractions. “You gotta trust me -- I ain’t ever steered you wrong. I ain’t gonna start now.”
