It was 11am. Leon and the others closed in on the bar. Apparently it was one of the main meeting places for the Straw Man, the crime organization to which the turf he and the crew were selling belonged. It had been two days since their meeting with Michael. He'd, apparently, put in a good word for the crew with the organization. As a favor. But still, you never knew. And by the feeling he was noticing in the others, mainly nervousness and a shit ton of fear, this was going to be anything but pleasant.
He had also asked Michael and the crew and heard around himself for any information pertaining to the straw man.
Apparently they were… fair. At least if you considered street justice as fair. What made everything so fearful was their use of force. Saying they were excessive was an understatement.
For an offense that in a normal gang would have gotten you a slight beating, you lost a hand from the straw man.
You normally lost a hand; with them you lost two whole limbs of your choosing.
They also, apparently, had a strange killing ritual that gave them their name.
If you had committed a crime against the organization that was grave enough for you to be killed, they had a special way for doing it.
They chopped off all the victims' limbs at the joints, where they then sewed on "artificial" limbs. These were simple pieces of cloth filled with straw.
The victim would then be bound to a wooden cross and dressed like a scarecrow.
Finally, if the victim's perceived crime was lighter, he'd simply be set aflame.
If the crime was grave enough, you'd be put up somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where the victim would die of exposure to the elements.
That was the future that awaited Leon, should he be unlucky.
If he were lucky, he would condemn the drug addicts he stole the blocks from to this fate.
"It's me or them," Leon told himself. "It's their own fault for stealing from someone like the straw man. Besides, they'll be out of their misery."
Telling himself this again and again, he entered the bar.
Inside were 7 men, dressed in business casual, sitting around a table. Leon could feel them having fun, playing cards, and drinking some beer. They didn't feel like gangsters. Just like a group of guys playing cards, having fun, and drinking on a random Thursday noon.
Then they noticed them.
And the atmosphere completely switched. They weren't "some guys" anymore.
The air felt heavy, their eyes piercing.
Leon could hear himself breathe.
He knew his and the crew's lives were in their hands, and they knew it too. He felt how they felt.
It was a mix of superiority, curiosity, and… a readiness to commit violence.
Just as Sixer was about to say something, Leon butted in. Like hell he was going to let somebody else do the talking here. His life was on the line. He was the one who could read emotions.
Sixer: "Hel..."
Leon: "We have brought you back your stolen goods."
Everybody was surprised.
The biggest of them, about 190 cm tall and fairly fat, answered him.
Leading gangster: "And who might you be?"
Leon had deduced him to be the leader by the feelings the other gangsters had about him. Especially by a small gangsters who seemed particularly fearful of him.
Leon: "I'm Printer. The one who pushed our crews' sales so high in the last month and the one who recovered the bricks."
Small gangster: "So you are the one who sold in the financial district without our OK?
Fuck.
Leon: "Yes."
The small gangster was deliberately making things difficult. Like he was overplaying something.
Small gangster: "So you… Printer, sold drugs in Fredericks Park and the financial district, even though the straw man only allowed you to sell in the park?"
Something felt weird for Leon. They were here for the recovered drugs, not because of him selling in the financial district. The small gangster was fidgeting with his phone.
Leon looked at the leading gangster, as if to ask him for confirmation.
Leading gangster: "Answer him."
Leon: "Yes."
Small gangster: "You sold snow?"
They knew what he sold. Why was he being asked like this?
Leon: "I did."
Small gangster: "And you broke into an apartment to steal 5 kg of said snow?"
Why did he mention the break-in? As long as he recovered the drugs, they shouldn't give a flying fuck how he did it. And why was the small man so nervous and sweaty?
Small gangster: "And you're here now to hand over said 5 kilograms to Sam Lu…"
Leading gangster: "Use my name."
Leon was sure the small gangster almost pissed himself when the leader spoke. He felt the nervousness and fear so thick that he could literally taste it. Though by just looking at him, apart from his sweatiness, he would have never guessed.
Yeah, something weird was definitely going on, but nobody else seemed to pick up on it.
Small gangster: "Of course, of course… 5 kilograms to Axe."
The small gangster was still fidgeting with his phone.
And then it clicked.
Leon: "He's recording this," he said while pointing at a small gangster.
Everybody looked at him. The crew collectively stopped breathing.
Nobody said anything. The gangsters just looked at him with piercing eyes that could kill. If Leon was wrong, he was dead.
But he wasn't wrong. Not if the small gangster's reaction had anything to say. He'd immediately looked towards the exit, stopped fidgeting with his phone, and was sweating out half a lake. And his feelings… well, they were turbulent.
Small gangster: "WHAT THE FU…" He screamed at Leon, but Leon didn't let him finish.
Leon: "Check his phone. Trust me. When I lived in the orphanage, I was always the one on rat duty."
Small gangster: "You MOTHER FUCKER." He pulled out a knife. "I am going to skin you for what you just said."
It wasn't looking good for Leon. He'd just accused a possible yearlong member of the organization, a friend of the other gangsters, of the highest crime a gangster could commit against his compadres.
So he felt around. Desperately. Felt for anything.
There. The ripped gangster. He had doubts. Leon turned to him.
"Hasn't he changed?" Leon pointed towards the small gangster while looking at the jacked one.
"Hasn't he been acting strange lately? Saying things he didn't used to. Asking things that felt wrong?"
The small gangster jumped over the table, ready to stab Leon to death. It was desperation. He had to make Leon stop talking.
But Leon had felt it before. He was ready for the attack. As the small gangster jumped over the table, Leon flipped said table, throwing the gangster back, and immediately pulled his own knife.
Leon: "See, he's getting desperate. Check his phone; you'll see that…"
The gangsters didn't say anything. Some just pulled out their knives, some expandable batons. One even had a gun. And Axe, well, he pulled out an axe.
As they made their way towards him and his crew, Leon was panicking inside. He'd fucked up. Fucked up bad. These guys had been running together for God knows how long. Of course they wouldn't believe him. He would die here. He wasn't going to be great. He wasn't going to be someone. He would die right here in this bar. He would…
Jacked gangster: "Perhaps we should check Henry's phone. Just to be safe."
Axe looked at the jacked gangster, an eyebrow raised.
Jacked gangster: "Just saying… I know you guys have been a crew forever, but… he is acting strange. When I met him half a year ago, he was different."
Everybody was quiet. Axe looked at Henry. Looked at Leon. Looked back at the jacked gangster and then back at Henry.
Axe: "Alright, Henry. Give me your phone."
You could have heard a pin falling.
"He's going to run, Leon," Leon thought. He could feel it.
Henry was looking around. As if he were assessing the situation.
Axe: "Give. Me. Your. Phone."
There was force in how Axe said it. Like a threat of unavoidable violence.
And then Henry took off. Past the turned-over table. Past Sixer and Cousie.
And then he face-planted into the ground. Leon retracted his leg with which he tripped Henry and immediately jumped on him, putting his switchblade onto Henry's throat.
Leon looked at Axe. "Different vermin react differently when caught. But a rat… a rat always runs away."
Axe looked at him.
Then he grinned.
"It seems like we just gained ourselves an exterminator."