Friday 5:30 am- The North Bronx. 

James Whittaker kept a forty-five on him at all times. He started carrying it after the murder of his associate Artie Salbon in Brooklyn, last Sunday. 

They fuckin stabbed him up. 

Wearing a gray suit he stepped out to the dark morning on his quiet treelined block in the Pelham section of the Bronx. Walking to his car he eyed his well-manicured neighborhood and dismissed his paranoia. 

Cops don’t know who killed Artie and his bodyguard Herman. Wiseguys¹A wiseguy is a generic term for a foot soldier in the mafia or other organized crime. don’t know and Nikolai and his crew are asking me like ‘What the fuck?’ How I’m supposed to know who killed him? 

Every morning James drove to his private accounting office in the Allerton section of the Bronx. The earlier he started the earlier he’d finish his work for his clients, then he’d enjoyed his evenings off. As for who killed Artie Salbon, James had his suspicions. 

Artie was stealing from his own boss Frank Ross, so it must have been Frank who had him killed. And if Frank finds out about me and those accounts, or worse, if Nikolai thinks I’ll talk to Frank. Man, I’m so fucked.

James took a deep breath, felt for his gun, and started his car. As he pulled out of his driveway he told himself, “One day at a time James. This will all blow over.” 

He backed out of his driveway and nearly reared into a passing black SUV. The SUV stopped and James could see the two passengers. And they saw him. 

A black guy drove, while a white guy sat in the passenger seat. But since nothing happened, the SUV passed and continued driving down the block. 

James rubbed his eyes after the near-miss. Get a grip James, and let’s get to work. 

Stop 

As James approached the stoplight on the corner, he lamented that the city changed it from a “Stop Sign” two years ago. It used to be a rolling stop. Now it’s a red light just to slow my day do- Hey! What the hell? 

The black SUV from a moment ago suddenly rolled from a parking spot and cut in front of James. Forcing James to stop at the yellow traffic light. 

“Oh come on man! Why are you stopping in front of me? It’s a fucking yellow li-” Were the last words James would ever say, before.

A rifle bullet crashed through James's rear window, entered the back of his neck and exited out of his throat. The shot killed him instantly. Now with his body slumped over the steering wheel, and his foot off the brake, James's car rolled forward toward the black SUV in front.

Crash

Bling and Ian heard the crack of the rear window from the car behind them at the stoplight. When they turned around the two brutes saw blood splattered all over the windshield of the vehicle behind them. Then it rolled forward.

“Oh hey, that car’s gonna hit us,” said Ian.

Bling looked back and saw the dead man splayed across his own dashboard while the car rolled.

“Shit bro, talk about thorough!” said Bling as he drove away from the car and made a right turn at the light.

James's vehicle then rolled into the busy intersection where another driver promptly crashed into it.

“Hahaha! Did you see that? Somebody smacked into him! Oh bro this is too funny!” Ian laughed as he and Bling watched the commotion in the rearview mirror.

“Heh heh, that’s hilarious! But let’s get Little Boss. We gotta get her to school,” Bling said.

“Yup!”

Uniform

The two brutes circled behind James Whittaker’s block to a hidden hilltop tree line overlooking the intersection. With no one around they stopped the truck and waited for only a second as a small framed, black-clad, teen girl hustled out of the woods, carrying an M24 rifle with a scope.

The girl tossed the rifle in the back of the truck and climbed in. The brutes greeted her.

“Nice shot, Boss!” Ian cheered.

Rica Reyes smiled and closed the door as they drove away. “No no! You guys did a nice job getting his car in the perfect spot. After that, he was a fish in a barrel, hee! hee!” she praised them.

“That fish was two hundred meters away!” Bling said.

Rica smiled, “two hundred twenty meters, ya!”

“Damn! You a bad bitch, Boss!” Ian laughed.

“I do try!”

They all joked about the assassination of the accountant James Whittaker, “Did you see his car roll into the intersection? Haha!” “I know right!”

Rica reached to her right and lifted the plastic off of her school uniform. It hung on a hanger fresh from the cleaners.

“Hey, I gotta change for school, so don’t either of you turn around to sneak a peek, hmph!” she said, removing her tactical black pants.

Bling and Ian blushed and faced forward in the front, “Right Boss, we won’t see nothin!” they shouted.

But she paused with an evil face. “What? Whaddya mean, you won’t see nothin?” She squinted at them, “Ya’ll saying I got little tits?”

“What? No Boss! How would we know! We don’t ever look!” they cried, barely holding their laughter.

She bonked them both on the head! “Oww! Why?” they protested.

“Because you two saying you don’t ever look is the same as saying there’s nothing to look at! Hmph!” she pouted. And the truck erupted in laughter as Rica’s brute men drove her to school.

_________________

Rica Reyes in school uniform with her rifle, "Strongbow."

U.S. Army M24 Single Bolt Action Sniper Rifle

Illustrated by Cinnamonsao