Path of Ranger: Volume 1

by RJ

  “JB,” the voice sounded over a crowded background.

  “Are you at the crib?”

  “Yes, everyone’s here, waiting for you. When are you gonna get here?”

  “Listen to me carefully. You go to the Joe’s store now. Don’t tell anyone where you’re heading. Don’t draw attention,” Jerry disconnected.

  The motorcycle fired up. The gangster put on his helmet and continued moving. After passing a few blocks, he turned to the street next to the gang's. The Joe’s store was on it, JB headed there.

  The black man was standing near the shop’s front door. He was of average height, about thirty years old. For an outfit, he had a cheap dark-blue suit with a pair of black shoes. Mike certainly didn’t look like a mafia’s bookkeeper.

  The biker stopped close to the man, pulled off his helmet and walked straight to him. Before saying anything, he looked around to make sure of their privacy. Then he greeted Mike suitably.

  “Everyone there?” JB asked.

  “Yes, Jerry, all of us, waiting for you. Why do we…” Mike couldn’t finish the line when JB interrupted.

  “Anyone saw you leaving?”

  “No, no one. Where is your respirator?” Mike asked.

  Ignoring the question, JB continued according to his plan of the dialogue.

  “Tyris and Markus betrayed us.”

  “What? This soon? I thought that our cover would last longer,” bookkeeper responded.

  “Yesterday, at the docks, when I was picking up the truck, I saw that Impala. I saw the same one just a few minutes ago, at Sam’s Automotive. D-Kay knows everything and soon he’s gonna make his move.” JB made a short pause shaking his head thoughtfully. "Fucking rats."

  “Accounts are closed; the assets are safe. All we have to do is to push the button and leave.”

  “It was a pleasure working with you, Mikey,” JB said respectfully offering him a hand.

  Mike breathed out heavily and shook it.

  “Quite a game we had here, huh. What should I do?”

  “Take this,” JB handed him a backpack. “There is some cash inside, all for the dudes. Now go back to others. Use the back door. Try to stay unspotted.”

  JB drove around the block to arrive at the base from the main street. His mind was occupied with the thoughts of the rest of the day, the hardest part was lying ahead of him. Involuntarily he was thinking of Tyris and Markus. Despite the fact that they were just pawns in the game of lies and deception, Bridgers had been familiar to them for quite a while. So perhaps the cold blooded murder of them might be not the best way.

  It was nearly six p.m. in Los Angeles. The Ducati arrived at the house in which one of the most dangerous city's gangs had gathered. The front lawn, the house, and the backyard were filled with young criminals, all about eighteen to twenty years old. They were JB’s main workers – the distributors. JB parked his bike in front of the house, took off all his gear except the jacket, he left it on purposely to hide the vest. He didn’t want to draw too much attention, after all.

  The mafia boss was passing his people, greeting each one of them. No long ceremonies, just light, friendly fist-bumps. JB walked to the front door, opened it, before going in he looked around; at the street, the neighbors’ houses, cars, – anything to satisfy his semi-paranoia. Nothing too suspicious came to his attention. At some point, he supposed that maybe he was mistaken, and no conspiracy was on. Maybe it was all his imagination, the consequence of being unwilling to let go. He even doubted if the Ford had stopped near that car, or if that Impala existed at all. It could just be the drugs what poisoned his mind. Yet, Bridgers didn’t jump to conclusions. He entered the house and pretended to act casual. Everyone who was outside followed him.

  Just the boss came in, all his people around looked at him. Tyris was playing on a gaming console with a few other guys but dropped the gamepad as soon as Jerry got in.

  “Yo, B! Sup!” Tyris welcomed him, slapping their hands.

  “Everyone here?” JB asked looking at the men.

  “All are waiting for you.”

  After JB had finished observing the guys, he looked at Tyris.

  “Alright then. Gather everyone in the dungeon.”

  JB went on, to the kitchen. The talk was short, but he managed to notice something, each time when he looked at Tyris directly, the guy was scratching his nose and looking around at the audience. For a man in JB’s position, it was vital to distinguish lies from a truth. Tyris was nervous, he tried to hide it, but his quivering voice gave him up. JB's people feared and respected him, and they had enough of reasons to do that. Now Bridgers was certain with no doubts about the conspiracy.

  Mikey and Markus were alone in the kitchen. They sat at the table with a big stock of money on top of it. Mike was just distributing them among the yellow envelopes. He was just finishing.

  Soon as the door shifted a gun pointed at it, Mike’s reaction was swift and firm. JB got wound up a bit, his hands moved slightly up when being put under gunpoint.

  “Wow, man,” JB said.

  “You never know,” Mikey responded putting the gun down.

  “How is it going?”

  “Almost done, man,” Mike filled another envelope and put it into the stock.

  Markus kept silent, just got up and left the kitchen. Jerry waited for him to leave then he closed the door tightly. He moved over to the table and took a seat in front of Mike. The gangster looked at the unpacked cash and at a small mountain of pudgy envelopes. Then his stare landed on the bookkeeper. A few minutes passed, the master of coin finished his work, the envelopes were full, the naked cash had gone. After he finished wrapping up, Mikey took off his glasses, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started to slowly clean the lenses. He looked at JB, who was just sitting there, in the chair.

  “All done,” he said.

  No answer followed. They sat in silence for a few more seconds.

  “Nice,” JB responded unenthusiastically.

  “What’s up with you, boss?” bookmaker wondered.

  “It’s really happening. They betrayed me. I read it in Tyris’ eyes.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Are you religious?”

  “Yes, I am. Each Sunday I go to church with my family. What about you?”

  “I've never asked myself that. I just always knew that there is no God.”

  “Never been in church?”

  “In church? No, Never.”

  “So why think about that now?”

  “Because, now, there are two men in this house whom I’m gonna waste in about thirty minutes.”

  “Since when are you concerned with the moral side of murder?” Mikey asked.

  “Can you even imagine how many people I had to kill to get us where we are?”

  “Yep…” Mike pronounced sadly, his lips tightened up and the brows went up.

  “All this time I never felt guilt or remorse, nothing. But now, I feel that someone is watching me, waiting for me to make a move. And no matter what I do, I’m gonna pay the price.”

  “So you ain’t going to kill them?”

  “It’s not my call, they’re already walking dead men. After all, D-Kay may be a dick, but he ain’t no rat lover, that’s for sure. The point here is to save as many lives as possible before that betrayal gets us to further escalation.”

  “I really have nothing to suggest here.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Me? I would’ve taken all the money a long time ago and ran off at the first sign of trouble,” Mikey smiled. “But you ain’t me, B. You’re going to finish this business. After all, I’ve never heard about a gangster who was willing to pay off his people after the enterprise collapsed.”

  “They deserve a better life than I can offer.”

  “That’s why you’re going to make a right decision. This part of you is stronger than you think,” Mike tried to cheer up his comrade any way he could.

  “Yeah, well… You’ve been
loyal, Mike, I greatly value that,” JB got up, Mike followed him. The big guy stepped forward to lay a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I need Chris and Hakim, you take the rest of ‘us’ and go. You six gotta be safe.”

  Bridgers released his comrade. He turned to the table and started to move the envelopes into his backpack. Mike picked up a coat and a hat, then he went towards the backyard door. Before he left, he looked at Jerry once more.

  “Good luck, my friend.”

  “Take care. See you in the new life.”

  The bookkeeper left the house.

  It was time to go to the dungeon to meet the rest of the crew. The gangster pulled out his gun to check the magazine, it was full. Plus, one additional bullet in the chamber, eight bullets in total. He shoved the pistol where it belonged. Of course JB knew that the Eagle was loaded, but subconsciously he wanted to postpone the dirty job ahead of him. He needed a few more seconds, so he walked to the window to check the backyard, nothing was there.

  Finally, JB braced up, lifted the backpack and left the kitchen. The living room was already empty, he walked through it to make it to the basement door. A long stairway lay behind it, much longer than the one to the second floor. The roof of the basement had to be much higher than the rest of the rooms. The next door, which led directly to the dungeon, was fully made of solid metal, armored, and had anti-blast reinforcement on the frame. No handle, no window, that door wasn’t meant to be opened by strangers. It looked like an entrance to a bomb shelter. JB laid his palm on an exact spot on the wall, and the door opened.

  Although the house didn’t look excessively large, the basement was an entirely different case. The area of the basement was extensive enough to occupy several blocks around. So much room that most of the gangsters never saw even half of it. That was where the name ‘dungeon’ came from. The walls were about fifteen feet high, made of armored concrete, and the floor was solid stone. An array of LED lamps lit most of the active area from the top, and at some spots floor had its own soft neon illumination. The room overall looked dark and depressing. The origin and the main purpose of the 'dungeon' remained a mystery for the crew.

  The first thing right behind the front door was an armory. It was fenced off from the rest of the room. There was a long metal table fixed to the wall with some gun parts, bullets and other instruments on it. More weapons were inside the armored locker near the table. A few shotguns, M-4s and lots of bullet packs. Part of the wall itself was hidden by the large tool suite where the one could find instruments of any kind. The last part of the armory was a stock of bulletproof vests, some of them looked brand new, others were damaged, with stains of blood on them.

  The following section of the dungeon was a small gym. Nothing too special, just some heavy bodybuilding gear, a stock of metal disks of various weight, a water cooler, et cetera.

  The part where the guys spent the most of time was behind the gym. The interior there seemed quite refreshing. A home theater with a bar for brief meetings, special occasions, and just relaxation. Enough space to allocate a dozen people on a few couches and if more seats were needed, a bunch of folding chairs were at one's service.

  The gang sat around the flat screen to watch a comedy cartoon that brought lots of laughter and comments to the crowd. JB walked through, into the center, and threw the backpack onto the glass coffee table, in front of the gang. The video went off, the noise and laughter faded, the crew’s attention focused on the leader.

  “Yo, Markus,” JB said.

  “Yeah,” an uncertain voice replied.

  “Take what’s inside there and spread it among everyone,” JB never loosened his stare on Markus, which he was drilling him with.

  Markus picked up the backpack, opened it, and lots of yellow envelopes appeared inside. He looked at Jerry worriedly. The big guy’s look was firm and steady, so the associate had to obey. He removed his eyes from the boss and rushed to go towards the coffee table that was in front of him. Swaying to the right then to the left, then to the right again, the guy couldn’t put himself together.

  “Come on, man! We ain’t got all night, yo!” Jerry rushed him.

  Money distribution started. Meanwhile JB addressed the gang.

  “Sup, my brothers! You know what are we gonna do now?”

  Bridgers cheered up instantly, his face went all shiny and got that broad smile. Sure, he didn’t feel that way, but the cover was vital, at least for a while.

  “Get us some girls and start partying?!” one of the guys shouted.

  “Yeah!”

  “Hell, yeah!” others supported the suggestion.

  The crowd went loud with shouts and laughter.

  “That’s a great idea!” Jerry responded, pointing at the guy. “But it comes later. Now we are gonna do something different. Other ideas?”

  “Let's make a visit to those Latino bastards!” another gangster shouted out.

  “Yo! Come on, man. Really? What’s with all that aggression, Big Ben?” JB ironically shook his head. “This is awesome, you know! And since I’m talking like a ‘white boy’ the whole evening,” the crowd went crazy again, “we are gonna play some g-g-games.”

  The room was filled with excitement and impatience. JB knew how to lead the group, he kept these gatherings fun every time, as one of his ways of manipulation. They loved it. Although JB himself put a lot more effort into that than anyone could imagine, he tried to find that unique psychological key to each of his men. In a way, Bridgers treated the subordinates as pets, teasing and playing with them. They loved it.

  “So… who wants to go first?” he asked.

  By that time Markus had given out all of the envelopes, but nobody cared. The boss fully occupied their attention.

  “May I?” the heavy muscled man from the front row said.

  “No, your face looks too sly, Baby Smoke. You make me skittish,” Jerry joked. In fact, Smoke did look intimidating, but with those words even he went joyous and pleased. Others were clapping him on the shoulders and genially laughing.

  “So the first contestant is gonna be…” JB was slowly scanned over the gangsters. “Oh! Tyris! Come up here!”

  Tyris looked around, everyone stared at him.

  “Okay,” he said.

  The man didn’t look that happy, though.

  “Yeah! Sweet, man!” JB shouted. The ovations followed. “So, here are the rules: I’m gonna ask questions very fast, you gotta answer instantly, just the first thing that pops into your head. And we are doing this until you flounder. If so you lose, and your punishment is up to the gang. Got it?”

  The audience went smiling and whispering, this time they were one hundred percent invested in the show.

  “Yeah, easy enough,” Tyris said.

  “Yeah!” the gang shouted.

  Everyone tried to get a bit closer. JB went to the center of the half circle. Guys were everywhere: sitting on couches, chairs, standing around, at the bar, and just leaning on anything near them. It was so tight that no one could get out easily. The boss made a small pause to hit up the spirit even more. Then he continued.

  “What is your name?” he pronounced very slowly as if he was mocking his own game.

  “Tyris T Jackson,” the player answered casually.

  “Where ya from?” JB went very fast this time, mispronouncing half of the syllables.

  “From Compton,” Tyris tried to answer quickly as well.

  “What’d ya had-fo-breakfast,”

  “Scrambled-s… eggs” he almost floundering.

  “What’s ya girlfriend’s name?”

  “Melisha.”

  “Her ass size?”

  Tyris lingered a bit, his face flinched, but he involuntary answered, “Three”.

  The crowd went wild. Obviously, the reaction would have been similar no matter what the guy would say, of course. But Tyris felt ashamed. His anger started to show up. Yet, the game was on, and he was ready to go to the end. He wanted to win JB in his own tournament.

 
“Why did you betray me?” JB said fast, but each sound he pronounced as clear as it was possible.

  “Because you’re fuckin…” all that Tyris could push out before he stopped.

  During next few seconds, the mad laughter of the crowd morphed into awkward silence. They stared at Bridgers, his eyes filled up with anger, his cheek muscles were tensed, and no shadow of joy could be seen on his face. As if the funny guy that had been entertaining the crowd a minute ago was never there. Tyris couldn’t believe that he let himself be tricked that easily. That game, those silly questions were meant for confusion and to pull a confession out of him. It worked. He broke, JB proved himself right about everything. The traitor stood still, small drops of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, his skin was shivering.

  “You’ve lost,” JB said. “Now it’s up for men to decide.”

  This one wasn’t going anywhere, every gang member was watching him carefully. But there was another one, Markus. He wasn’t in front of the crowd anymore, as he was a minute ago. JB scanned for him between the rows, and couldn’t find what he was looking for. Suddenly, he noticed a tiny movement behind the crowd. Markus was short, so he could hide behind his tall comrades quickly. Soon as he saw JB’s look on him, he jumped running to the door. But the big guy didn’t rush to chase him, since he had locked the door earlier with the master key.

  The boss walked down the room to the main exit, where his former ‘left hand’ was beating up against the metal door. After a few unsuccessful tries of getting out, Markus moved to the armory. That door was locked too. The man realized that he wasn’t going anywhere, so he finally turned to JB. A silver Desert Eagle in the big guy's hand pointed at Markus.

  The traitor shifted his arms up a bit. He moved towards the boss slowly. Most of the gangsters stood behind JB as one whole.

  “Hey, B! It’s not what you think it is,” small guy said desperately.

  He moved his hands down. Then he silently shifted his right hand behind his back trying to pull out his gun. It was dumb and useless since there were more than twenty people and most of them armed. But apparently the man wasn’t thinking straight.

  “I swear to you, man, I…”