Wolves - Messages
Apr 10, 2020 10:54:22 GMT -5
via mobile
Ms Anicka Swan, lajohnnystylez, and 1 more like this
Post by somethingwicked on Apr 10, 2020 10:54:22 GMT -5
A Crowd bathed in dimmed neon lights unfolds before us as we traverse through them. Couples laugh, other couples argue. Single men look on at single women working up the nerves to talk to them. Single women keep their eyes on the single men as they creepily look over them. We pass all of these people by, and find ourselves at the back of the bar. Leaning against a wall with a cellphone pressed against one ear, and his free hand pressed against, Vincent ‘Black’ Wolf is found. His eyes and his jaw are tight and his stance is as relaxed as ‘defensive as fuck’ can get.
“This has been the longest month of my life.” he says, shaking his head slightly.
“It’s only been a week.” the voice on the other end says, belonging to Kal X Wolf. “Where are you two now?”
“I don’t even know. I kinda lost track. We’ve made so many stops.”
“He’s doing side gigs again?”
“Again? He never stopped. In the town we were in yesterday, He did security for an Electronic expo. He was in one room pretty much all day, and I never saw him until the end. I did see some stuff we should talk about though. For the collective.” The collective was a mutually contributed pool of resources that the Wolf clan, any member of the Wolf clan, could dip into for the purpose of investing. There were rules to this and they were followed by pretty much all. Except for Kal and Jack, for what should be obvious reasons. “Other than that, He’s bounced at a biker bar, which if you ever fall into a hole, when you hit the bottom, look for a hole, and it’s in there. He’s also worked at a car wash, as a dock worker, and for some odd reason, as a transporter in a hospital. When I asked him why he was doing all this, he just keeps saying...Gotta get paid.”
“You never lived this sorta life, V. Going from one place to another like that. You don’t know when you’re gonna make money next. So you find work, you do it. It’s amazing to me that he’s even willing. The X that left us..”
“Trust me, Kal. This ain’t him.” Vin looks over and sees a group of men looking at Xavier, who is seated at the bar, watching the bartender. The bartender is a very pretty brunette with wonderful eyes. For this particular area. The fact that her hair is clean and her eyes are both pointing in the same direction are a very big deal for this location, and Xavier is simply appreciative. The men watching him on the other hand are not appreciative. They recognize him. And as any fighter will tell you, drunks that recognize you don’t want to hear a story. That want to tell a story. And these men are about to get one helluva story to tell. “Kal. Gotta go. It’s story time.”
“Fuck. Be car-” Vin puts the phone in his pocket and slowly makes his way across the bar. “Get Ur Freak On’ by Missy Elliot mixed with AC/DC’s back in black begins to play. As Vin gets closer one of the men lunges forward with beer bottle. Xavier swivels to his right and catches the bottle with his right hand. He pulls it downward and smashes it against the bar. Shattering the bottle in the man’s hand, slicing him open. He follows with an elbow to the face and sends the man to the ground with a thud. Another of the men trys to leap over his downed freind but is caught in mid air by Vincent, and tossed back first into the bar. He bounces back and is caught by a left hook that shatters his jaw, Visibly, and audibly. The third man, looking at his downed friends, pulls a knife out of his belt and points it to Xavier. Vin nods and steps to the side. Xavier smiles as the men steps forward and is rocked by a right hand by Vin. The man stumbles forward and Xavier grabs the knife from his hand, slams it into his leg, and uses it to pull his leg out from underneath him with one hand, while grabbing the man by the head and slamming him into the ground with the other.
Time passes and Xavier and Vin are leaning against a cop car, bathed in the blue and red lights. Their hands uncuffed and each holding a cigarette, they smile and laugh with the officers as the three men are escorted to patrol cars, their wrists secured by unflattering jewelry. A very fat man in a very large cowboy hat approaches, and pulls a soggy cigar from his mustached mouth.
“Alright boys. ‘Preciate ya’ll not staying longer than ya gotta. I’ll take care-ah these boys fer ya.”
“Come on Vin, Thanks, Sheriff.” Xavier says getting ready to walk away.
“Wait. We haven’t made statements. How are you going to co-”
“Vin. A word.” Xavier says pulling him to the side. “We’re not making statements. We’re not pressing charges. We’re leaving. These guys are locals. They’re probably related to that fat fuck, hell to eveyone else, too. They’re doing us a favor because we’re famous and they don’t want the trouble. We’re gonna shut the fuck up and return the favor.”
“That one pulled a knife.” Vin says, exasperated.
“If you were facing us, wouldn’t you? And come on, he really thought you were gonna let me 1v1 him and not get involved. He’s a moron. I’m not going to court for morons. So don’t be one, and let’s go.” Xavier turns toward the Sheriff, who has heard every word and is now slack jawed but amused. “Sir, thank you. Tell your mother/sister she’s made a lovely town.”
Xavier and Vin walk away, and we slowly fade to darkness. Coming back up, we find Vin and Xavier in the 1970’s style van heading down the highway. Xavier looks over at Vin and quickly looks away.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“I miss my dog.”
“I can have the mic bring him.”
“...won’t happen. That dog won’t leave unless I say so.”
“Can I ask you how you trained it so well?”
“I didn’t. Train it, I mean. When we met, we were both looking for something that we needed. We happened to find it in each other. It’s not taught, his respect. I earned it. No shit.”
Vin got quiet. The family had discussed a lot about what occurred, and the one thing they talked about misty was just how much the man they knew as Xavier had changed so much. He was, for the most part, a completely different person.
“Who are you? What happened to you?”
“What’d ya mean?”
“This...this person. The X that left was the same Method of Mayhem, tracksuit wearing, colorful suit buying, douchebag. Now you wear the same clothes every day. You used to fight in a boxing stance by default but….”
“Five years is a long time.”
“And you were dating Fury for two years prior to leaving? And you never told anyone?”
“No.”
“Why? Why not?”
“You guys wouldn’t have understood.”
“I would’ve understood.”
The car veers off road and comes to a screaming stop. Dust surrounds the car and makes the entire world disappear, Which is fine. Because now is the time for listening.
“Fuck that. You are and always have been Kal’s fucking bitch. He says jump, you jump. He says hate this guy, you hate. You don’t ask questions, you don’t ask for proof or reasons. It’s why I had to do what I did. Because you couldn’t see past your loyalty to him, to do what the fuck was right. So don’t give me this shit that you would understand. Mother fucker, you don’t understand a fucking thing.”
Vin looked at his brother and shrugged. This was also new. The X he had known, would have ignored this sort of argument. He’d have buried his feelings of anger and possibly even let it eat at him, forever, rather than say a word.
“...I just mean that she’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“How’d you guys get together?”
“Some cunt left her unconscious on my couch.”
“What a coincidence.”
The two begin to laugh, and X checks his mirrors before pulling back out onto the road.
“Vin.”
“Yes.”
“Damon’s not a cunt.”
“But I am.”
“But you are, yes.”
The Van pulls away and as the headlights illuminate the road ahead, Vincent Wolf’s voice emanates from the void.
“The predictive patterns that we follow become comforting to not only use, but to others. We see those we love often enough and we can safely guesstimate their doings, their comings and goings, and use these wildly inaccurate but comforting ideas to aid us. Life is ok because this person is doing that thing they tend to do. But when the world comes crashing as you’re well aware it tends to do when I’m involved and nothing is predictable let alone comforting, what do you do then? How do you make amends with what you’ve come to know being gone? How do you go to sleep in a room you didn’t build in a house you don’t own?
How can you live in a world that you don’t recognize?
You can. Of course you can. But can you thrive? Can you make your day and your existence more than just a series of breathes taken in and let out? Can you be more than just a skeleton and some organs wandering through the existence and allowing it to happen to you. Because I can. We can.
We are not those who let life happen to us, we are those that life let’s happen to you. From the very moment we were able to formulate a thought or string words to form sentences, we have been hunters and hunters, by definition, hunt. We do not hunt for food for we are civilized. We do not hunt for sport, because that would require a level of difficulty.
We hunt for the sake of the hunt. We seek out for the simple joy we take in the seeking, the finding, and the fighting.
For the sake of the hunt we will pretend that any of you, save for one of you, is not a waste of our time. For the sake of the finding of what we are looking, we will imagine that you are, save for one of you, not an entire waste of effort. For the sake of the fight, we will act as if this is a fight worth having. Save for one of you, that simply isn’t true.
For the sake of this business, you all better come to this ring prepared to lose, but hoping you don’t. For your sake, you better know that’s probably not possible.
Mike, Enforcer. I’ve paid you very little mind for the bulk of our shared expirience and I admit, It’s felt good. You’re quite honestly not worth my time nor effort, and you’ve proven it without me having to even look in your general direction. Point being, this is going to have to change. As of now, this is what, the second time the pair of you have been involved with us? Seems you guys are going to start getting a big head about it, If I predict people well, which I do. It would also seem that you should both be thankful to the pair of us. As it is not every day we establish pathetic pieces of shit like you. Bringing you into the light as we have. Granted, we’ve only give you names worth mentioning so we could take that away. But still. Very nice of us. Say thank you. But the nice stops now.
This is not a warning. This is a prediction. A look into the future you both will want to deny, but will have no choice but to accept. You are not legends. Or myths. What you are, is...a warning. Look children, this, them, is what happens when you fail to stay in your lane. When you try to grasp beyond your reach. Gentleman, you have failed upward. That is a wonderful thing to do. And you should celebrate it. Unfortunatley you are going to be celebrating it back where the fuck you belong. Beneath us. Where you were born, and where you will ultimately die. That’s enough out of me about you. For now. Forever.
John. Johnny. Mr. Stylez. There is an old adage that about when you hit rock bottom, stop digging. Because there’s always a bit further to go. Funny, that could be said about you, and how low you’ll sink for attention. You were and always have been a staple in this community. No, that’s wrong. Wait. Let me talk this out. If this industry was a magazine, you would be the insert. Yes. The cardboard piece that eventually falls out and is forgotten about. You’re a part of every one, but not once have you been useful.
Like the cereal on the lowest shelf, you take up the look of that which you want to be, but aren’t quite right. In fact, your entire family is that, truly. You and the rest of your bunch, you’re General Unsoggy. We’re Captain Crunch. You, and your brother, and the wives you’ve taken this week, you’re...Bee Shit Hello Circles. We’re honey nut fucking cheerios. You assholes, all of you, are Loud Rice cereal. We are Rice Krispies. And now it’s time for us to Snap, Crackle, and Pop this little bubble you’ve been living it. Because the first family of this business is going to make the sub-par families of this business rembemer their place. And that place is nowhere near us.
Le’andre. Your father is one of the most dominant men this business ever saw. For about a week. He had his war with the big guy and it was glorious. But where’d he go? For all of the success he had, it was quick lived. Which is the same path I see you going. The people, if you can call them that, you’ve taken up with. They’ve got an interest at heart. But it isn’t yours. You’re a fucking coupon for them. Something that saves them a tiny bit of effort off a much larger cost. Johnny is using you to defuse Xavier. If you don’t know that then, with exception to Allison, Xavier’s taste in women hasn’t changed. It’s gotten worse.”
Vincent silences, as a somewhat familiar voice rings out, and we find ourselves staring at the Sheriff from earlier. He watches as the three men involved in the fight are uncuffed, and the one who was stabbed is moved from the ambulance he was in to a private one idling nearby. A gentleman with tattoos all over his face and hands approaches the Sheriff, and hands him a rather large white envelope.
“Yer boss sure is a confusin’ type.”
“My man has his reasons. It’s bad enough he had to fire these men. He doesn’t want to ruin their lives.”
“One of them tried to stab him.” The Sheriff said, making a point that everyone already understands.
“Sir, If I sent a small child after you with a toothpick, would you consider that an attempt on your life?”
“...no.”
“Right. Because that isn’t a threat. Either was this. More of a message, really.”
“Weird message.”
“...the only kind we seem to get.” says a woman, stepping into the coversation. “Spitz, go tell these guys the deal, Get ‘em paid.”
“I’m sorry, and you are?”
“I’m none of your fucking business. Thanks for doing your job.” The woman who we recognize as Nez, friend, sponsor, and employee of one NOMAD Xavier Wolf, steps away and meets up with Spitz, who has just handed out envelopes to the three men, as well as the EMS workers. He can be overheard telling them to delete the call history from the report. And they nod in agreement.
“We made good time on this one.” Nez says lighting two cigarettes and handing one to him.
“It should all be this easy.” Spitz says between puffs, and overlooking everything going on around him.
“That shit about the toothpick kid. Boss tell you that?” Nez asks, squinting from the smoke flowing upwards into her eyes .
“Yep. It’s good, right?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna shit when you find out it’s origin.”
“Speaking of, you wanna call him?”
“Can’t. Infested. He’ll call us. Let’s hit the road.”
Nez and Spitz head over to a black sedan with the vanity plates “SRVCE3” and speed off into the night, leaving the vehicles and the paid off individuals in their dust, as we leave them to the darkness from which we came.
“This has been the longest month of my life.” he says, shaking his head slightly.
“It’s only been a week.” the voice on the other end says, belonging to Kal X Wolf. “Where are you two now?”
“I don’t even know. I kinda lost track. We’ve made so many stops.”
“He’s doing side gigs again?”
“Again? He never stopped. In the town we were in yesterday, He did security for an Electronic expo. He was in one room pretty much all day, and I never saw him until the end. I did see some stuff we should talk about though. For the collective.” The collective was a mutually contributed pool of resources that the Wolf clan, any member of the Wolf clan, could dip into for the purpose of investing. There were rules to this and they were followed by pretty much all. Except for Kal and Jack, for what should be obvious reasons. “Other than that, He’s bounced at a biker bar, which if you ever fall into a hole, when you hit the bottom, look for a hole, and it’s in there. He’s also worked at a car wash, as a dock worker, and for some odd reason, as a transporter in a hospital. When I asked him why he was doing all this, he just keeps saying...Gotta get paid.”
“You never lived this sorta life, V. Going from one place to another like that. You don’t know when you’re gonna make money next. So you find work, you do it. It’s amazing to me that he’s even willing. The X that left us..”
“Trust me, Kal. This ain’t him.” Vin looks over and sees a group of men looking at Xavier, who is seated at the bar, watching the bartender. The bartender is a very pretty brunette with wonderful eyes. For this particular area. The fact that her hair is clean and her eyes are both pointing in the same direction are a very big deal for this location, and Xavier is simply appreciative. The men watching him on the other hand are not appreciative. They recognize him. And as any fighter will tell you, drunks that recognize you don’t want to hear a story. That want to tell a story. And these men are about to get one helluva story to tell. “Kal. Gotta go. It’s story time.”
“Fuck. Be car-” Vin puts the phone in his pocket and slowly makes his way across the bar. “Get Ur Freak On’ by Missy Elliot mixed with AC/DC’s back in black begins to play. As Vin gets closer one of the men lunges forward with beer bottle. Xavier swivels to his right and catches the bottle with his right hand. He pulls it downward and smashes it against the bar. Shattering the bottle in the man’s hand, slicing him open. He follows with an elbow to the face and sends the man to the ground with a thud. Another of the men trys to leap over his downed freind but is caught in mid air by Vincent, and tossed back first into the bar. He bounces back and is caught by a left hook that shatters his jaw, Visibly, and audibly. The third man, looking at his downed friends, pulls a knife out of his belt and points it to Xavier. Vin nods and steps to the side. Xavier smiles as the men steps forward and is rocked by a right hand by Vin. The man stumbles forward and Xavier grabs the knife from his hand, slams it into his leg, and uses it to pull his leg out from underneath him with one hand, while grabbing the man by the head and slamming him into the ground with the other.
Time passes and Xavier and Vin are leaning against a cop car, bathed in the blue and red lights. Their hands uncuffed and each holding a cigarette, they smile and laugh with the officers as the three men are escorted to patrol cars, their wrists secured by unflattering jewelry. A very fat man in a very large cowboy hat approaches, and pulls a soggy cigar from his mustached mouth.
“Alright boys. ‘Preciate ya’ll not staying longer than ya gotta. I’ll take care-ah these boys fer ya.”
“Come on Vin, Thanks, Sheriff.” Xavier says getting ready to walk away.
“Wait. We haven’t made statements. How are you going to co-”
“Vin. A word.” Xavier says pulling him to the side. “We’re not making statements. We’re not pressing charges. We’re leaving. These guys are locals. They’re probably related to that fat fuck, hell to eveyone else, too. They’re doing us a favor because we’re famous and they don’t want the trouble. We’re gonna shut the fuck up and return the favor.”
“That one pulled a knife.” Vin says, exasperated.
“If you were facing us, wouldn’t you? And come on, he really thought you were gonna let me 1v1 him and not get involved. He’s a moron. I’m not going to court for morons. So don’t be one, and let’s go.” Xavier turns toward the Sheriff, who has heard every word and is now slack jawed but amused. “Sir, thank you. Tell your mother/sister she’s made a lovely town.”
Xavier and Vin walk away, and we slowly fade to darkness. Coming back up, we find Vin and Xavier in the 1970’s style van heading down the highway. Xavier looks over at Vin and quickly looks away.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“I miss my dog.”
“I can have the mic bring him.”
“...won’t happen. That dog won’t leave unless I say so.”
“Can I ask you how you trained it so well?”
“I didn’t. Train it, I mean. When we met, we were both looking for something that we needed. We happened to find it in each other. It’s not taught, his respect. I earned it. No shit.”
Vin got quiet. The family had discussed a lot about what occurred, and the one thing they talked about misty was just how much the man they knew as Xavier had changed so much. He was, for the most part, a completely different person.
“Who are you? What happened to you?”
“What’d ya mean?”
“This...this person. The X that left was the same Method of Mayhem, tracksuit wearing, colorful suit buying, douchebag. Now you wear the same clothes every day. You used to fight in a boxing stance by default but….”
“Five years is a long time.”
“And you were dating Fury for two years prior to leaving? And you never told anyone?”
“No.”
“Why? Why not?”
“You guys wouldn’t have understood.”
“I would’ve understood.”
The car veers off road and comes to a screaming stop. Dust surrounds the car and makes the entire world disappear, Which is fine. Because now is the time for listening.
“Fuck that. You are and always have been Kal’s fucking bitch. He says jump, you jump. He says hate this guy, you hate. You don’t ask questions, you don’t ask for proof or reasons. It’s why I had to do what I did. Because you couldn’t see past your loyalty to him, to do what the fuck was right. So don’t give me this shit that you would understand. Mother fucker, you don’t understand a fucking thing.”
Vin looked at his brother and shrugged. This was also new. The X he had known, would have ignored this sort of argument. He’d have buried his feelings of anger and possibly even let it eat at him, forever, rather than say a word.
“...I just mean that she’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“How’d you guys get together?”
“Some cunt left her unconscious on my couch.”
“What a coincidence.”
The two begin to laugh, and X checks his mirrors before pulling back out onto the road.
“Vin.”
“Yes.”
“Damon’s not a cunt.”
“But I am.”
“But you are, yes.”
The Van pulls away and as the headlights illuminate the road ahead, Vincent Wolf’s voice emanates from the void.
“The predictive patterns that we follow become comforting to not only use, but to others. We see those we love often enough and we can safely guesstimate their doings, their comings and goings, and use these wildly inaccurate but comforting ideas to aid us. Life is ok because this person is doing that thing they tend to do. But when the world comes crashing as you’re well aware it tends to do when I’m involved and nothing is predictable let alone comforting, what do you do then? How do you make amends with what you’ve come to know being gone? How do you go to sleep in a room you didn’t build in a house you don’t own?
How can you live in a world that you don’t recognize?
You can. Of course you can. But can you thrive? Can you make your day and your existence more than just a series of breathes taken in and let out? Can you be more than just a skeleton and some organs wandering through the existence and allowing it to happen to you. Because I can. We can.
We are not those who let life happen to us, we are those that life let’s happen to you. From the very moment we were able to formulate a thought or string words to form sentences, we have been hunters and hunters, by definition, hunt. We do not hunt for food for we are civilized. We do not hunt for sport, because that would require a level of difficulty.
We hunt for the sake of the hunt. We seek out for the simple joy we take in the seeking, the finding, and the fighting.
For the sake of the hunt we will pretend that any of you, save for one of you, is not a waste of our time. For the sake of the finding of what we are looking, we will imagine that you are, save for one of you, not an entire waste of effort. For the sake of the fight, we will act as if this is a fight worth having. Save for one of you, that simply isn’t true.
For the sake of this business, you all better come to this ring prepared to lose, but hoping you don’t. For your sake, you better know that’s probably not possible.
Mike, Enforcer. I’ve paid you very little mind for the bulk of our shared expirience and I admit, It’s felt good. You’re quite honestly not worth my time nor effort, and you’ve proven it without me having to even look in your general direction. Point being, this is going to have to change. As of now, this is what, the second time the pair of you have been involved with us? Seems you guys are going to start getting a big head about it, If I predict people well, which I do. It would also seem that you should both be thankful to the pair of us. As it is not every day we establish pathetic pieces of shit like you. Bringing you into the light as we have. Granted, we’ve only give you names worth mentioning so we could take that away. But still. Very nice of us. Say thank you. But the nice stops now.
This is not a warning. This is a prediction. A look into the future you both will want to deny, but will have no choice but to accept. You are not legends. Or myths. What you are, is...a warning. Look children, this, them, is what happens when you fail to stay in your lane. When you try to grasp beyond your reach. Gentleman, you have failed upward. That is a wonderful thing to do. And you should celebrate it. Unfortunatley you are going to be celebrating it back where the fuck you belong. Beneath us. Where you were born, and where you will ultimately die. That’s enough out of me about you. For now. Forever.
John. Johnny. Mr. Stylez. There is an old adage that about when you hit rock bottom, stop digging. Because there’s always a bit further to go. Funny, that could be said about you, and how low you’ll sink for attention. You were and always have been a staple in this community. No, that’s wrong. Wait. Let me talk this out. If this industry was a magazine, you would be the insert. Yes. The cardboard piece that eventually falls out and is forgotten about. You’re a part of every one, but not once have you been useful.
Like the cereal on the lowest shelf, you take up the look of that which you want to be, but aren’t quite right. In fact, your entire family is that, truly. You and the rest of your bunch, you’re General Unsoggy. We’re Captain Crunch. You, and your brother, and the wives you’ve taken this week, you’re...Bee Shit Hello Circles. We’re honey nut fucking cheerios. You assholes, all of you, are Loud Rice cereal. We are Rice Krispies. And now it’s time for us to Snap, Crackle, and Pop this little bubble you’ve been living it. Because the first family of this business is going to make the sub-par families of this business rembemer their place. And that place is nowhere near us.
Le’andre. Your father is one of the most dominant men this business ever saw. For about a week. He had his war with the big guy and it was glorious. But where’d he go? For all of the success he had, it was quick lived. Which is the same path I see you going. The people, if you can call them that, you’ve taken up with. They’ve got an interest at heart. But it isn’t yours. You’re a fucking coupon for them. Something that saves them a tiny bit of effort off a much larger cost. Johnny is using you to defuse Xavier. If you don’t know that then, with exception to Allison, Xavier’s taste in women hasn’t changed. It’s gotten worse.”
Vincent silences, as a somewhat familiar voice rings out, and we find ourselves staring at the Sheriff from earlier. He watches as the three men involved in the fight are uncuffed, and the one who was stabbed is moved from the ambulance he was in to a private one idling nearby. A gentleman with tattoos all over his face and hands approaches the Sheriff, and hands him a rather large white envelope.
“Yer boss sure is a confusin’ type.”
“My man has his reasons. It’s bad enough he had to fire these men. He doesn’t want to ruin their lives.”
“One of them tried to stab him.” The Sheriff said, making a point that everyone already understands.
“Sir, If I sent a small child after you with a toothpick, would you consider that an attempt on your life?”
“...no.”
“Right. Because that isn’t a threat. Either was this. More of a message, really.”
“Weird message.”
“...the only kind we seem to get.” says a woman, stepping into the coversation. “Spitz, go tell these guys the deal, Get ‘em paid.”
“I’m sorry, and you are?”
“I’m none of your fucking business. Thanks for doing your job.” The woman who we recognize as Nez, friend, sponsor, and employee of one NOMAD Xavier Wolf, steps away and meets up with Spitz, who has just handed out envelopes to the three men, as well as the EMS workers. He can be overheard telling them to delete the call history from the report. And they nod in agreement.
“We made good time on this one.” Nez says lighting two cigarettes and handing one to him.
“It should all be this easy.” Spitz says between puffs, and overlooking everything going on around him.
“That shit about the toothpick kid. Boss tell you that?” Nez asks, squinting from the smoke flowing upwards into her eyes .
“Yep. It’s good, right?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna shit when you find out it’s origin.”
“Speaking of, you wanna call him?”
“Can’t. Infested. He’ll call us. Let’s hit the road.”
Nez and Spitz head over to a black sedan with the vanity plates “SRVCE3” and speed off into the night, leaving the vehicles and the paid off individuals in their dust, as we leave them to the darkness from which we came.