Page 13 of Vas

“The apartment I went to, that’s my woman. I want you to keep an eye on her. Keep her safe.”

“And what do we get in return?”

Vas knew he was asking how much money he was offering, but Vas didn’t play that game. He didn’t need to. “I won’t kill you.”

“Son of a—” the stocky hothead exploded.

“Shut the fuck up, Marco,” his partner was quick to interrupt. He eyed Vas even more critically. “Those are some big words. You can back them up?”

“I can.”

“I’ve had enough of this motherfucker.” Before his partner could stop him again, Marco lunged.

Vas didn’t miss a beat. In one deft move, using the guy’s own momentum, Vas laid him out flat on his back with his foot a threat at the dude’s neck in a matter of seconds.

Vas stared down at a pair of bugged eyes. “No, I’ve had enough of you.” He raised his head to look at the other guy, his opinion of him going up another notch at the newfound fear he saw in his eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

“Who the hell are you?”

A wicked smile twisted his lips. “Someone you don’t want to fuck with.”

∞∞∞

Vas was sixteen the first time he killed a man. He’d like to say he’d felt guilty afterward, but the piece-of-shit wife beater had deserved it.

He’d been with his gang, a local pack out of Reseda, for close to five years when the opportunity had fallen into his lap. The brother of a woman who’d lived in his apartment building had approached him one day. He’d grown tired of seeing his sister’s face smashed in every time he visited.

“Hey, kid.”

Vas looked over from the doorway he lounged in, trying to get a little relief from the humid, summer heat as he waited for his friend Charlie to come back with the goods from their supplier. He’d been promoted to selling drugs about six months before and it was a huge step up moneywise from boosting car stereos. Hell, his cut was so good, his mother had been able to quit her third job, giving her a much-needed day-a-week off. As far as Vas was concerned, she worked too hard to keep a roof over their head and food on the table and he worried about her. Especially as she hadn’t been looking too good lately. The last few monthshe’d noticed how pale she’d been getting, calling the dark circles under her eyes into relief, and the persistent cough that had developed, even though she’d been trying to hide it.

The guy kept a reasonable distance while Vas checked him out, inspecting him from head to toe and verifying he wasn’t an immediate threat. The dude was old—maybe somewhere in his forties—wearing khaki pants and a short-sleeve button up shirt with the Quicky Mart logo stitched on the breast pocket.

“Yeah?” Vas was proud of the deep timbre his voice had gained the summer before along with the growth spurt that topped him over six feet. His next goal was to fill out his lanky form. It was taking him a while because he was doing it the old-fashioned way. No steroids for him like some of his buddies were doing. He didn’t touch drugs of any form. He saw what they did to some of the guys on the streets and he wanted no part of that shit. The surest way to get caught committing a crime was to be fucked up while doing it.

“You interested in making some cash?”

That got Vas’s attention, and also made him a little wary. He stood from his slouch against the doorjamb and gave the guy another once over. His hair was cut and styled, his face clean shaven, and his eyes were bright with the whites not red or yellowed. No track marks on his arms, his nails neatly trimmed and not chewed. The dude was scrawny but not twitchy, so hopefully that meant he was thinking clearly.

Vas would play along, see where it led. He hiked out his chin. “Depends. Doing what?”

The guy shoved his hands deep into his front pockets, his shoulders hunching, and his eyes darted around. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

Vas eyed the dude’s now concealed hands. Not a fucking chance. “Don’t see no one around.”

Taking a step closer, the guy licked his lips, and then, lowering his voice, said, “I have someone who needs killing.”

A laugh burst forth. “Is this some kind of a joke?” Vas glanced over his shoulder. “Did someone set this up?”

The guy’s expression was dead serious. “I’ve seen you around—know you’re part of the Northside Gang. My sister… She lives in this building, unit three-O-two. Her husband beats her.”

Vas snorted. “That’s nothing new.”

The dude shook his head. “Not like this. He’s gonna kill her unless someone stops him.”

Vas set his mind to thinking, trying to remember who lived in three-O-two. The man was a mechanic or a plumber or some shit, always dressed in a blue shirt and navy pants with grease stains down his front. The woman… Vas thought harder, her face wasn’t coming to him. Though he did remember seeing her once. She was coming back from the grocery store, her arms piled with bags. She’d had a scarf on her head and large sunglasses covering her face, but he remembered she walked slowly, her body hunched and now realized she must’ve been in pain.

But Vas still wasn’t sure if he was being set up, either as a joke or something more nefarious. “You a cop?”

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