Page 72 of Fourth Wall

“You’re a different person than when I even first met you.” I nodded in agreement with Julian.

“Let me get my mind off this fucking thing.” I let off the gas pedal a little as I started to calm down. “Tell me what the plan is again.”

“We are just going to go over to the Irish. Ronan says his name is Patrick. He runs this corner. They mainly need guns, but they owe us money and haven't paid up. Ronan said they should be good for it and just are lazy fuckers, so none of this should beanything hard.” I nodded. The hardest lesson I had to learn was that I needed to prepare before I walked into a mission. I was always trained.

"We'll be prepared for whatever comes our way," I assured him. As we drove, I noticed a dark red car tailing us on the freeway. Reacting quickly, I changed lanes, and the car stopped following.

Julian glanced back. "It's been following us since we left?" he asked, confirming my suspicion. I nodded, and he reassured me, "I'll make sure Maeve is safe back home. You can count on added security."

As the red car passed us, a brief sigh of relief washed over me. I needed to make it home in time for dinner tonight. My priorities had shifted drastically, and now all I wished for was a quiet day.

"I think I need to investigate someone," I finally shared.

"Get James to do it. He's at the house. Anyone I should be aware of?" Julian inquired.

"Not really," I replied. "I believe my sponsor is Maeve's ex’s current husband."

"Oh fuck. You should definitely talk to him first," Julian advised. We fell silent for the rest of the drive to Bakersfield, and the red car I originally thought was following us was nowhere in sight.

We pulled up to an old mechanic garage and both of us looked absolutely out of place. Everyone was dressed in cutoffs and flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off. Although these were technically Ronan’s men, he had just taken over the organization, so they kind of lived by their own rules.

Just before we got out of the Porsche, Julian and I both confirmed that we had our weapons. I got out first and opened the door for Julian, who walked behind me.

“We are here to talk to Patrick,” I said to a bunch of guys sitting in some plastic folding chairs outside the shop and drinking beer.

“Who's lookin’?” One of the guys working on the car didn’t bother to look up. I could already feel Julian picking the lint off his shoulders. It was something he did when he hated the situation he was in.

“Tell them Mr. Marchetti is here,” I responded to the guy, and I pulled back my hand so if the guy ever felt like looking up, they could see we were having a serious conversation.

“Ronan sent his dogs, did he?” An older guy with salt-and-pepper hair came out from the garage in the same uniform the rest of the guys were wearing.

"Patrick, we've just come to collect," Julian chimed in from behind me, and instantly, I recognized him as the guy we were after. Stepping forward, I approached him, feeling uneasy about conducting our business out in the open under the garage awning. I quickly scanned the surroundings, only recognizing the faces of the guys from the garage.

Taking a mental note, I counted five men in total. Three were older, above forty, while the other two were in their twenties. They all sported the same attire. As we observed, two cars were parked in front of the shop, and each had a guy working on them. We spotted two of them carrying concealed weapons at their waistbands, but no one else seemed to be around, at least as far as we could see.

I scanned the area quickly and noticed it was desolate and deserted. The bleakness of the surroundings was haunting, amplifying the tense atmosphere that hung in the air. The barren landscape offered no solace, as if time had forgotten this abandoned spot.

A sense of isolation permeated the scene, and the silence was broken only by the distant hum of the wind. The absenceof passersby or even the most subtle movement intensified the feeling of eerie abandonment.

There was no sign of the red car tailing us earlier. It was as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace. Instead, the two cars parked in front of the garage were the only vehicles in sight. Their dull, weathered exteriors matched the overall dreary ambience. The two younger guys watched us, their expressions guarded and their eyes darting around, assessing the situation.

A sense of anticipation filled the air as we cautiously approached the group, ready to face whatever lay ahead in this hauntingly deserted corner of the world.

I turned quickly and felt Julian reach for one of his guns, and I grabbed my Beretta before approaching Patrick.

“Make this fucking easy. I’m already pissed I drove all the way out to the middle of damn nowhere to collect.”

“Ronan could’ve come and grabbed it.” Patrick huffed. I pulled up my gun and hit this man’s chest with it. I needed to get home, and this guy and his annoyance for us was only pissing me off more.

“Get the money, Patrick,” I hissed at him.

Patrick's condescending remark, "Woof woof," directed at me, was the final straw. My anger surged, and without hesitation, I forcefully pushed him against the wall, pressing the cold metal of my gun to his forehead.

"Give me the motherfucking money you owe us in ten seconds," I seethed, my voice steady but filled with a simmering rage. The younger men with Patrick reacted, rising from their plastic chairs, eyeing the tense standoff unfolding before them.

As seconds ticked by, I couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability in this desolate place. My eyes darted around, scanning for any unexpected threats, but the landscape remained seemingly empty, save for the rustling of palm bushes in the distance.

"Alright, give me a fucking minute to get the cash in the suitcase," Patrick stammered, sensing the urgency in my voice. Julian positioned himself behind me, offering support, but the frustration was evident on his face, too.

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