Sixteen and a half hours later. And for Derrick it seemed like a lifetime. His eyes were heavy, red, weary; but he’d never dare close them. He kept them fixed on Malakie, the guy he thought he could trust no matter what.

  But Malakie was keeping his eyes on the road, at least that’s what he wanted Derrick to think, but Derrick knew better. He saw the subtle glances, the quick snaps of his head. One eye on the road and one eye on him. That was the code—never take your eye off the enemy.

  “Listen man, we’ve been going at it for over sixteen hours now. The only time we stop is when we need to get gas. I need to go.”

  Malakie's eyes glanced up at the car mirror. “What you mean you need to go? Why didn’t you say something at all of the other stops? Now we’re close by a forest, now you need to go. You think I’m going let my guard down and you’re just going slip down the side and into the forest and make a run for it? I’ve seen the movies, my guy. This isn’t that. You see those shots they fire and miss when the guy is right there to be hit... that isn’t me. I’m not missing. I’ll empty the clip, then when you’re bleeding out on the ground scrounging, clawing at the leaves begging for mercy, I’ll answer that plea… I won’t let you suffer. I’ll put one in your head,” he said, face straight and expressionless. “So, you sure you still need to go?”

  Does this guy think he can scare me with words? I’ve put more bodies in the dirt than he’s worn drawers. Oh, how quick people are to forget.

  Derrick's head cast to the side as he watched car after car pass by. “You think I can control when I need to go? I don’t have time for games. Where’s that going to get me now?”

  Malakie’s eyes closed, and as though they were perfectly in sync, his chest rose and a heavy breath followed as he released it. “Listen,” Malakie said, looking at road signs for when the next interchange was coming up. “You’re going to have to hold it. We’re not too far from the next interchange.”

  “Thank you, Malakie… now that wasn’t too much to ask for, now was it?”

  Malakie’s eyes rolled, his head shaking from side to side as his face contoured to one of irritation. “Even in defeat, you still talk to me like I’m beneath you.”

  “What…,” Derrick said, eyes scrunched. “You want me to talk to you with respect?” asked Derrick, as he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You came up under me; I never came up under you. And as for Afra, I never came up under him neither. You forget that?”

  “I haven’t forgot shit, Derrick.”

  “Well, you could have sure fooled me, Malakie. Because I brought this group together; I fed you guys, clothed you guys, and put you all on. I only got into bed with Afra because it was the obvious next step in the progression of the crew. I took the risks and all the hits all so you could all eat. Now look,” he chuckled once more. “Stabbed in my back. Better you had stabbed me in the front; at least I would have some modicum of respect left for you.”

  “When the shoe fits, huh, Derrick? You’ve stabbed us from behind, the front, the side... hell, you even scoped us out and took us out from distance,” Malakie said as he began to laugh. “It was never about us. We were mere pawns on a chess board you could use when you needed them. Grow them, nurture them, use them to take bullets that had your name on it. They had blind faith to the code—a code that you never played by. But I saw through the smoke and mirrors a bit late… but better late than never, huh?”

  The car fell silent; for the rest of the journey neither man uttering a single word to the other. That was until they arrived at the service station. It was newly refurbished; you could tell by the newly coated grey paint and green outlines. The smell of freshly pumped gas flooded the air and as Malakie’s eyes cast around, he noticed there were a few cars there but not enough to make him worry.

  He got out of the driver’s side and went round to where Julius’s lifeless body was propped up in the corner. He opened the door then pushed his body down toward the ground, causing his head to land on Derrick’s lap.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Derrick, looking at the body in disgust as he tried his best to wiggle out of the way.

  “He’s got to go somewhere; can’t have bystanders walk by the car and see a lifeless body with a bullet hole in his head. I might as well call the police and hand myself in if I left him like that.”

  Derrick’s features scrunched as he looked up at Malakie. “You could’ve at least got me out of the car before you decided to do that.”

  Malakie’s lip folded and his shoulders shrugged loosely. “You’ve got a point, but it’s done now.” He reached down towards Derrick’s hands and uncuffed him, and Derrick eased out of the car, letting Julius’s head slump down on the foot mat and shut the car door behind him.

  He stood up then turned on his heels, ready to walk toward the service station, when Malakie spun him around and slammed him back against the car, digging his thumb deep into Derrick’s bullet wound.

  “Arghhh!” he screamed as his eyes closed and his body contorted in pain.

  “Listen to me… don’t get any smart ideas when you’re in there. Remember what I said… because I meant every word, Derrick. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head in there. You seen what I did to Julius and the rest of the guys. I won’t lose any sleep adding you to the list.”

  “Ok… got it, boss. I’ll be on my best behavior, scout's honor,” Derrick said through gritted teeth as he sarcastically tried his best to stand to attention.

  But Malakie didn’t react; he wasn’t interested in Derrick’s games. He simply spun him around and pushed him forward, causing him to stumble. When he gathered his footing, Malakie stood right behind him, with his gun pressed against his back as they walked towards the doors of the station.

  Derrick wasn’t stupid either; he knew Malakie needed him alive. Afra needs a word with you… Those words played over and over in Derrick’s head for over sixteen hours. He knew all that bravado talk from Malakie about putting a bullet in him was just that… talk. He could see that burning desire behind the curtain; how could he not? It burned brighter than the sun. If Malakie could have it his way, Derrick would be just another cold body cast to the side staring lifeless into the distance, but he couldn’t. He didn't have the power, nor did he call the shots—Afra did. And when Afra sends an order all must follow or pay the consequence, and Derrick was going to use that to his advantage.

  As the pair headed through the electric double doors and into the station, they were met with the smell of freshly baked goods and the overwhelming smell of scented pine cones. To their left was a cashier, a middle-aged Asian male standing no taller than five foot six; black hair, balding in the center, brown eyes, and fragile in stature, standing behind the till giving a customer his change. When the customer was done, he walked past the pair and Derrick shouted toward the cashier.

  “Where’s your toilet?”

  The cashier looked at Derrick and Malakie with raised suspicion. A small bead of sweat began to drip down his head, but not enough for Derrick and Malakie to notice he was scared. “Straight down and take a left. You can’t miss it.”

  Malakie dug the gun into his back again, urging him to move forward, and Derrick obliged.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Wow—wow,” the cashier shouted, his heart beating out of his chest but his voice convincing enough to make Derrick and Malakie stop in their tracks. “Only one person can go at a time; the other has to wait here.”

  “You’re going to have to use a different service station or hold it,” Malakie whispered.

  “And how’s that going to look? He’s already looking at us suspiciously, then the second he says both of us can’t go to the toilet, we leave? Not suspicious at all, is it?” Derrick said sarcastically. “That’s just asking for him to call the police… and in this situation I can’t say I’m against it.”

  The barrel of the gun dug deeper into Derrick’s flesh, its cold body pressing against his warm sweaty skin. “I don’t know what game you’re trying to play here, Derrick, but I’d advise you to stop.”

  “Stop… me? I just know how to read the room,” Derrick said quietly as a small smile was beginning to escape from his lips. “The call's all yours.”

  Malakie’s hand rose up his face, his fingers pulling together before finally landing on the side of his head. “Go. You’ve got two minutes, Derrick. Two. Don’t make me have to come after you.”

  Derrick simply nodded and walked down the aisle, took a left, and entered the restroom, making sure to lock the door behind him. Inside, in the far left corner, was the toilet bowl bolted down next to a metal handrail and across to the right sat a small shower area and a baby changing station.

  Think, Derrick, think, he urged himself. Just because Malakie can’t kill me doesn't mean Afra won't. It looks like he’s found my replacement already.

  Just my luck. Of course the bathroom I would find has a faulty window. He began to look frantically again but nothing was coming to mind. Derrick’s eyes glanced frantically around the room until they fell upon a small, rectangular window on the back wall. He lunged over and tried to heave it open, but the frame was jammed tight.

  Is this how it’s really going to end? Like this? Then, his eyes cast over to the handrail. He realized with a jolt that the bar wasn't welded—he could unscrew it with his bare hands. He moved quickly, knowing time was against him, and got straight to work. He gripped the cold metal and twisted with every ounce of strength he had left until the bolts groaned and gave way. He breathed a shallow sigh of relief as he pulled the bar free then walked back toward the window.

  He took one glance behind him, then slipped the bar through the gap and began to leverage it against the frame. He threw his weight into it until, with a sudden crack, the window popped open.

  His eyes lit up; he finally had a way out. But it was never going to be that easy. The pressure snapped, and the bar flew back, clattering against the restroom door with a deafening bang as Derrick lost his balance and fell hard onto his backside.

  Malakie’s senses perked up; his head snapped to the side, his ear tilting as he strained to catch the sound again. "Did you hear that?" Malakie asked the cashier.

  The cashier hesitated, torn between saying yes or no. He settled on nodding his head up and down repeatedly. Without a word, Malakie turned and stormed toward the restroom door.

  “Derrick! Derrick, you good?” Malakie shouted, slamming his fist against the wooden door. He waited, but he was met with nothing but silence.

  Malakie’s eyes snapped to the clock; Derrick had been in there for three minutes. He took a step back and launched a heavy kick into the door, the wood caving in as the whole frame shook.

  Derrick, already halfway through the opening, began to panic. He scrambled to shimmy himself faster, his shoulders scraping against the frame as he fought to squeeze through.

  The cashier rushed from behind his till toward the restroom door. “Hey, you can’t do that!” he cried, fumbling with a ring of keys to show Malakie he could unlock it.

  Malakie stepped to the side, allowing the cashier to unlock the door. As it swung open, Malakie shoved the man out of the way and stormed into the room. Derrick was almost out, but almost wasn't close enough.

  Malakie lunged across the room, catching Derrick just as his legs were about to disappear through the gap. He grabbed him by the ankles and began hauling him back inside, ignoring Derrick’s frantic kicks and screams as he dragged him.

  “No! Let me go, let me go!”

  “Shut up, Derrick! Shut up now!”

  Derrick wouldn’t give up; he saw his freedom on the other side and fought his hardest against him, but Malakie wasn’t going to play fair; he was playing nasty. His left hand released from Derrick's thigh and Derrick’s eyes widened.

  Now’s my chance, I can actually do this. Tears of joy began to flood his cheeks. Tears that were released too prematurely.

  As Derrick pushed and pushed, using the strength of his loved ones to fight back, Malakie’s hand drifted up his leg and with a violent stab of his thumb he buried it as deep as he could into Derrick’s bullet wound.

  Derrick released a screeching cry and for a moment his body went numb and his resistance hit zero. Malakie, noticing the resistance had stopped, dragged Derrick through with one big pull, causing Derrick’s body to cannon off the ground.

  Derrick began rolling around on the floor screaming, holding his wound in agony.

  “What part of shut up don’t you understand, Derrick?” Malakie said, jabbing his gun in Derrick’s direction. “You only have yourself to blame; you forced my hand. I told you: no smart shit. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

  The cashier watching began to panic. “I’m going to call the police,” he said as he turned and tried to make a run for it, but Malakie was too fast. He quickly ran around in front of him and pushed him back.

  “Please sir—please, I have a wife and kids,” the cashier said as he raised his hands up towards his face in fear.

  Malakie walked up toward him slowly, placing a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder as if to comfort him. Then, he swung. The butt of his gun connected squarely between the cashier’s eyes with a sickening crack. He dropped to the floor and began to see double as blood poured down his face.

  Derrick, squinting and still holding his leg, looked over toward the chaos unfolding. “So what then Malakie, you going to kill him too? I don’t think Afra licensed that one now, dog,” Derrick said, still wincing in pain.

  Malakie began pacing back and forth and then it dawned on him: the photo pinned against the wall behind the cashier's desk, a woman and two children. A wicked smile began to play on his lips as he stopped, turned, then looked down at the cashier.

  “This is what’s going to happen. Derrick, you’re going to come with me. And as for you, if you even think about calling the police when we’re gone, remember this—I know exactly what your wife and daughters look like.”

  The cashier took a huge gulp. His heart became an erupting volcano.

  “Is that understood?” Malakie asked as he aimed the gun at Derrick and stared into the helpless eyes of the cashier.

  “Understood—understood,” the cashier said frantically as he curled up in a ball and began crying.

  “Good,” Malakie said as he walked over and pulled Derrick up off of the floor. “Nearly pulled that crap off, didn't you? But you won’t get another shot, I promise you that,” he said as he dragged Derrick out of the restroom and through the service station with one arm while pressing the gun at his back with the other.

  The pair stopped in front of the car and Malakie opened the back door. “Get in now—and cuff yourself.”

  “Malakie,” Derrick said, holding up his weight on his good leg. “Whatever Afra is promising you, I’m telling you it’s not worth it. Look where I am now; he’s just going to do the exact same thing to you when he’s done. It may not be today, tomorrow, or even five years from now, but one day you will wake up and you will be right here where I stand, in my shoes, and you will ask yourself—why didn’t I listen to Derrick? You can just walk away. You didn’t make the deal I made—you’re free. Free from his clutches. Do it your own way.”

  Clap. Clap. Clap. “I give it to you, Derrick. You’re good, really good. So good you almost convinced me—just a little,” he said, bringing his thumb and index finger above each other.

  “I’m serious, Malakie. You may feel I’m saying this as I have nothing left to play, and being honest—part of me is, but the other part you know is the truth whether you want to admit it or not: he will swallow you whole.”

  Malakie paused for a second then curled over laughing hysterically. As he stood upright, with tears of laughter streaming down his face, he punched Derrick in the stomach, causing the spit from the back of his throat to shoot down toward the floor as he hunched over.

  “We both know that once you swore us in, it doesn’t matter who’s at the top of the food chain when it comes to our crew, he ain’t just going to let us walk. Still trying to manipulate me right until the very end,” Malakie said as he shook his head.

  “Remember we were brothers first before all of this gang banging, Malakie. Blood's thicker than water.”

  “Yeah—blood's thicker than water but I still drowned under you, didn’t I?” Malakie said as he forced Derrick into the car and cuffed him himself.

  “Whatever Afra chooses to do with you, Derrick, that’s on you. But I wouldn’t want to be you when Afra gets his hands on you.”

  Malakie didn't wait for a rebuttal. He climbed into the driver’s seat, threw the car into gear, and drove away from the station, leaving the terrified cashier behind in a cloud of exhaust and a pile of his own blood.

  Derrick’s head flipped back against the headrest, almost as if he were accepting his fate. But the lingering smell of death clung to Julius’s rotting body—a constant reminder of what might be awaiting him once he reached New York. He wasn’t ready to go. He had so much life left to live: a wife, kids he wanted to see grow... but didn’t every gangster with a family feel that way? He understood the game, and if he was to survive the day, he needed to do something. And fast.