Chapter 2 Justin Hunt

• Justin Hunt is a patient man.
• A very patient man.
• He sits in his car, the slender fingers of his left hand softly tapping the steering wheel harmoniously as he waits.
• Bold. No backup either, not something the other mafia leaders ever do. Or perhaps his men are hanging back somewhere on the street.
• Justin hates discovering traitors in his syndicate but he can't deny he extremely enjoys taking them out, especially those who have some fight left in them. It just makes everything all the more fun and worth the wait.
• Justin is perhaps the most malicious mafia there is, with more ambition to deceive and control. He cares not whether his victims are helpless or hazardous, weak or powerful. Violence brings satisfaction. Part of him craves it, the sheer joy of causing pain is exhilarating. No one is indispensable to him and everyone in his life fulfils a purpose. People are simply pawns to him...
• Ahn Min-Hyuk, that bastard, has the guts to betray him. Selling information about hIs mafia's shipment routes. Justin has been robbed of five million. But he doesn't care about the money. This isn't about the money nor is it about the shipment... he just hates disloyal fuckers and likes getting rid of them more.
• Justin has been sitting here since seven o'clock in the morning and now it's ten o'clock at night, still, Min-Hyuk has not once stepped foot out of the derelict building he chose for a hideout.
• What Min-Hyuk doesn't know is that his former boss is like a vulture. Justin can wait out for him for hours, days and nights too. He's a patient man, he'll sit back and wait for the bastard to expire, to come crawling out of his pitiful excuse of a hideout.
• He could have simply walked in and killed the man, but where is the thrill in doing that, it's too simple, less bloody and a too-quick death for the disloyal fool. He wants the motherfucker to squirm and run so he could give chase.
• Justin hasn't been out in a while, stuck behind his desk for months doing fucking paperwork, he wants some action, some fun. And so he sits and sits, drumming softly against the steering wheel. He rolls down the window and flicks the last bit of ashes off his cigarette before his black eyes wander the street, it's quiet and derelict.
• The lack of illumination from the street lamps gives it away first, although there are still some street lamps, stubbornly shining into the night. Perhaps years back, this avenue was once bathed in pools of yellow light from the weather battered street lamps.
• Years ago these streets were rivers of people night and day. This was once a street where real life had been, the turning of skipping ropes and shrieks of children. But now it's the kind of place you hold your wallet tight and your kids tighter. The street is a skeleton, stripped off its flesh long ago by the gang wars and crimes that ravage it.
• The town is like a mortally wounded creature now. Though the neighbourhood is mostly re-built, some derelict buildings remain. The buildings are a dilapidated mess. The two-storey homes and derelict stores are clustered close together.
• The concrete of the lane is cracked and sun-bleached, the houses on each side were once gaily painted, but now peel, crackle and flake. The buildings are defaced with graffiti and anything that broke stayed broken.
• Dead streets - streets of death - death in the streets and their houses; yet people are still able to sleep and are still sleeping.
• The residents were forced to learn how to live with and walk past the drug addicts and criminal gangs that are now a fact of life here. Although anyone who could afford to move fled to a different area.
• But crime is everywhere, it doesn't matter where you are.
• The streets scream poverty but in fact, they are million-dollar streets for the mafia. This avenue is the hottest street in the town, money flows like water here. A drop-off and pick up zone for all their drugs.
• The bigger, larger deals are carried out in smokey bars – arms dealing. Everything runs smoothly here because the residents know how to keep their mouths shut.
• Justin checks his watch again. A quarter to eleven.
• Despite the lateness of the hour, there should still be lights shining through the windows and the local bar should still be doing a brisk business. Perhaps news has already spread that the big boss is in the area. A possible reason as to why the block is deserted.
• A figure appears from the shadows.
• A stringy boy, yet to gain bulk for his bones, he can't be much over twenty. His arms are more ink than skin, his blonde hair is unruly; thrown back into a messy ponytail at the base of his head. Hair from the slightly layered cut isn't included in the ponytail.
• The haircut on the young man is a statement of sorts, he's shooting for "tough guy" but instead is achieving "insecure."
• He's less "warrior" and more "Bambi in the woods."
• With pierced brows, his vibrant orchid eyes are as direct as expected, not even blinking as much as the average person. There's a hint of a scar slashed from his upper cheekbone to his lips on the right side of his face.
• With a flick of his hand, appears a group in black hoodies. There are three of them, one girl and two guys. The girl is short and thin and smoking a blunt.
• Justin observes the two guys until he's sure they are teenagers.
• For the most part, they are too skinny to be full-grown, their muscles too stretched over their recently enlarged skeletons. Yet neither are they young teens, the swagger of the later teens fully in place. They move like guys gaining a sense of surety in themselves and perhaps that's the most dangerous phase of all – physically competent without the experience to know when to show restraint.
• Then from the shadows comes another group of teenagers, three more guys, two of them looking like they'd grown too much too soon. The others aren't so thin, at least one sporting some pre-growth spurt chub. Every one of them is wearing a hoodie pulled up over a baseball cap and a blue armband.
• The blonde guy stubs his cigarette out on the parched concrete. He raises his head to gaze at the group.
• The group of teenagers gather in a circle on the moon-bleached sidewalk. From body to body they are so tight it's impossible to see what is going on inside. After a minute they break the circle, faces ashen.
• "First job nerves... How cute." Justin chuckles to himself.
• The blonde guy has his boys placed in strategic positions, each with a different weapon, as they wait for the bag man to come through with the drop and pick up the money and drop another package.
• With this shipment, his boss would rule the downtown, control both drugs and extortion rackets.
• He leans back on the concrete wall of the old police station with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he's merely waiting for a bus on a spring day and crunches on an apple.
• Before he takes another bite, a black sedan cuts the corner — it's the drop. He takes that second bite and crunches it slowly.
• "Heads up. Stay sharp." He instructs making sure his team is on point keeping their eyes open for anything shady.
• Justin watches with amusement as the gang steps forward with more confidence than they had, standing on high alert, triggers pointed, cocked, locked and loaded.
• The blonde guy pulls away from the wall, turns and looks at the girl behind him. She pushes a duffle bag toward him. He picks it up by the handle as the sedan slows to a stop in the middle of the street. The blonde starts toward it while his boys secure the perimeter.
• Justin's lips quirk up as he watches their little operation go down.
• Shit is going down smoothly... But they have no idea what is coming to them.
• They don't pay attention to the car that is parked about a hundred yards away. They don't notice the man sitting in his car, his black eyes drilling into them.