... Silence, it boils down to that, like the calm before the storm, like that moment of total silence between the press of a button and the roar of the explosion . Is that what you heard Herrera when pressed that red fucking small button, causing the collapse of eighty percent of the buildings in the financial, causing many dead. The government was tired of having his feet Organized Crime and Blood Angels, and took place over many months by several trustworthy men charged, then giving the order to trigger the poor Captain, using as an excuse for the possibility that terrorists were neighbors to possession of a chemical bomb capable of wiping out all of Manhattan.
People have believed, could not have done otherwise, even Herrera believed it, or at least pretended, but from that day his life changed completely. The day after that event, he resigned and was gone: some hours from the dead and those who suggested that it is out of his head and has become a murderess ...
People have believed, could not have done otherwise, even Herrera believed it, or at least pretended, but from that day his life changed completely. The day after that event, he resigned and was gone: some hours from the dead and those who suggested that it is out of his head and has become a murderess ...
It is now five years since that fateful day, and the figure of a man in his fifties makes its way onto our scene, lying on a deck chair in front of a tropical beach somewhere, just him and a few beautiful woman intent on serve him, intent on drinking something from a frozen glass. Two figures behind him, appeared from nowhere without causing any kind of noise ... they approach him, pitch black, wearing a long trench coat open to show several guns.
"Hello Mr. Smith"
thunders one of the two figures, a harsh voice, who knows how many corrupted by smoking cigarettes.
"It remember me? "
The man turns around, make eye contact with that of Jeson Edward Herrera, flanked by a small figure, the woman's face and wearing a pair of sunglasses with mirrored lenses which Simply click your tongue.
"We are here to return the favor"
blast words are the last things that the senator felt throughout his life.
...
Day Ny Bugle says after the death of Senator Smith, one of the other men who supported the destruction of the financial, no witnesses, all dead.
***
"As we bring? What the fuck you bring back?"
A voice disturbs the quiet of an old warehouse that is a fairly young guy who moves his hands convulsively, visibly agitated. Light filters through some beams in the windows, but the rest remains in the dark.
"He's calm Kreig, are back."
Responds another figure, that of a bald man, covered by smoke from the cigarette held between his lips.
Moments and two figures dressed in black entered the room, closing the door behind him:
"Everything went smoothly it seems." , says the bald man.
"doubt it, Lynch?"
replies the girl, while Herrera says nothing, just going to sit down. A figure emerges from the darkness, therefore, the figure of a man no longer young, a must for him a cigarette between his lips
"Well .. Well .. And a less how many still missing?"
Dante Malakian's voice echoes on the walls, his face streaked with a long scar that goes through one eye blindfolded.
"I have no idea .. hopefully many more." The
response comes from a blond intent to have a beer, sitting on a cash on the sidelines, with a sly smile on his lips: Vince Tail.
***
"Fuck."
a low voice, irritated by the tone, it dissolves under the rain in Manhattan Swing in a narrow alley and smelly, full of puddles, more or less deep.
"What?"
asked another voice, equally hard, from what is a man completely covered by a strange suit, known as the Hunter, Owen.
"I got fouled."
The response of the individual, dressed all in black, his fine clothes and a hat that covers the head of the eighties. The left hand holds the hair for a man of middle age, fat and the expensive clothes, his head from side to side pierced by a bullet.
"But who gives a fuck Trash, the important thing is that we killed."
A third man enters the scene, brandishing a gun still smoking, this is Lorenz Smith, sunken cheeks and bags under the eyes caused by who knows how many sleepless nights.
The three individuals are limited to allow them the dead body of Senator Thompson, heading calmly toward the edge of the alley, where there is a car waiting for black door, with the engine running and ready to go. The door opens, inside a young woman, Anja, who waves him to move.
"You want to make a tea for the road?" In short
mounted on the vehicle, which moves away from the place in no time, putting in streets and secondary wasting his tracks.
To be Continued ...
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