Chapter 27 THE BOSS IN SHADOW

Seven years earlier

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

A U R E Y

I'm slipping, I'm falling, I can't get up, hey yo I'm slipping, I'm falling I can't get up.

As the metal rod sears into my chest, DMX's song plays on repeat in my head.

Pain.

Excruciating pain engulfs my whole being.

It's all I feel right now.

My chest feels like it's going to cave in on itself, like it's going to implode any minute.

Weasel's hands on the rod never slips, never wavers, it's solid against my chest. A smirk finds its way to his lips and get's tattooed there permanently, as his eyes bore into mine unwaveringly.

He gives me the full treatment of pain, shock and hurt, all rolled into one.

Burning flesh suddenly permeates the air, as revulsion begins to claw it's way up my throat, threatening to come out as puke, but I painfully swallow it down.

I crank up a memory from long ago when I visited the African museum and saw pictures of the slaves. They had large stamped numbers on their chests, tagging them and showing all and sundry they were for sale.

For a long time after, I couldn't wrap my head around what I saw.

Now I understand it clearly.

It hurts like a motherfucking bitch.

My eyes flick up to weasel's again. Through the pain, it hits me.

He's goading me, daring me to show my pain, show my weakness, behave like an invalid.

But he doesn't get it.

I live for dares.

So instead of whimpering like a dog as he expects me to, succumbing to the mind-numbing pain and caving in on myself like my whole world is shattering all around me, I bite my tongue, swallow the cry threatening to spill forth, and . . .

Take it like a man.

I chin up, puff out my chest, look weasel straight in the eyes and lift up an enquiring brow.

Bring it on.

At first his smirk stays put, but after a few seconds of watching me, he presses the rod harder against my chest, and I almost black out from the pain, instead, I dig my nails into my palms and keep sucking in shuddering breaths, expelling them, like a woman in labour about to give birth to a child.

Only difference would be I'd be giving birth to pain.

After what feels like centuries, Weasel eases up and completely removes the rod from my chest.

A popping, crackling sound can be heard as part of my skin gets stuck to it, making him wrench it free. I let out a slight whimper as part of my skin tears away, the pain ricochetting through me.

I know I should look at the damage done on my chest, but I don't want to. Probably go ape shit if I do.

I bite down on my tongue as the jitters overtake my whole being.

I can't stop fucking shaking.

Weasel hefts me up with the strength of five men, and pushes me towards the direction he first came through. My chest throbs painfully as we whiz past sections of the cave. No lighting of any sort graces these areas, we're completely cloaked in darkness. If we keep up at this pace, I'm definitely gonna pass out. The dizziness is coming on strong now. I'm only holding on to my wits by a thread.

Suddenly, Weasel stops abruptly and raps on a panel door etched into the side of the cave.

I hear a muffled voice from inside and the door opens, revealing a dim interior. I stand transfixed as I stare into the yawning gaping hole.

"Enter!" A muffled voice speaks from within.

I look behind me, but Weasel has dissapeared. He's nowhere to be seen.

Yup! He slinked off like the animal he is, leaving me alone to face the music.

Not knowing what lies ahead, but understanding that I need to do this, I walk unsteadily inside.

"Sit down!" A garbled distorted voice speaks.

I still can't see anyone, neither can I see a chair, so I shuffle to the side and double up in pain. Standing in the open will only make me an easy target.

A deep chuckle reverberates throughout the room, making the hairs on my hand stand up. In that same garbled distorted voice, the man begins to speak.

"I'm very sorry you had to go through all that, Aureliano, but I have a standard to keep. You had to go through the pain of getting your chest stamped in order to test how badly you wanted to belong to the upper class. So welcome, to The upper echelons."

I hope Tracy is listening to this man speak. If not, all the pain I went through would be for nothing.

Suddenly, light shines on a figure sitting behind a huge mahogany desk. Try as much as I can to strain my eyes, all that's visible is from a single elbow down, and even that is covered in a black sleeve with a white shirt peeking out from beneath it. Looks like he's wearing a jacket, or maybe it's a tuxedo, although I'm willing to bet it's the latter. A glass extends from his hand in which a golden-tinged liquid lies within.

I do a double take as I hone in on his hand, squinting at it like my life depends on it.

It probably does, but the point I'm trying to make right now is, his hand is dark skinned, and that's my first clue right there.

He's obviously a negro, unless he's trying to confuse me by using some type of dye, which is wierd, because then he'll know I'm on to him, in which case I'd have already been dead, or as Weasel said ---- food for the fish.

So yeah, he's either African . . . or African American.

"Salute!" That garbled voice speaks out once more, and the hand retreats, most probably to gulp his drink down.

Lord! I could use a stiff drink right about now.

Really fucked up not extending one to me, but hey, I'm not complaining. I'm only too happy to still be alive.

I stand to the side, watching with suddenly blurry eyes. I'm almost slumping with pain and fatigue. I try to stand up straight, but my limbs are not having it. They feel like Jell-O. Sweat breaks out all over my whole body and the shakes ---- they're back in full force.

If I don't get the fuck of here soon, I'll faint on my feet.

Unexpectedly, I feel my knees buckling. I reach out to hold onto something, but finding nothing, I go down fast, my knees hitting the ground first. Pain explodes in my brain at the contact.

From far away, I hear someone talking but it's meaningless in the face of my pain.

" ------- in touch with you soon. ------ hear me?" The voice weaves in and out of my consciousness as the rest of my body crumples to the floor.

Last thing I see before closing my eyes is a red signet ring on long fingers cradling the side of my face.

*

The next few days see's me fighting an infection as a result of the wound on my chest.

Tracy hangs around, nursing me like the 'real girlfriend' she's not.

Who woulda thought? Me getting nursed by an FBI agent.

That's almost a rarity, yet here I am being tended to by the world's best 'fake girlfriend.'

You don't see me complaining though.

"How do you know all this shit?" My words come out jumbled, as I point to the thermometer hanging from the corner of my mouth.

"My mother was a nurse. She used to treat us all the time when my siblings and I fell ill."

A beep sounds off and Tracy removes the little plastic stick from my mouth.

"Great! Your temperature has gone down, you near scared me to death when you came drunk-walking through that door."

She removes the now-damp cloth from my forehead and places it in a wash hand bowl on the bedside table.

After I dropped like a log of wood at the cave ---- not my most promising look ---- I was brought home by Sting. I didn't even want to ask him how he knew where I lived. I'm guessing they must have eyes and ears everywhere.

Luckily mama was at work, so I was able to crawl into my room undetected. I have no recollection of what happened thereafter, but I found myself walking through Tracy's door and slumping in her arms. Ever since, I've been recuperating at her place.

Can't lie, I'm flattered she left everything to look after me.

"Were you able to find out who he is?" I'm feeling slightly drowsy. Sleeping pills are already kicking in.

"Our technicians are working on it as we speak. The boss used a voice distortion technique to cloak his voice. Downside is it takes 72 hours to unlock that type of technology, but today's the last day and we've only got a few more hours to spare. Joe's gonna crack it, rest assured." There's a pause as she goes quiet, probably cooking up another plot on how to catch The boss. "Does it hurt?" She leans close and inspects my chest.

"Not much! Apart from a slight itch, feels pretty cool."

She lifts my hand in the air, turns it round to reveal my wrist where a small incision is barely visible, and then proceeds to remove a small needle from a pack by the bedside table. I feel a a pin prick as the needle is inserted in the folds of my wrist, a slight tug and she pulls a microchip out.

"You were right. The FBI has really evolved. Obtaining someone's information from this tiny thing. Just . . . wow!" I stare at the chip in her hand in awe.

"Yup! He won't get away from ----" But she doesn't get to finish speaking, because her phone begins ringing. She picks it up from the bedside table. "Yeah, Malone here . . . What!" She shoots up, immediately knocking down the first aid kit, the contents flying around, some of it landing on my bandaged chest.

After a few seconds of her face undergoing varying facial expressions, most of it horror, she cuts the call and slumps onto the bed beside me.

"What's wrong?" I try to sit up, but the pain in my chest spears me like a dagger and I wearily lie back onto the bed. Sleep's flown away now.

"It's the recording. Someone broke into our guy's house and . . . stole it." Her voice sounds forlorn and defeated.

"What!" It's my turn to shoot up from the bed, this time ignoring the pain. "You mean all the crap I went through was for nothing? Fuckkkk!" I kick the first aid kit lying on the floor. Feels like my head's going to burst any moment now from the sudden headache.

"Please calm down, it's not over yet. You still have another appointment with The boss. We'll catch him, I promise you." She places a hand on my forearm and helps me back onto her bed.

"You sure?" I lift enquiring eyes to her.

"You've got another appointment with him next week, right?"

I nod in reply.

"Well then, you've got another chance, but you've got to be extra careful, because they're on to us. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing can go wrong, although . . ." She doesn't continue, suddenly deep in thought.

"Although, what?" It's my neck on the line now. If they're on to us, it means they know something's amiss. It also means there's a mole in the FBI, someone she's been talking to, because I sure as heck didn't talk to anyone." I turn to her, a frown on my face. "Did you tell anyone about this mission?"

"No, I didn't, although my uncle . . ." She stops short, her eyes going big and round.

"Your uncle, what? Spit it out, already." I'm getting restless now. The earlier she talks, the best I can run the fuck away from it all.

"He was at the cave you went to, posing as one of The boss's men. I only hope he wasn't sabotaged."

"You mean the one I saw with you on the day of my graduation?"

She nods, but her mind is far away.

This shit is getting deeper by the day.

"Why didn't you tell me? And who is he, though? He work for the FBI, too?" Finally, I'll get to know what his role in this whole shit is.

"Nope!" Her eyes skip everywhere, not once meeting mine.

Something's definitely up.

Just as I open my mouth to tell her to spit it out, she lets out a bag of rattlesnakes that she's been holding onto all this while.

"He's a drug lord."