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There’s so much going on, but what’s clear is that the two women need help. Another man comes into view; his blonde hair, slick with water, glints with help from the streetlamp. He’s even taller than the one before me, a mammothly huge, Hulk Hogan-looking fucker. Something else catches my eye, and I zoom in to get a closer look at him.

The man with his back to me speaks under his breath, just loud enough for me, and hopefully, my camera, to hear. “This fucking slut thinks we’re going to let her go.” He spits his guttural laugh on her face.

The image on my camera is far better than the one my eyes have, so I focus on it and gasp. I not only recognize the blonde mammoth, but I fucking know him.

Vork–subordinate to only one other.

No one knows who reigns above him and leads the ever-expanding crew that threatens civilians. Vork is good at keeping ordinary citizens cowed, using blackmail and the promise of a slow death, unless they comply with his demands.

He and his invisible boss have the police force eating out of their hands, keeping their pockets full of cash, their noses stuffed with coke, and their dicks slick with whatever pussy they demand. He owns every infamous gang banger, each hustler, drug dealer, and pimp.

He’s exactly who Iwantedto catch on surveillance.

I send a silentthank youto my anonymous tipper and zoom back out to emphasize what his surroundings are. Perhaps this will be good enough to put him away. Vork is finally going to be part of the documents I record and publish to the public.

My blog is a source for the people–it’s what they rely on forrealnews broadcasts. My reporting offers them a sense of comfort. They know just what to expect, who not to trust, and places to stay away from. While the media projects what they want the public to believe, it’s my posts that they turn to.

What I share has never been enough to put anyone behind bars for good. I guess, in this city, criminals are offered the best lawyers for their defense. Maybe, aside from owning the cops, these fuckers keep the best lawyers money can buy. The people have been fucked long enough. It’s like living in Gotham City, only Batman isn’t coming to rescue us.

A noise behind Vork rattles him, and he turns around to yell at his other comrade. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? Finish her already so that we can get the fuck out of here.”

A nervous jolt makes my camera quake in my now freezing hands. Vork and his men are going to kill these women and leave their bodies as evidence. He’s trying to show how impervious he is; that he, and not the police, own the streets. He has no fear.

I have to do something. I can’t let Vork take these women’s lives. I don’t give a shit if prostitution is illegal; it’s no reason for him to brutally rape and slaughter them.

I dig in the front pocket of my sweatshirt and grab hold of the knife, then drop the camera. It hovers over my chest, and I make sure it has a clear view of what is happening in front of me before I step into view.

“Hey!”

Both men turn around. The half-naked girl in the guy’s arm struggles to stay on her feet, yet squints in my direction. Vork looks amused by my knife and small stature. I know what he sees–I’m short and appear to be fifteen years old. To him, I’m a nobody. I’m sure he thinks this is some kind of joke.

The guy who hasn’t shown himself comes into view; he has the frail body of the other female bent over and dangling in front of him, his arms gripping her limp torso.

The one who has his back to me, with the girl in a stranglehold, scopes me up. “Is she for real?”

“As real as the one this fucker’s got,” Vork barks.

“Want me to take care of her, boss?”

Vork puts a hand up. “Johnny,please. What are you going to take care of? This little girl and her butterknife don’t scare me.”

“I called the cops and they’re on their way.” I’m not sure what governed me to say it, but it’s out before I take another step.

Vork laughs. “I’m sure you did, sweetie.”

No one calls the cops anymore. For what? Maybe out of fear, but I think people have gotten used to turning the other way.

The man gripping his victim shoves her to the ground, then zips his pants. “We haven’t even done the other one. What’re we going to do now, boss?”

Vork smiles. “That’s easy. Fetch me thebutterknife girl,and we’ll simply add her to the list.”

Obeying Vork’s command, he walks my way with a smile on his face. I freeze, unwilling to disappoint the people who check my blog by showing them how much of a coward I am when approached by danger. But this isn’t some grocery store robbery with an assailant and his crowbar. This is fucking real.

Suddenly, I recall my brother’s words and flip my bag, then desperately dig inside. The man is in no hurry to get to me. In fact, he seems to rather enjoy his leisurely retrieval. I’m his prey and he gets off on the hunt.

My hand fists an unfamiliar and heavy object, which makes me figure it’s Jule’s birthday gift. I pull it out without looking and pose it in front of me. The guy gasps, frozen in place. Curious, I look down and almost drop the weapon from my grip.

Where the hell did my brother get this, and why would he give it to me?

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