Page 39 of Generation Lost

“I must say, you’re very brave coming here alone, just the two of you.”

“Now, you know we’re not alone,” smirked Nine. “You have eleven men in this house. I have twenty-three outside right now.”

DiBenedetto frowned at him, turning slightly to look out the window. Except the window was blocked by a massive body who was blowing fog on his glass, then wiping it with his elbow.

“Hey, Nine! Hey, y’all! This is sure a pretty house. Hey, your guard is takin’ a nap. He ain’t hurt, but he’s gonna have a headache,” smiled Tailor, waving like an excited child.

“That fucker is crazy,” said St. Pierre.

“Maybe. But he’s a great warrior,” grinned Nine.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” asked DiBenedetto.

“We know what you’ve been doing. We know what Rizzoli was doing. Of course, we ended that little scam, but we knew what she was doing. We know why you’re doing it. You provide the funds for the U.S. government to look like choir boys catching the armed terrorists, and they look the other way while you build casinos that traffic women, drugs, and counterfeit money.”

The three men said nothing, just staring at Michael and Nine.

“It’s alright,” said Michael, “no need to verify it. We know it’s true. Here’s what we want to know. What do you get out of this deal? See, we know that they’re getting billions and looking like saints catching all the nasty, bad-guy terrorists. But what do you get other than being left alone?”

“Sometimes being left alone is a good thing,” said St. Pierre.

“And what do you think they’re going to do if a light is shined on them? Who do you think they’re going to point the finger at for all of this if the hammer comes down on them and they’re exposed?” asked Michael.

“What are you asking us to do?”

“I didn’t ask you to do shit, yet,” smirked Michael. “I’m asking what your grand plan is in all this?”

“There is no grand plan,” said Varovski. “We are businessmen. We are here to make money and expand our business.”

“Do you really think the government will let you do that?” asked Michael. “They won’t. Believe me, I know they won’t. The current president’s rating has been hurting lately. The little stunt he pulled last week helped, but it will slowly go back down again, and he’ll need something else to boost it. He’ll use you all as scapegoats.”

“What do you want from us?” asked DiBenedetto. “What did you do with Xi?”

“Xi?” smirked Nine. “We didn’t do anything with him. It’s my understanding that he decided to leave the country, return home, and take care of some things.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” said Nine, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

The men recognized a warrior when they saw one, and this man had killed without guilt many, many times. His arms were thick and sinewy with muscle, his face marred by age, experience, and war. But he was solid, and they knew enough to not push too hard.

“Alright. We’ll buy that Xi might have left of his own accord. What is it you want from us?” asked St. Pierre.

“Nothing,” smiled Michael. “We’re just letting you know that the government will soon be using you as their scapegoats. The world will believe them, and you’re going to be stuck inside a country that hates you, despises you.”

“How do you know this?” asked DiBenedetto.

“Oh, I have a few really smart friends who are able to figure things out. I’m telling you to heed my words. Stop helping them, get out of the fucking country, or you’ll be the ones on the terrorist list,” said Michael.

“And if we don’t?”

Nine and Michael stood, forcing the others to stand so that they weren’t straining their necks looking up at them.

“If you don’t, I’ll be forced to use my specialty. And my specialty is terrorist hunting,” said Nine. “And I always get what I’m hunting.”

They turned and left the room, the three men just staring at them as they walked out the front door. St. Pierre held up his finger, waiting to be sure that they were out the door and gone before they spoke.

Before they could say anything, someone banged on the window, waving at them like an idiot.

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