Page 2 of Clover

“Marco,” I nod in response. Zander takes his place next to me, and we both set the duffle bags on top of Marco’s desk.

“Is this my new product?”

“Yes, sir.”

He begins to open one bag and pull out the new pills the Shaw’s engineered. Apparently, it’s similar to Oxy but mixed with elements of ecstasy and THC to create a completely unique trip. I’m not particularly a huge fan of psychotropics or hallucinogens and have yet to partake in this new brand of drug. Seeing talking pink elephants isn’t really my thing. Not to say I haven’t tried it a few times in my life.

The pills Marco is inspecting are brightly colored pink and blue capsules. NicknamedHarley. The story was when they were testing it, someone started acting suspiciously like Harley Quinn, and the reference sort of stuck.

The small baggies of brightly colored pills roll around in Marco’s hands as he continues to play with them. Seemingly taking his time admiring his new product.

“If that’s all, we’ll take the payment and be on our way.” My impatience was obvious in my flat tone. I want to get paid and get gone.

“Yes, of course.” Gesturing with one hand, the four men who were casually lingering around the room reposition themselves behind us, blocking our exit. Marco doesn’t move from his spot in his chair behind the desk. Nor does he move to pay us.

A pulse of unease shoots up my spine, and I straighten, defenses on high alert. We have never had any issues with Marco and his men before. This is extremely unusual. Preparing myself mentally and physically for whatever may come next as I side-eye his men in my peripheral. I don’t have time for this bullshit.

“Braxton and I have negotiated a special price for this shipment.”

“We don’t care what price you have negotiated as long as you make payment promptly,” Zander states flatly. I second his opinion. We don’t handle the price or the production. We are simply the muscle paid to deliver the shipment safely and collect our fucking money.

“Give him their payment, boys.”

At Marco’s command, his men encroach closer on us, trapping us in. I knew there was something suspicious about this whole situation. Marco’s men draw their guns, but before they can aim any of them at us, Zander and I take action. Drawing out our own weapons from belt holsters and turn them to the four men advancing on us. They’ve decided to take the two on one approach. Two of them for each one of us.

The first guy coming at me is a decent-sized man. Well-built from what I can see under his dark blue dress shirt. The barrel of his pistol looks to be a Glock, possibly a Smith & Wesson, most likely a .40. not really something I want blasting through my skull at this moment. As his first shot echoes out of the chamber, I manage to grab his hand, holding the gun, and angle it just enough to my left that the bullet misses my head. Thank fuck. But hold goddamn shit, I can’t hear a fucking thing out of my left ear now. A nice high pitch ring is now the only sound coming from my left as I twist the man in my arms and use him as a shield from the spray of bullets coming at me from his back up.

The bullets riddle my human shield, his head lulling and his body growing heavy in my hold. Soon it’ll be more of a hindrance than a help to hold him up.

Aiming my gun at the second guy’s kneecaps from around my sagging shield, I pull the trigger. He goes down just as I drop the first man, who is now literally dead weight, in my arms. The second one drops to one knee like a man proposing to his girlfriend, holding his blown-out knee crying in pain. Now armed with my Desert Eagle 50 cal in my right hand and the dead goons Glock 40 in my left, I aim both at the kneeling man and fire. His shoulders, head, and torso jerk back with each bullet that makes contact. Red rimmed holes appearing where each of my shots land.

The man twitches and gurgles something incomprehensible until his lifeless corpse drops to the floor with a heavy thud. A thick puddle of dark red blood seeps from underneath him, merging with the already steadily growing puddle from the first guy. His still pumping heart slowing as his blood loss grows.

I’d known that man for at least three years. He’s been with Marco for a while and always part of his security detail. He wasn’t a bad guy—made small talk every now and then when I wasn’t in a particularly shitty mood. I think his name was Steve or Stephan or some shit like that. Didn’t stop me from putting a dozen bullets in him when the time came to make a choice. That’s the lesson they have to learn. It doesn’t matter who the fuck you are or how long you’ve been in the organization. We will take you down ourselves if and when it becomes necessary.

When I turn to assist my cousin, I find Zander has already disposed of the other two men as effectively as I have my own. At our feet lay all four, dead or dying. Small droplets of splatter flecking Zanders cheek mirror similar blood splatter on my own face. Now to take care of the source of the problem, at least the problem at hand. I know Braxton is at the center of all this, but currently, Marco is the lucky recipient of my wrath. One that has been growing every second since Braxton arrived in my bar.

Raising the barrel of my Desert Eagle 50 magnum, Zander and I square off shoulder to shoulder with Marco. Now standing trying to protect himself, he wields two gold-plated Springfield 1911 45’s Each pointed at one of us. He makes no move to fire. Fear and deep contemplation twist his face into uncertainty.

“Interesting form of payment.”

“Like I said, special price.” He states plainly.

“So, Braxton paid you to kill us.” It’s more of a statement rather than a question from my cousin at my side. We both know what’s going on here.

“More like a trade,” Marco answers coyly, still hiding behind his desk.

“And what happens if you don’t deliver on your end?”

“That’s not an option, and you know it.” His nervousness at his current predicament starts to show through his mask. Cracking his resolve to go through with this risky execution.

“Well, that leaves us in a sticky situation. Doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it does.” He says shakily.

“From where I stand, it doesn’t look good for you in any outcome. Whatever choice you make, you end up dead. Except one. One gives you the opportunity to keep breathing.”

My words sink in as his eyes dart back and forth between myself and Zander. Deciding if he should take the escape I’ve dangled in front of him, like a golden carrot, or attempt to kill us and most likely die trying.

---