Chapter 3
Like I said before, I had bipolar disorder.
When I was twelve, I beat someone so badly that they ended up in the hospital.
At fourteen, I tried to bury my teacher alive, but it didn't work out.
The cops had me go through a psychological evaluation.
Turned out, I wasn't just bipolar. I also had violent tendencies and straight-up antisocial personality disorder.
Who would ever hire someone like me for anything?
Guess I was just born with the ultimate thug gene.
Before I ran into Nydia, I spent a whole decade holding down the fort for Mike Kingston, keeping his turf in line.
I made a call. "Hey, is that Mike?"
Mike said, "Oh, Victor, what's up? Can't hack it out there and thinking of coming back to work for me? I've been waiting for this day."
I asked, "What's the going rate for a hit these days?"
There was a long pause on the other end.
Mike asked, "Who is it?"
I said, "Frank Warren, a butcher. And can you run a background check on him for me, Mike?"
He hung up, and less than ten minutes later, my phone rang again.
Mike said, "That guy's not even worth making a fuss over. I'll send you a guy. Just go for it. Don't worry, I've got you covered."
That same night, the guy Mike sent over showed up.
He was skinny, with dead eyes that somehow still looked sharp. He was wearing a leather jacket, and at first glance, he looked just like any other guy on the street.
Like people said, the timid feared the bold, and the bold feared the reckless.
Guys like him were the kind who didn't give a damn about their own lives.
"Victor, just call me Jack. What's the plan?" he asked.
I checked the time. It was two in the morning.
I started spamming Linda's phone with call after call, and finally, she picked up.
Her raspy voice exploded with a stream of filthy curses.
She went off for more than ten minutes, and we just let her rant, not saying a word.
Finally, Frank realized something, grabbed the phone out of his wife's hand, and shouted, "What the hell do you want? Who are you? I'm warning you, don't mess with me..."
He ranted for more than a minute, but we didn't pay attention to a single word.
He knew damn well what a silent call meant.
In our world, that was a declaration. No backing down, not until one of us was dead.
Early the next morning, I brought Jack along and staked out the school gate.
Linda would never let her kid skip school. She probably figured it was just some prank.
The little piglet showed up at the corner, and the moment he spotted me, he totally panicked.
He tried to bolt, but Jack grabbed him before he could get away.
We dragged him into that alley.
He totally took after his mom. He started mouthing off at us the second he got the chance.
He shouted, "What do you want? My parents are gonna make you regret this, you bastards! Screw you!"
I slapped him hard across his chubby face, making stars dance in his eyes.
But it was still not enough to make me feel better.
So I gave him a straight kick to the stomach, putting everything I had into it.
He went flying, crashed into the trash can, and started puking his guts out.
He barfed up his breakfast all over the ground.
I walked up and grabbed his fat head, my fingers digging in like claws.
"What did you do to Sophie that day?" I demanded.
He was crying so hard that he could barely get the words out, sniveling that he'd only touched her legs and begging that he'd never dare try it again.
My grip on his shoulder was so tight that I could hear it crack and pop.
Toby bared his teeth in agony, shuddering all over.
"Listen up, you bastard. What you did to her is gonna haunt her for a long time, and now, I'm making sure you've got your own scars to remember," I said.
With that, I propped him up against the trash can.
I slammed my knee into his crotch as hard as I could.
Again and again.
At first, he howled in pain, but then he just blacked out.
I dumped him straight into the trash can.
The thing hadn't been emptied in days, packed with reeking, rotten garbage. Rats and cockroaches kept darting out from the mess.
Suddenly, I remembered something. Just to make sure he woke up, I pissed all over him.
"Tell me where you live, and I'll call your mom to come rescue you," I said.
He was half-conscious, so he blurted it out, "It's 603, Building 5, Block B, Season Garden. Please, get her to save me! Now!"
With brains like that, he really thought he was getting into a top university?
Seriously, he should just go raise pigs instead.
"Hey, food delivery," I called out as I pressed the doorbell.
Linda's voice came from inside, "Who is it? I didn't order any food. Quit messing around."
She came up to the peephole, and then started cursing me out.
She yelled, "Victor? What the hell do you want? Breaking into someone's house is a felony!"
I held up my phone and flashed her a shot of her darling boy, wallowing in a mountain of garbage.
Linda went ballistic, stormed into the kitchen for a knife, then threw open the door and came at me swinging.
Jack forced her back into the room, wrenched her wrist, and the knife hit the floor with a clang.
"Victor, what now? Should I kill her right here?" Jack asked.
I picked up the knife from the floor. Just hearing the word "kill" was enough to make Linda burst into tears.
"What do you want? I'm warning you, when my husband gets back, he'll tear you both to pieces!" she screamed.