Silent Streets
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The streets had fallen silent. Everyone was worried about the man
with the shotgun. Everyone was trying to figure out what it meant for business
and whose side he was on. So far it seemed like he was on his own side, willing
to rob and murder anyone over anything. He had hit the brothels, the drug dens,
and the underground casinos. The man with the shotgun simply appeared one night
and wasn’t fucking around. He hit any street and any gang and if you got in his
way, didn’t take prisoners.
At first the bosses wondered if he was targeting them or their new
partners in Naxis, but after a couple of days word was out all over town that
the shotgun man was hitting everyone indiscriminately, including the major
families in the heart of Jakarta. Someone had said that was his first big
mistake and that the dragon claw would take care of him. Rama didn’t know what
that meant, but apparently, they must not be that big a threat, for the next day
there were more reports of hijackings and hits. Whoever this man was, he seemed
to know all the weakest targets and easiest locations to hit. Everybody was
paying the price.
It had been a week, and whatever the bosses were working on with Naxis
were put on hold. Security tightened. Crews were put together so there would be
two or three times the men and surveillance could be round-the-clock.
Rama knew his handlers in
the police would be worried about him. He knew he should check in, but he was
stuck with a dozen other men in a two-bedroom apartment, sleeping on mattresses
during the day, patrolling a small street corner at night. He couldn’t get away
if he wanted to. It was a crisis and everyone was on edge. Bagus had been stuck
in the same apartment, so he had his young eyes to contend with as well. The
others might not have blinked if Rama stuck off to get a drink or meet a lady,
but Bagus would have wanted to know every detail and thought of every moment as
a learning opportunity. Rama had been to war before, but had been on the other
side of the law when it happened, so he found himself making up stories whole
cloth to try and teach Bagus a thing or two about how to act.
During the day, when he was unable to sleep, Rama’s mind would drift
to Naxis and The Foreigner, wondering what their plans were with all that
international money. If they were a new partner, meant to expand operations, then
maybe they had hired this gunman. Maybe they were clearing out competition
before they moved in. But if that were the case then why not tell his bosses.
Maybe Naxis was out for themselves. From what he had seen with the money and
what he was sure were printing plates, it seemed more likely that Naxis was more
like a criminal bank, perhaps dabbling in money laundering and counterfeiting. If
so, then they really could have unlimited resources and the ability to hire or
bribe anyone they needed to. He imagined chaos on the streets was not what they
signed up for and would either pull out of Jakarta entirely, which would ruin
his case, or would bring in an army to find this gunman and put and end to him.
If that were the case, then the streets were about to get a whole lot bloodier.
During the nights, he would thing about his dead partner police Kris.
The police were no closer to figuring out who killed him. He still hadn’t
talked to Lea, Kris’ wife. At first out of respect for her grief, but
eventually out of fear. He didn’t know what to say to her. He couldn’t explain
what happened to Kirs. Or tell her that her husband was corrupt. Or ever reveal
what he had done that night. He would take that to his grave.
Rama and his crew met up with Maliq and a dozen other men. They
headed for Club B, a three-story pleasure palace nightclub with all the underground
amenities of debauchery a person could want. It had been a week and the bosses
were itching to start making money again. If two dozen men didn’t deter one man
with a shotgun, they didn’t know what would. Rama hoped they were correct.
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