Trouble at Club B part 3
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Von had not been happy when told the gunman got away. 66 didn’t
mention the tattoo. It made little sense to 66, it would make less to Von, and
66 couldn’t afford to have Von suspicious. The gunman with the Twenty-Two
tattoo wasn’t the real 22, but if 66 started telling people that without proof
or explanations, there was little reason for any of them to believe him. And if
they didn’t believe him, then trouble would begin again and right now 66 still
needed the benefits of being a member of a crew. As long as they were out hunting,
it gave him time to recuperate and to make a new plan. It would be best if he
was the one who found the gunman, preferably alone and in a position to bludgeon
fake 22 to the point that no one would question why a portion of his skin was
removed. If someone else found him first and caught glimpse of the ink then both
he and 47 could be in trouble.
47 was surprisingly relaxed about the situation.
“Someone is pretending to be one of us. And shooting up the town.”
“We all have different numbers. Why would anyone think we had
anything to do with this guy?”
“They’re all in the same style. We’re hitmen who go by numbers. It’s
not a giant leap. And this guy is targeting everyone. Anyone could catch him. Anyone
could see us.”
“So, start wearing long sleeves.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
“We’ll get him first. You almost had him. This time we won’t fail.”
“This time he knows we’re on to him. He’ll change his behavior and
the way he strikes.”
“We adapt. It’s what we do. What the fuck happened to you in Bandung?
You used to be one ice-cold bad-ass killer. We track his movements, we find
him, we kill him. Bang bang bang. Just like we do all the time.”
66 wondered what had happened to 47. So casual, so cavalier. 33 had
been that way. It was all a big joke to him. Killing and drinking and eating
and spending money. And then killing again so he could keep the cycle going.
Maybe he had been like that too, but it didn’t seem real to him anymore. Had
this ever been fun, he asked himself. Certainly not. But it was so long ago, he
couldn’t quite remember how he felt when he got the tattoo or why he did it. It
was a different world back then. Joining a crew and making money seemed like
the only option. Now? He wasn’t sure about now. He wasn’t sure where he could
go. Fara had seen something in him and thought he could be better. But Fara was
gone. And the dangers remained.
66 and 47 divided their time between trying to find the gunman and
guarding Von’s shipments to the various dealers around town. That night they were
headed to Club B, where several of Von’s men supplied party-goers with a little
extra fun. 66 wasn’t in the mood for it, but he had no other choice.
66 was guarding the door to the manager’s office, when he saw a
man cross the nightclub and approach 47. He didn’t recognize the man, but when he
reached for 47’s arm, 66 knew they were in trouble.
47 threw the first punch, but the man dodged it with some amount
of skill, and it seemed like he was ready for battle. People screamed and another
man came charging around a corner. 66 heard someone yell police.
66 didn’t want to fight, but he had no choice. He had to get 47
and get out of there. If the police had made a connection with the tattoo, then
they were both in for a lot of trouble. 66 headed towards the fight.
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