With a signal, one of Bartolome’s bodyguards made his way over to them. This one was one of the few in the room not wearing all black. He had on a white collared shirt, dark slacks and wore a holstered pistol underneath each other shoulder. He was completely bald, but had tattoos all over his neck and a few smaller ones on his face. Bartolome whispered something in his ear, quiet enough that even though he was just a foot or so away Arthur couldn’t hear what he said. The man nodded affirmation, and Arthur watched as he walked out the front door, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket before lighting one and stepping outside. Arthur frowned. It wasn’t often someone was given an order to go smoke.

  Bartolome then spoke to him. “Well Mister Arthur Rowe. Whatever your employer sought to evoke out of me by delivering this, I don’t think I will comply with. In fact, I think they misunderstand exactly what this means to me. Obviously you couldn’t have known this, but you are involved nonetheless and your involvement, even on such a surface level, is a problem for me.” Arthur grimaced. “However, one of the reasons I’m where I am today is because of my ability to judge the value of a person. And, based on your willingness to survive and ability to be amusing to me, I’ve determined that you might have use yet. But, you might not like the conditions.”

  Arthur remained silent, so Bartolome continued. “Henceforth, you are my dog. When I say bark, you bark. When I say fetch, fetch. And so on. When I command, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. If you deviate purposefully, if you screw up and ruin my plans, or if you speak in a way I don’t like it, you will die.”

  Bartolome said it so casually that it almost didn’t register with Arthur the first time. The matter of fact way he just threatened to murder Arthur wasn’t something he was used to. But at this point, it didn’t really matter. Arthur blinked, then nodded. “Ok. Yes. I understand.”

  “Good. In exchange, you will keep your life. Until, that is, you inevitably trespass against one of the aforementioned conditions. Or simply decide that you’ve had enough, or maybe have some vision of grandeur in which deposing me benefits you.” Arthur tried to protest that, but Bartolome waved his hand. “It will happen. I have been doing this long enough to know. You might be a little fish but even the smallest prick of poison can bring down a whale. However, as of right now, that is neither here nor there. Right now, you are being given a second chance at a fresh start. You will no longer work for these people, but instead for me. Is this correct?”

  Bartolome asked the question less like he needed someone to verify something, and more like he wanted Arthur to show he was completely on board. Arthur nodded.

  “Good. From now on, you belong to me,” Bartolome finished. He was looking directly at Arthur again, his dark inky pools of eyes probing any kind of reaction from him.

  Arthur processed it all for a moment. He considered what it would really be like, being demanded and ordered around by this man. People who carried around huge guns and took over entire buildings and did god knows what else. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but he was too deep in now. Either work for a bunch of criminals, and probably a psychopath, or die. Arthur asked, “Just so I’m clear, you’re allowing me to live, and in exchange I do anything and everything you say? I’m basically your slave?”

  Bartolome tilted his head again ever so slightly. “I assure you this is a purely professional arrangement, but yes. That’s the short of it. Is that a problem?”

  Arthur looked down at his feet, and thought long, and hard. The first conclusion he came to was that he could play this, twist it. Squeak out of this somehow, negotiate the terms, somehow get around this man and this situation. But he got the feeling he wouldn’t be able to play Bartolome. At least not right now. Bartolome wasn’t stupid, and he held all the cards. The second conclusion, much less prominent in his mind, was telling him that he should take the short way out. Die before working for a criminal gang, doing whatever awful bidding he’d inevitably end up having to do. But weirdly, something inside him felt excited at the prospect. Arthur didn’t like that feeling, instead chocking it up to just not wanting to die. But that felt cowardly.

  “Just kill me then. I won’t be your slave,” Arthur said defiantly. He almost expected Bartolome to leap forward and attack him, but the man just sat there, stone faced, unmoving, like usual. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not, or trying to suss him out, or maybe just waiting for Arthur to give in. Fortunately the silence was broken by the man he’d ordered to go outside returned, smelling of cigarette smoke. He whispered something to Bartolome, who nodded. The bald man then took his position back up in the shadows off to the side, out of sight. Bartolome looked back at Arthur, and Arthur swore he could see a hint of a smile.

  “My associate here tells me that your employer is watching us. They’re interested to see how I will react. I think they’re expecting me to let you go free, but I don’t want that outcome.” Bartolome let out a long sigh. “You are interesting, Mister Arthur Rowe, despite your outward appearance. I will amend my…offer. You will not be a slave. But you will be loyal. None of those who work for me do so unwillingly. They were all simply presented a choice.”

  “Join or die,” Arthur said.

  Bartolome’s faint grin turned into a smile. “A hard choice, but a choice none the less. And, ask any of them.” Bartolome turned, looking around the room. “All of them can say without the shadow of a doubt that they are in a better position than they were before I found them. Wealthier. More connected. More secure. They don’t have to worry about the droll necessities of…our lives. You won’t either. However, you might be inclined to let your pride take control and convince yourself that your freedom isn’t worth any of that, that you would rather die than do something you deem reprehensible. Understand, that your hands are already dirty. I’m simply giving you the opportunity to come to terms with that.”

  Arthur squeezed his forehead, using his fingers to rub his temples. There really wasn’t anything to think about. Death, or doing more dirty work. And Bartolome was right, to some point. He already besmirched his own name and reputation as far as he was concerned. He was a dirty cop. They weren’t asking him to do anything he hadn’t already, to some degree. The difference was that right now, he could justify it with the fact that if he walked away, they’d kill him.

  “Fine. I agree.”

  Bartolome grinned. “Good. Listen closely.” Bartolome leaned an inch closer and began whispering instructions to Arthur. They were straightforward and easily followed, yet by the time he finished Arthur was looking at him incredulously. Never the less, the meeting ending without ceremony and Arthur stood and exited the Church. Walking outside he let out a long breath that felt like he’d been holding in for the past twenty minutes. He was out of the lions den. Unfortunately, he now had a chain wrapped around his ankle.

  Arthur walked to his car, feeling like there were eyes all over his back, having to stop himself from trying to look around for anyone who might be watching. He got in, turned the ignition, and began driving. There was a strange sense of calm over him. Maybe it was despair. Or acceptance. It was hard to tell. Maybe some kind of ironic freedom in the fact that his life was now set on such a stringent path that the only way forward at the moment was obvious. Arthur’s phone rang in his pocket. He hesitated, before managing it out of his pants and looking at the unidentified number he recognized as the Assistant. The first thing Bartolome had told him was that he’d receive a call shortly after leaving.

  The line picked up. “…Arthur?”

  “Yup,” he said, casually. “All good. I gave the box to that guy. Why the call?” He didn’t even have to try to sound relaxed. He simply was. He had a feeling something bad would come of him playing this double game, but at the moment he didn’t really care. The Assistant and her boss had sent him into a deathtrap and he’d manage to walk away.

  Silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. “What did he say? Bartolome?”

  “Not much, I gave him the package and he sent me away.”

  Silence again. Arthur could swear he heard muffled voices talking to each other on the other end. The Assistant spoke. “I see. Job well done. We’re…pleased. In fact, we want to meet with you.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The Assistant saying it a little too enthusiastically wasn’t what bothered Arthur. What bothered him was that the conversation was going almost word for word how Bartolome had predicted. Whatever little game was going on right now, Bartolome seemed to know how all the pieces would be played, and had already determined what moves were happening next. He seemed to be steps ahead. For a hint of a second Arthur felt bad for his employers, but then just remembered they had sent him to die.

  “Oh!” He said, feigning surprise. “Sure, just let me know when and where, like usual.”

  More silence, more muffled talking. “What about your place?”

  Despite yet again being one of Bartolome’s predictions, Arthur hesitated, and his reaction was natural. “What? Why? Can’t we just meet at a motel or a garage or something?”

  “No. Your place. I hope that’s OK. We want to congratulate you in person. And give you a bonus for job well done.”

  Arthur gritted his teeth. He realized they were treating him like a moron, like someone who could be used and pointed in any direction for a bit of money. He sighed, realizing that wasn’t probably far off. At least in the past. But now they were going to regret it. Fate, or dumb luck, or simply his willpower to live had gotten him into a different position now. All his aprehension about betraying the Assistant went away.

  “Uh…sure,” he said. “The address is-”

  “We know the address. We’ll be there in an hour.” The line hung up. They knew the address. Arthur just shook his head. It worried him a little bit, but so far Bartolome’s plan was going exactly how he told Arthur it would. As the line died, Arthur put the burner phone down and texted a different number from his normal phone. The fact Bartolome was fine with him using a normal phone meant a lot to him, in a weird way. From the get go it meant he was willing to trust him more. Or wanted to watch him closer. That made Arthur think about why exactly this had all played out the way it did with the Assistant. It didn’t seem like they had really intentionally sent him to die, they were just ignorant of how Bartolome would react, like he’d said. Which meant that Arthur was doubly stupid for working for them at all.

  The number Bartolome had given Arthur replied with a thumbs up emoji. Arthur couldn’t believe Bartolome used emojis. Must’ve been one of the goons. Either way, Arthur turned on the radio, and began to head home. He even stopped at a local fast food joint to grab a soda and some overly salty fried food. He felt good, in a weird way, and the comfort food was a sort of reward. He felt like there was freedom in his new servitude, or something equally contradictory. Just a bit later he arrived home with half a cup of the soda left, tossing the wrapping for the food into a can near the apartments entrance. There weren’t any cars he recognized parked around, but as he ambled his way up the stairs to his second floor door, the Assistant was there. She was wearing her usual dark clothing, standing in a darker corner near his door.

  “Hurry it up,” she snapped.

  Arthur didn’t even reply, frankly too tired and too disillusioned with this whole situation to even express annoyance. He unlocked his door and went inside. The Assistant followed, closing the door and locking it behind them.

  “What the fuck happened?” She growled.

  “What?” Arthur asked. He was still surprisingly calm, despite her being in his face. He tossed his keys onto the counter and kept slurping at his soda, half because the sugar tasted great, half because he knew it would piss off the Assistant.

  “Explain to me what happened. Every step, in detail. Now,” she ordered. Arthur put his hands up defensively. After meeting Bartolome, this person seemed far less threatening. She was a house-cat compared to him. He chuckled involuntarily. Her face went even darker.

  “Sorry, sorry. What’s the problem anyway? Everything went smoothly, I don’t get it.”

  “Then why didn’t he reach out to us?” She snapped. He was surprised how easy it was to rile her up.

  “It’s a problem everything went smoothly? I don’t get it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to probe his thoughts. Momentarily she relaxed, patting her suit jacket against his torso to straighten it out. She went to speak again, her face much more calm this time. But before she could get a word off, there was a loud noise outside. Tires squealed and the sound of a large car engine pulling into the lot caused her to stop speaking.

  “Hold on,” she said. She moved to the door, but as she unlocked it she was interrupted. Outside, it sounded like an incredible thunderstorm had appeared out of nowhere, localized completely in the parking lot just thirty feet from Arthur’s apartment door. He and the Assistant looked at each other in equal surprise. She ran to the door and threw it open, and Arthur followed. Looking over the second floor landing’s balcony, the large black SUV that had just arrived had been torn to shreds. Surrounding it were four of Bartolome’s men, wielding their massive automatic weapons, totally unconcerned that anyone might be watching from the various apartments. They had just emptied entire magazines into the SUV, and Arthur could see huge splatters of blood all over the shattered windows and bullet hole ridden doors.

  The Assistant gaped. Arthur did too, mostly horrified that these people were brazen enough to commit an act like this right outside a residential building. The Assistant whipped around, roughly shoving him out of the way, and running back inside. Arthur realized that she didn’t even have an afterthought that he might involved in all this, and he smiled to himself. Arthur tried to follow her, but by the time he got to his own door she was already yanking open the window in his apartment, literally. She tore out the window frame with such ferocity that wood and glass went scattering all over his apartment.

  “Hey!” he shouted as his eyes went wide, but she was already gone. She had leapt from the window with some sort of incredible superhuman power, soaring fifteen feet away and landing off in the darkness across the street. Arthur just stared, open mouthed. A second later, heavy foot falls of thick combat boots stormed up behind him and pulled him out of the way. The same bald man from the church saw the window. He ran to it, scanning the outside, then barked orders at the others. They stormed out of the building, still brandishing their guns to give chase. Arthur slowly walked outside, shocked by everything that had just occurred, and noticed Bartolome standing outside the wrecked SUV with a few of his men keeping an eye out.

  Arthur walked downstairs, almost tripping on the steps. Bartolome noticed him and waved him over. Arthur was used to crime scenes, but as he approached the car, this was something different. Inside were three people. Three corpses. One was a driver, dressed similarly to the Assistant who had just fled. The second was the younger nerdy guy, and the third was who Arthur assumed to be her boss. The only reason Arthur figured that is because the man was wearing an extremely nice suit and watch, now mostly covered in blood. The carnage of four automatic weapons at this close a range, with this amount of accuracy, was gruesome. There was nothing left in the car but splatters of brains and bone, limbs torn from torsos, and entire sections of human body mangled beyond any kind of recognizable biology beyond a big, bloody lump. Bartolome just smiled as Arthur brought a hand to his mouth, fighting to keep his fast food down.

  “Job well done then. Well, almost.”

  Arthur took a moment to compose himself, looked away from the bloodbath and towards Bartolome. Arthur realized he was talking about the Assistant. One had gotten away. Arthur shook his head, immediately protesting.

  “I had nothing to do with that, that was your guys. You said one job, one and done. It’s not my fault she got away. She…she ripped my fucking window off and flew out the window!” Arthur said, trying to rationalize everything he had just seen. Trying desperately to keep his eyes off the car.

  Bartolome nodded. “That is fair. And yet, the job is still unfinished. How can this be resolved?”

  Before Arthur could respond, Bartolome motioned him inside their own car. It was a similarly blacked out sedan, a BMW. Some sort of new, expensive model. It seemed less luxury, and more speed. Professional. As they got in, the driver immediately peeled out of the parking lot and began down the street away from the scene. The sound of sirens rang out in the distance, but the driver nor Bartolome seemed concerned.

  “Bartolome…what the fuck just happened. She…the Assistant, moved faster than anything I’ve ever seen. What the hell is going on?”

  Bartolome ignored him. “For the little time I’ve known you, you seem surprisingly capable, Mister Arthur Rowe. I can see why your former employer used you, despite your problematic curiosity. You are involved in this now. This woman, this Assistant, she is a witness. She saw what happened, and she will assume, rightly, you were involved. You have as much stake in finding her as I do, now. So, your first job under my supervision is to work with my people here and track her down.”

  Arthur stammered, his brain trying to logically piece together a reason a human being could have had that much strength. And leapt that high into the air. It was struggling immensely to do so. Instead he blurted out, “And do what with her?”

  “We will kill her, just like the others,” Bartolome said flatly. “I will put you in contact with the man you will be reporting to, and you will begin immediately. He will explain things along the way. But first, I need to know I can trust you. That we’re in this together.”

  He sounded like a snake, tempting him to eat from the tree of knowledge, and condemn his life into some horrible existence. But as Bartolome pointed out, Arthur had technically just helped them murder three people. He could potentially spin it legally, but even if he got out of the legal problems, Bartolome wouldn’t let that slide so easily. And based on what he just saw, he wasn’t exactly willing to test Bartolome’s wrath.

  “Look, I’m not a criminal. At least, not before tonight, I guess. I’m not going to go around killing people. I’m a detective for gods sake.” Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous, and really made Arthur realize just how quickly this had all spiraled out of control. “God, I just helped killed those three people.”

  Bartolome just stared. There was no pity, or empathy on his face. Mostly just impatience. After letting Arthur blather for a bit still trying to compress everything that just happened, Bartolome interrupted him. Like always, his voice was smooth, slow, and confident. “Indeed. And yet, you cannot go back. You understand this, no?”

  Arthur just shook his head, he could turn himself in. Live life in prison for who knows how long. Probably for ever. Maybe face the death penalty. His mind just kept telling him that he had witnessed something unexplainable. That this was getting out of control. This was out of control. His logical brain told him to open the door of the car and jump. Do anything to get out, run as fast as he could.

  And yet, once again, something inside of him was trying to calm him. Bring him back down to a neutral state. Something inside of him was telling him this was right. That his life had been leading up to this, as ridiculous as it sounded. Something was telling him he enjoyed this. As Arthur spoke, the words that came out of his mouth weren’t ones he thought were good, or right, or really were him. But they came out of his mouth.

  “I understand.”

  Bartolome just smiled that same, wicked smile. “Then let’s begin.”