Chapter 1:

Work

"Matt!"

"What?" I grumbled, my eyes refusing to leave the video game I had in my hand as I could hear Mello stomp over and shove my game away from me.

"What the fuck Mello? I was beating that guy's ass!" I yell at him, as I stood up from the worn out couch in the dumpy apartment building in the crumby neighborhood we were in.

"The Boss needs you to do another job for him," Mello said, pulling out a chocolate bar from his pocket as I pulled out a cigarette from mine.

"Me?" I asked as I took a puff from my cigarette, the calming smoke of tobacco filling my lungs as I inhaled deeply. "Why aren't you coming?" I added.

"The Boss is making all of us move to Los Angeles," Mello said, snapping a bite off of the bar.

"Why?" I asked, taking another puff.

The Boss, as he liked to be called, mostly made us move around a lot so it would be harder for other mafias and police to find us. But that wasn't the reason I asked why. Usually the Boss sent Mello and me in jobs together. It was basically like we were a package deal.

"He wanted to see how you would do on your own," Mello said, taking my place on the couch as I walked towards the window.

I scoffed. Did the Boss seriously think that I depended on Mello so much that I wouldn't be able to do any jobs on my own? To be honest, it was Mello that depended on me. Matt go do this, Matt go do that. Go and buy me more chocolates, yak, yak, yak.

Did he say please? Any 'Thanks Matt for risking being seen and getting caught by the police who are looking for your mafia'? No. No one says thanks to the technical genius who could either make or break you.

"What's the job?" I asked, as I opened the window slightly to let in the cold breeze and let out the smoke which was starting to fog up the room as I looked outside as the snow covered everything, giving the whole street a pristine white look.

Mello threw a manila folder on the table, some of its contents spilling out reveling sheets of paper and a couple of photos.

"He needs you to pick her up," he said, pointing to a picture of a little girl with jet black hair, her two front teeth out as she smiled brightly towards the camera, her mysterious deep purple eyes shining.

"He wants me to pick up a kid?" I asked, picking up the picture, looking at the girl staring back.

"Well, first, you have to find her. Word on the street is that her parents and her move around the country and right now they're just farther down south from Manhattan, but they're heading towards London in a couple of days," Mello informed me, shuffling papers around.

"So I have to kidnap her?" I asked Mello, my deep green eyes full of confusion as I turned to him who just nodded.

"How long do I have?" I sighed as I stumped out my cigarette on the ashtray, filing the papers together as Mello leaned back into the couch.

"Two weeks."

"What's today?" I asked, looking for a calendar.

"The twenty-fifth of January. You better hurry. The other mafia gang, the Malttores," Mello said, finishing off his chocolate bar, tossing the wrapper into the trash as I got up with the folder tucked under my arm, "are after her too. New York is their hometown so they've got more of an advantage. You can't take a plane this time because the Malttores are probably monitoring the flights, so I hope your car is up to the cross country drive."

"Trust me, my baby will be fine," I said, talking about my pride and joy, my red 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454. I had built the car from the ground up, using scrap parts I found. I admit it was old, but I always liked things with a more vintage feel to it.

I went to my room, and started packing up my things. Multiple cartons of cigarettes, batteries, my Gameboy, extra clothes, passports, and other techy things went into my duffle bag.

"You might need this," Mello said, handing me a pure black pistol and a pack of bullets.

"See you in two weeks then," I said, giving Mello a small salute as I exited the apartment, my duffle bag over my shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.

I shivered in my striped shirt and vest as I stepped outside, the sound of snow slushing under my boots the only sound I could hear as I threw my bag in the back of my car, and putting the key in the ignition, the quiet purr of the engine music to my ears.

"Hey, Angelina," I said to the car. Yes, I named the car Angelina. It's not like I'm the only one who names inanimate objects okay? "Are you ready to make the over seven hundred mile journey from Chicago to Manhattan?"

Purr.

"What's that? That's not enough for you?" I asked the car, putting my ear to the dashboard. "Oh, then I forgot to tell you that we're also going to have a passenger and heading down to LA after we pick her up from New York."

Purr. Purr. Purr.

"So are you ready for the three thousand mile drive afterwards?" I asked, petting the steering wheel.

Purr.

"That's a good girl," I said, lifting up my head and giving the car door a pat before putting my foot on the gas pedal, the radio blaring High Way to Hell by AC/DC as I turned onto the freeway.

I'm on a highway to Hell

Highway to Hell

Oh the irony.

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