Found in Darkness

Chapter 2

FEDERICO

No one is innocent.

It has become a ritual to repeat the words which have been ingrained into my head since I was six years old. The road leading to this point in my life has not been easy. I've made mistakes and let my anger rule over me. I lost control and let it overpower me. But with time, I've learned to channel it. Mostly.

However, on days like today, I enjoy being able to unleash some of the simmering anger I contain daily, on those who deserve it.

"We're here, Boss." Mostro parks the car outside the rundown apartment building, in the poorly kept area of the city. It's hard to tell which makes up the most of the population here; the homeless or the stray animals that overrun the streets and empty buildings. The inadequately lit streets have a muted orange glow from the trash can fires lined up sporadically along the sidewalks .

I slip my leather gloves on and lift my dark Ray Bans to my face concealing my identity partially; not that it matters. My reputation wasn't built on rumors but facts. Facts cemented by the lives I've ended. The lives of those who tried to come against me and those who have been long overdue on their penance.

I step out of the car and enter the deteriorated and neglected building. The stench from stale cigarette smoke coupled with the putrid odor of urine, saturated with the remnants of human defecation on the soiled and foul carpet in the lobby, make for one stomach turning experience.

Blaring TV's compete with the loud voices of tenants arguing, fighting or laughing as we make our way up the carpeted stairs. A fight spills out into the long corridor and Mostro moves in front of me, drawing his gun in anticipation, but as the men look over at us, they stop and watch as we walk past them.

We come to a door where the partial number of the '3' of 13 is missing. Mostro knocks once and the door behind us opens. An older woman with curlers in her graying hair, wearing a tattered robe, eyes us.

"Yeah?" she scowls at us. The cigarette dangling from her lips is on the verge of falling. It's almost like she forgot she was smoking and it's hanging there like an afterthought.

Mostro glances at her and knocks again on the door across from her. "We knocked on this door, Ma'am."

"Then whatcha looking at me for?" she narrows her eyes at him and then shifts her focus to me. "What are you, Feds?"

"No, Ma'am," Mostro answers.

"Gloria! Who you talking to?" A gravelly voice calls from inside the apartment.

"Your mother!" she shouts back. While I'm wondering how the fucking cigarette is still attached to her mouth, Mostro begins to pound on the door.

"That shit ain't funny, Gloria!"

"Ah, go back to your shit-show, Wally!" she grabs at the dangling cigarette and takes a deep puff, before she wags her finger-cigarette in hand at us. "I've seen yous before. Not a lot, but I remember." She taps her head and ashes scatter over her robe.

"Who the hell are you?" The man who I assume is Wally peeks his head out the door. His scraggly beard has food particles in it. "We don't have shit, we ain't seen shit and we don't know shit." He nods his head as if to prove his point. He focuses on his apparent other half scratching at his overgrown belly over what I assume used to be a white tank top. "Gloria, for Christ sakes, how many times I gotta tell you not to open the fucking door, huh?"

She ignores him and focuses on me. "What's the matter, gorgeous, cat got your tongue? Want me to come find it for ya?" she grins, giving me a near toothless smile.