Chapter One: Eye For An Eye

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 12:40 am

(OOC note: I am moving Simon's stories over here. This particular one is sort of a director's cut, as I've revisited the story, fleshed some things out, and beefed up a bit of the narrative. Hope you enjoy! Language and violence throughout.)

Simon’s eyes popped open to the sounds of cartoons playing on the TV. His entire body hurt from the night previous. He ran his bruised and scabbed hands over his face, trying to wipe away the sleep. Cameron Cotter, local crimelord and low-life with delusions of grandeur sent him out to collect, and the skinny little junkie resisted. Aggressively. Cotter was piece of shit, but he paid well and Simon’s skill set was somewhat limited. Besides, even blood money meant that he could take care of the little brown-haired girl sitting in front of the TV. Cici was the product of a one-night stand with a stripper. One day, he woke to find her bassinet sitting at his front door with a note that said “she’s yours.” God knew what the hell had happened to her, and frankly, Simon didn’t care. The woman abandoned their child, clearly Cici was better off.

Simon was amazed at how quickly he settled into fatherhood. For an orphaned thug out of Westend with a history of violence and misery, he was doing alright. Even tried to go straight for a while. Work a regular job, be a regular dad. But eventually, the life called to him and he was right back in the thick of it. Beating money out of lowlives, serving as a driver, muscle, and earner for Mr. Cotter. It wasn’t an honest living, but it put food on the table for his daughter. That would have to be good enough, and God help anyone who tried to say otherwise.

Simon stepped out of his room, clad in a white tank top and grey pajama pants, walking up to the six year old and settled in beside her. “What you watchin’ baby girl?” He asked, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. The girl’s brown hair was a big, wild, tangled rat’s nest, like she’d stuck a fork in an electrical socket.

“Spongebob.” She said, that gapped smile on her little face. She was so proud to be getting some of her “big girl teeth” as she called them. One of those battered hands of his ruffled the girl’s hair.

“Lookit you, kid. You’re a mess.” He said with a chuckle.

Cici patted her hair down self-consciously. “Well, you’re supposed to brush it!” She admonished him, a judgemental tone in her young voice.

“Oh-hoho, am I?” Simon chuckled. “Well, my mistake, Miss Cici.”

He reached over to the end table, grabbing the brush as she climbed into his lap. Whether Cici understood what her daddy did for a living was up in the air. He did everything he could to keep the two lives separate. She never asked about the bruises or the scabby knuckles. It was just something that was always there. Her daddy worked a hard job and sometimes he got little scrapes and bruises, but no matter what, he was always fine. It wasn’t far from the truth, just a bit romanticized There were times after a particularly rough job where he struggled to even look the little one in those pretty blue eyes. If there was any good in him, she brought it out.

As he was working the knots out of her hair, his phone rang on the coffee table. His eyes turned to it, wide and alert as they always did when the job intruded upon his normal life. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Gotta take that, kiddo. Be right back.”

“Well, hurry up! My hair’s a MESS.” she said dramatically.

Simon laughed. “Of course. Heaven forbid you face Squidward with messy hair.” He said, standing and picking up the phone. He slipped back into his room and closed the door to a crack. The phone was pressed to his ear as he answered. “Toews.”

“Toews. It’s Cam. Where you at, mate?” Cotter’s voice came through the receiver like 40 miles of rough road. That gruff, cockney voice always sent a chill through his body.

“Mr. Cotter.” Simon responded, very calm and professional. “I’m at home. What can I do for you?”

“Listen, bruv, I’m gonna need ya t’day, yeah?” Cotter said.

“Absolutely. Anything important on the dockett?” Simon peered out, making sure Cici was still glued to the TV.

“Nuffin’ too rough...in theory.” he snickered. “My pain in the ass wife needs a driver to get her around town. Thought you’d be up for a bit a’ quick green, yeah?”

Lyla Cotter. Tall, leggy and gut wrenchingly gorgeous. Too beautiful for a pug-faced hump like Cameron Cotter. He’d met her only briefly and even then, she’d barely looked up from her phone. It was no secret that the woman liked to party...and flirt. He’d known men who responded a little too readily to her advances and ended up with a new permanent residence at the bottom of the river.

“How long?” Simon asked, trying to figure out how long he’d need to recruit his neighbor, Ellen to look after the kid. Ellen was in her 60’s, a widow with no children of her own. She adored Cici, despite her father’s less than stellar reputation. If not for Ellen, Simon would have probably lost the little girl years ago.

“‘Til she tells ya, mate.” Cotter responded, a little edge to his voice. “Frankly, I want the bitch outta my hair.”

Simon bit his tongue, almost responding with a crack at the balding mobster’s quickly retreating hairline. “Yessir.” he said, instead.

“Pick ‘er up at the house at one, yeah? We’ll get you all set up.”

“One o’clock.” Simon affirmed.

“See ya then, mate.” And the line went dead.

Simon stared down at the phone for a long moment. He hated leaving her. This was an unwelcome interruption of what could have been a nice day with his girl.

“Baby?” He called out to her. “Daddy’s gotta work.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 12:46 am

Cotter’s place was beyond extravagant to someone like Simon. The place was a stylish, modernist masterpiece. The sprawling mansion was set at the foot of a small forest, a perfectly manicured lawn spread all about, but for the massive pool out back. To one side was a big garage with 7 or 8 rare, classic cars on display. Vehicles that saw a chamois more often than they saw sunlight. A shame, Simon thought. He’d love to take a few for a spin.

A lot could be said about the man himself, but Cameron Cotter had damn fine taste in automobiles. Simon stepped up the crime boss’s driveway, a black Aston Martin DB9 that would be his ride for the day sat gleaming on the pavement. He lowered his shades, blue eyes trailingalong the body of the car with all the interest and and desire most men would reserve for a beautiful woman or a work of art. His fingers trailed along the sleek, polished lines of the vehicle, picturing himself behind the wheel like he was James Bond. His cheeks puffed out as he shook his head, stepping up to the door.

He pressed the doorbell with his thumb and waited. The sound of music and voices filtered through the door in muffled mumbles. Cameron always seemed to be entertaining guests. The amount of drugs and liquor that passed through that place would be enough to take out the remaining Blue Whale population. Shame, he thought, Cotter didn’t meet such a fate.

The door was thrown open and one of Cotter’s inner circle of goons opened the door. Frankie Carbone, a fat, track-suited thug stood there, eye-balling the tattooed fighter. There was no love lost between the two of them. Since Simon’s arrival on the scene, the man seemed to make it his mission in life to fuck with him. But Simon was more than willing to play the game, giving as good as he got

“Yeah? Fuck you want?” Carbone rumbled.

Simon stared right back at the man through the dark lenses of his glasses. He sniffed a derisive laugh and slowly glanced around him. “Here to see Mr. Cotter.”

“Well I ain’t heard nuffin’ ‘bout that, chief.” The bloated, smarmy bastard smirked down at him, daring the smaller man to make a move. Carbone would have loved to beat the kid to a pulp, were it not for Cameron.

“No?” Simon looked unimpressed and slowly slid the sunglasses from his face, turning his eyes up to the big man. “Then I guess you’re a fuckin’ nobody he wouldn’t mind me plantin’ in the ground.”

The fat man’s smirk faded almost immediately. “Oh. I’m scared. I’m real scared.”

“Goddamn right you are.” Simon nodded, never breaking eye contact.

“What if I grab you by your scrawny neck and bash your face into the fuckin’ wall?”

“What if?” Simon said, still as can be.

Suddenly, Carbone grabbed him by the shirt, and Simon followed suit, both of them cocking their fists back ready for a fight.

“Oi, you stupid, sodding pricks! Knock it off!” Cotter’s scratchy voice bellowed from the back of the room,interrupting them.

The man was built big at 6’1”. Though his belly had gone soft and round, he was still built like a brick shithouse and strong as a bear. A bit of salt and pepper stubble decorating his round, oily face. What hair was left at the top of his head was slicked back. A grin formed on his face as he descended the staircase. “Simon Toews. Simon. fuckin’ Toews. If it ain’t my favorite little runner.”

Simon released Carbone roughly and pulled out of his grasp. He slid the glasses back on, throwing a little smirk his way before bumping past him with his shoulder. Simon bowed his head slightly towards Cotter as he approached. “Mr. Cotter.”

The man was a perfect picture of gaudy, a nylon tracksuit over his stocky frame, a gold chain or two around his thick neck and rings on every finger. One of those big meathooks clamped down on his shoulders. “The TASER!” Cotter said, shaking him and mimicking what he thought a taser sounded like before busting out laughing at himself. “Nah, nah, nah. You piss off with that ‘Mr’ shit. We’s mates, yeah? See, Mr Cotter...that was me ol’ man. You...uh...you call me Cameron.” He gave a toothy grin, showing off a golden canine tooth. “No, Cam. You call me Cam.”

The fucker was definitely on something. He had that shakey, manic energy Simon had seen in plenty of junkies he’d had to deal with over the years. The big guy’s teeth were practically chattering as he sniffed and wiped his nose.

“Cam.” Simon nodded, forcing an amiable smile. He didn’t buy this nice guy act. He knew what Cameron Cotter was. He’d seen what happened to men who thought Cotter was their friend. They’d end up dead in a ditch or lying in a pool of blood in some dingy alley because the prick lost his temper over some imagined slight. He glanced up the stairs then. “She about ready?”

“Ah, you know women. Be late to their own fuckin’ funerals, won’t they?” Cotter said, laughing at himself as he slapped a hand around the back of Simon’s neck, even the little bit of pressure reminding the slimmer man that, though Cameron got winded by one flight of stairs, he was still strong enough to crush the life out of him in an instant.

“Lemme give ya a fair bit of warnin’, hey?” Cotter said in a hushed tone. “My wife can be a bit of a cunt. She’ll break your balls, try n’ get you into trouble. I seen it before.” He narrowed those beady, hazel eyes of his. “She gets into shit...I don’t care what you gotta do. You get her back. You need to give her a rap on the bean, you do it, you hear me?” he said, tapping his forehead as if he needed to illustrate what the “bean” was.

Simon kept his eyes on him, like staring down a predator and nodded slowly. “Whatever it takes.”

He could smell her before he even saw her. A sweet combination of vanilla and strawberries, like a walking dessert, begging to be tasted. Lyla Cotter. 23 years old, and a drop-dead beauty. Pale, flawless, skin. Big, round, hazel eyes. Her brown hair dyed a shade of dark red and cut in stylish bangs across her brow. She was on her phone already, speaking in that elevated, posh accent of hers as she descended the staircase like she was royalty. A ridiculously expensive skin-tight dress clinging to her slender, toned form and stiletto heels adding 3 inches to her 5’9” height.

Lyla got a lot of stares from the bunch of toughs milling about, but Simon, graced her only with the calm, disinterested glance he put on whenever in the presence of Cotter or any of his people. The tall beauty looked over at him appraisingly. He was typical, she thought. The kind of low-level, dirt poor, boot-licking grunt her husband always liked to surround himself with. The clothes he wore were cheap. Off-the-rack. She bet that the pair of boots he wore were all of 4 or 5 years old, judging from how scuffed they were. A white t-shirt she was almost certain came in a pack of 6 and jeans that, from the frayed faded from wear rather than by design. He’d probably worn the same pair for days before changing to the other one or two pairs he owned. The hints of tattoos at his neck creeping out of the collar of his black leather jacket. From the wear and tear, she figured it had to be a few years old. A pair of cheap sunglasses covered his eyes. Probably bought at a gas station, she decided.

Shame, Lyla mused. He was a pretty good looking guy, despite his utter lack of fashion sense. Ever the brat, she quirked a disapproving eyebrow, eyeing the man with all the respect a queen would grant a leper. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes.

“You could at least DRESS like you have some class.” She said to him in an acidic tone. Lyla bumped him as she brushed past.

A small smirk worked its way to his lips as he glanced away, amused. Cameron chuckled and shook his head. “Was I right? Complete fuckin’ cunt.” He grabbed her ass roughly as she passed. “But, God DAMN, that ass.” Lyla wheeled on her husband, her eyes at first hard and confrontational...but it melted away into...not affection. There was no feeling behind that smile. But something close enough that it didn’t raise his ire.

Those big hazel eyes snapped to Simon, that bravado roaring back with a vengeance. “Well, shortbus?” She said, annoyed. “Let’s go!”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 12:50 am

Simon kept his eyes on the road ahead as the precious cargo in the rearview mirror ended yet another in a long line of phone calls that had lasted for 3 hours and 5 stops. For a moment, he foolishly thought she had run out of shit to yack about.

Instead, she turned those hazel eyes up to the mirror looking at him. “So. Sigmund…”

“Simon.”

“I don’t recall asking.” She said, rolling her eyes. “What gutter did my husband drag you out of.”

He glanced up at her reflection, that poker face just staring her down a moment. She didn’t shy away, though. She just stared right back. “Are you deaf?” she asked. “I said, what gutter did-”

“Not far from whatever street corner he picked you up on.” Simon spat back and turned his eyes back on the road. He regretted the comment almost immediately. It was a gamble, talking like that to a woman so powerfully connected. But rarely was it ever said Simon Toews was blessed with an overabundance of brains or restraint.

For a moment she looked offended, but the mouth-agape look of shock curved into a smile. “Oh...oh, Steven, I am going to have fun with you.”

“Simon. The name is Simon” he corrected her once more.

A cocky little smirk played across those perfectly manicured lips as she appraised him through those long lashes. “You like to fight, Simon?”

“Ain’t one to turn away from one.” He said, eyes moving along the sides of the street. Always alert, always reading the space.

Lyla watched him a long moment. “You do. I bet you love to fight. Beat a man into the ground with your fists. Feel that blood spray on your face when you bust his face open. Hear that wet choke when he’s finally had enough.” She said it as if she was seducing him.

“...you need a second to yourself?” Simon asked her with a cocked eyebrow.

“That’s probably why he likes you.” Lyla continued unabated.

“I’m a solid worker. I don’t ask questions and I get results. That’s why Mr. Cotter ‘likes’ me.”

Lyla scoffed, an amused smile gracing those flawless, red lips. “You believe that. That’s cute. He’s got plenty of dumbfuck goons who get the job done. Not half of them would he trust to put in the driver’s seat to cart me around. You know why that is?”

“My winning personality?”

“You’re a weapon. A blunt object that he uses to bash in the skulls of whoever he sees fit. Not dumb enough to question it, but not intelligent enough to say no.”

“Ya think?” Simon said, his voice dripping with disinterest.

“You know the problem with a blunt object, Simon?” She asked, receiving no response. “A blunt object is expendable.”

Simon didn’t react. He just drove. Trying his best not to let her get a rise out of him.

“Once he’s used you for what he wants, he’ll toss you out right back where you belong. The trash. No amount of punching or kicking is going to change that. So before you go calling me a whore? Maybe you should recognize your place.”

Simon could feel his ears begin to burn, but he tucked that rage down deep and turned his eyes up to her with that dead-ass expression on his face. “Noted.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 12:51 am

Lyla wanted him to make a stop in a dodgy part of town. The kind of place he’d thrived in when he was coming up. How many people he’d robbed here as a teen, how many fights he’d had on these streets was a mystery even to him. Even as they entered the side streets he was on-edge. A car THIS nice in a place like this? They might as well have a giant target painted on their ass.

Simon dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and drew one out with his teeth. A quick flip of his zippo and he lit the cherry. His eyes turned back to Lyla as she checked her makeup. The glamourous woman barely spared him a glance. “Come.” she demanded as if he were a dog, and stepped out of the car.

He rose from the vehicle, sliding on a pair of shades as his charge started down the filthy alley, her perfectly manicured appearance looking wholly out of place within her surroundings. A true diamond in the rough. Simon kept his eyes ahead, alert, and not on the sway of her hips. At the far end of the alley’s intersection, he spotted a car waiting. ‘86 Lowrider Monte Carlo. It looked like an airbrush puked on the damn thing, multiple colors and designs painted all over its surface. Stupid, Simon thought. Not the most inconspicuous car for a drug deal.

The doors opened and he recognized one of them immediately. Enrique Marquez. Small time gangster, smuggler, arms dealer, and drug dealer/runner. The little cholo had made a name for himself coming up in the Juarez crime family when he brought a new form of methamphetamine to the streets and gained even more infamy when he killed mobster Vigo Chauchevsi’s kid, Iosef in a knife-fight.

Marquez stepped out of the vehicle, topping off at 5’6”, his hair cropped close. Tattoos crept up his neck and his teeth gleamed golden with the grill. Simon could smell the cheap cologne the man slathered himself in before he even left the car. Enrique swaggered on over, his eyes trailing up and down Lyla as he approached. The little gangster sucked the air in through his teeth as if seeing Lyla caused him pain. “Oooh...damn, Mami. You lookin’ TOO damn good, girl.”

“Jesus, ‘rique...you take a bath in that shit?”

His lips upturned showing off that golden grin, stepping a little too close for Simon’s comfort. “Nah, mami, Just like to smell good for the ladies, you know how I do.”

Lyla’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Well, you smell like a teenager trying to get laid on prom night. Mind taking a few steps back?”

He put his hands up and took a couple steps back, a playful grin on his face. “Mm. You mean, but you fine as hell, baby.” Enrique turned his eyes to Simon, as if he suddenly realized he was there. Simon didn’t seem to notice.

“Yo. Who’s Mr. Serious over here?”

“He’s nobody.” Lyla said dismissively. “We doing business or what?”

“Nobody, huh? Well, Mr Nobody’s making me nervous.” Enrique said, stepping toward Simon, puffing himself up a bit. That cheap, gas station bathroom cologne, mingled with strong scent of weed was overbearing. “You think you hard, Mister Eastern Island?”

Simon barely even glanced down at him, eyes hidden behind those glasses, his face stoic, unmoving. He didn’t even bother correcting the little thug.

“He’ll do what he’s told.” Lyla said, turning to Simon with that sadistic little smile. “Like a good dog.”

The little gangster sucked his upper lip in, nodding slowly, trying his damndest to intimidate the stranger in front of him. “That’s good. Yeah. That’s real good.” He snickered taking a few staggering steps back. “Fuckin’ *puta*.” He chuckled with his boys, but got no reaction from the stoic bodyguard.

“We doing this?” Lyla asked opening her palms impatiently as Marquez stepped back. “Or you two gonna whip ‘em out and see whose dick is bigger?”

The little man turned to her, all swagger once again. “Oh, come on, Mami. This little maricon? You know I’m packin’ a fuckin’ Louisville Slugger.”

“Well, that’s unpleasant.” Lyla said, scrunching up her face unfavorably. “The deal.” She said, sternly. Enrique walked to the back of his car, popping the trunk. Two metallic briefcases sat there.

“It’s all there. We got your ice, your o, got a little bit of H, some E for those lonely nights, you feel me?” He grinned up at her with that misplaced sense of confidence.

“Sounds like you’ve got the whole damn alphabet.” She popped the cases looking over the goods, a grin forming.

“Like fuckin’ Sesame Street n’ shit, baby.” he said flashing that golden grin.

Lyla ignored him and continued checking. All there and accounted for. “Nice. Very good work. My husband will be happy.” Finally, she shut the case.

Enrique nodded, still eyeing her like a piece of meat. “So, wussup, you got that green for me?” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope and dramatically handed it toward him. “Pleasure doing business. Mr. Cotter will be very happy. “ Lyla smiled and then cocked her head slightly Simon’s way. “Dog?” she said with a grin. “Be a good little boy and carry mommy’s ball, yes?”

Simon knew that little grin. That dangerous sort of sensuality that made men put up with anything, even when it drove them up a wall. Behind it, the false promise of great things that would only leave one penniless, broken and, in the wrong situation, lifeless. The woman was a siren, impossibly alluring and very, very dangerous.

He grabbed the briefcases and began following her back to the car while Enrique counted his money. There was a time when Simon would have caved that punk’s face in for running his mouth as he did. Wannabe tough guys were the goddamn worst. But, Simon was a professional. He knew when to keep his cool and, more importantly, when not to.

Enrique pulled the bills out and flipped through...and found half of them to be slips of cut up newspaper.

“What the fuck!” he heard the tiny drug dealer behind him exclaim. “Yo!”

Lyla moved quicker towards the car, talking urgently through clenched teeth to Simon. “Quick-ly. Quick-lyyyy.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Simon muttered to her.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Just keep walking until you get to the car and get us the fuck out of here.”

“HEY, BITCH! You tryin’ ta stiff he me here?! What you think, I’m fuckin’ stupid?!” Enrique shouted. “YO! PUTA DE MIERDA! I’M TALKIN’ AT YOU!”

She quickly ripped open her door and slid inside, taking the briefcases from a less than amused Simon.

“YO! BLAST THIS BITCH AND HER FUCKIN’ LAPDOG!” He shouted.

Simon slammed the car door just as the gunshot rang out. The bulletproof glass beside her head splintered, but didn’t shatter as the first bullets hit. Simon’s gaze snapped to his attackers, his arm reaching behind him and pulling a .45. Quickly, he spun around on a heel, slowly advancing, firing a round after round in their direction, sending the men scattering for cover.

He turned back around, quickly running for the car as they opened fire on him from cover. Fortunately, they were terrible shots and the bullets pinged harmlessly off the car. Simon wasn’t sure what made him angrier. The bullets flying at him or the fact that they were hitting that beautiful cart. He squeezed off a few more rounds and slid across the hood to the driver’s side, returned a few shots in their direction, and slipped inside.

He turned the ignition and threw the vehicle into drive. “What the fuck was that?!” He exclaimed, slamming on the gas.

“What?! Come on, tell me that wasn’t fun!” Lyla was chuckling to herself. “Besides, it’s what he deserved. Little creep.”

“Is this a fucking game to you?”

“Please. That little moron had it coming.” She rolled her eyes.

“You almost got us killed!” Simon shot back.

“Horseshoes and hand grenades, bitch! Jesus, next time I’ll take you to the fucking bingo parlor, you whiny shit.”

Suddenly, Simon slammed on the brakes. Lyla was launched forward, scrambling madly to brace herself by her forearms on the seatback in front of her. That cool, arrogant exterior was immediately replaced by panic.

“What the fuck are you DOING?!” She shrieked.

Simon calmly sat behind the wheel, waiting patiently. He barely spared a glance to the rearview. “You want to gamble with your life? Do it on your own. I’m done.”

“DRIVE THE FUCKING CAR, YOU INBRED HICK!” She demanded as the lowrider came tearing out of the alleyway.

“Good luck.” Simon said. He threw the car into park and kicked the door open. Lyla lunged forward, grabbing him by the arm.

“No, wait! Please! I’m sorry! Please! Just...just drive. Get us out of here.” That shrill voice took on a more concerned tone. Simon watched her a moment, her eyes pleading with him. He glanced back at the cars gaining on them. He would have killed for more time to make her sweat, but, if he didn’t move now, those fuckers would light him up just the same as Lyla.

Quickly he got back in and yanked his seatbelt on. “Buckle up.”

He jerked the shifter into drive and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The engine roared and tires screeched as the Mercedes fishtailed around the corner, Simon’s eyes alert, yet calm as they were chased by that gaudy Monte Carlo. Enrique Marquez sat in the passenger seat while one his lowlife lackeys took the wheel. Being a lackey to Enrique Marquez. Simon couldn’t imagine anything lower.

He cut the wheel, sending the car careening around a corner as their pursuers struggled to follow. In the back seat, Lyla held on for dear life as she was jostled to and fro in the escape.

The back window splintered and cracked as gunfire rang out, the bullet ripping through the windshield. “STAY DOWN!” Simon ordered, yanking the car into wild left hand turn down a narrow alleyway. Lyla covered her ears and screamed as the mirrors ground and sparked against the bricks.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!” she bellowed as they suddenly and violently ripped from the car in a shower of parts.

“They’re mirrors. You can buy new ones.” He said flippantly, though it killed him to damage the vehicle. The lowrider was wide. It definitely wouldn’t fit down that alley as it was, so at least there was that. “Hold on.”

The car came screaming out the other side, Simon leaning into the turn as he jerked the wheel left. In the rearview, he could see Marquez’s car come tearing around the corner, two thugs leaning out the windows with TEC-9’s. The rapid, metallic ping of bullets played along the trunk in a rapid staccato as Simon sped onward.

The gang banger behind the wheel had some talent. It seemed everywhere Simon went they stayed on him. With a grimace, he turned hard again, the car screeching into a parking garage. Quickly as he could, he wound up and up the structure while the gangsters did their best to keep up in their much less maneuverable vehicle.

Enrique and his boys made it to the roof of the structure. “Where’d that mother fucker go?”

They came around the corner to find Simon’s car facing them. While Lyla panicked in back, he set his sights ahead. His foot intermittently putting pressure on the gas, revving the engine again and again. Challenging the small-time druglord.

Enrique flashed that golden grin. “Alright, pendejo. Let’s do this.” The Monte Carlo revved. At the same moment, both cars were thrown into gear, tires squealing loudly on the concrete surface. But Simon had thrown the car into reverse. By the time Enrique realized Simon wasn’t coming at him, it was too late. The little Mercedes whipped around in wild spin, directly out of the path of the Lowrider before Simon hit the brakes, sending Lyla forward against her seatbelt to see Enrique and his crew screeching too fast before smashing through the concrete wall and careening over the edge. The Monte Carlo slammed down, roof-first at the bottom of the 9 story structure.

Simon glanced up, cool blue eyes taking the panting Lyla in a moment. “Still breathin’?”

“Ye-”

“Good.” He said impatiently and hit the gas.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 1:05 am

The big front door creaked ajar, making way for Simon and Lyla. Cotter was standing by the lavish fireplace, cellphone to his ear and a grim expression souring his face.

“Yeah Yeah. Let me know.” He said before hanging up. Cotter lumbered toward the pair of them, a stern expression on his face as those beady eyes flicked from one to the other.”Tell me…” he began before settling his gaze on Lyla. “...love of me life. Apple of me eye. Sugar in me fuckin’ tea. Tell me. Just what. The fuck...you were thinkin’?”

“That greasy little prick was a lowlife nobody with delusions of grandeur. He was gonna get taken out sooner or later. Fucker had it coming.” Simon had expected the woman to shy away, but she looked right back at him. He was impressed.

When Cotter grinned, it reminded Simon of a crocodile. There was always something predatory in that smile. A low chuckle left him as he looked away, moving around his wife. “He had it coming.” Cotter repeated, tasting the words in his mouth. “Had it coming.” Again, followed with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, he did, di’nt he?”

Just as the smile formed on Lyla’s face he viciously grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Simon reacted on pure impulse, moving to defend her, but Cotter turned one of those big sausage fingers at him. “Mind your business, boyo! This is a matter between husband n’ wife. Innit *sweetheart*?” he snarled in her ear.

Simon glanced to Lyla, but the woman was too proud to ask for help. Cotter got his whiskey stinking breath right in her face. “You. Do not. Make decisions like that EVER again. Do you understand me, you braindead lil’ cunt?”

Lyla swallowed hard, trying her best to remain strong and defiant, but was unable to suppress the grunt that accompanied her wince as he yanked her head back again.

“Tell me you understand, you rotten lil’ bitch!” he shouted in her face. “You fuck me like this again, and I’ll put your fuckin’ head on the Goddamn postbox, you hear me?! Answer!”

She grit her teeth, refusing to make eye contact and forced out, “Yes.”

“Good.” He said shoving her as he released her roughly so she stumbled forward. “That’s a good girl. Now get your ass upstairs and clean yourself up.”

Lyla summoned all the dignity she could muster, straightened out her hair, and headed for the stairs, leaving the men behind. Cotter glared after her before grabbing a glass of whiskey and downing it in one gulp. He wiped his lips on a bare forearm, turning to Simon with an amused smirk. “Women.” He scoffed. “They’ll be the death of us all, won’t they?”

God damn it, he hated the man. But now was not the time. Simon turned his gaze to Lyla as she made her way upstairs, keeping his face still and unreadable. “Yes sir.”

“You done good, lad. Keep your mobile on. I’ll be contactin’ ya soon.” Cotter assured him.

He knew Cameron Cotter was not the sort of man you said no to. If he asked you a question, you generally knew what the answer would end up being, and that it would always favor Cotter.

“Right.” Cotter said, nodding with a touch of suspicion. “Now fuck off outta here, mate.”

“Mr. Cotter.” Simon said evenly, nodding to the man before starting away.

“Wait.” Cotter said, stopping him dead in his tracks. SImon half expected a gun trained on him when he glanced back. But Cotter just grinned that crocodile smile. “Told you before, lad. Cam.” He nodded slowly. “You call me Cam, yeah?”

Simon stared at him a long time before finally offering a slow nod. “Cam.”

Cotter watched the young man turn and walk away, that grin fading. There was something about the boy he did NOT trust. An arrogance, a toughness, maybe even a judgemental air that belonged to a man far above his station. Like a dog who didn’t know who the alpha was. A dog who would have to be broken.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 1:11 am

“Daddy!” The little voice cried out when Simon entered the apartment. Suddenly, he found himself being pounced on by an airborne 6 year old.

“Oh!” He grunted,catching her and spinning her around, a grin on his face. “Hey there, Munchkin Ninja!”

Cici stuck her arms out like wings as she was spun around, her childish laughter filling more than just air. Simon would never tire of that kid’s laugh, never get enough of it. He came to a stop and looked at her. “You been good for Miss Ellen?”

Cici nodded aggressively. “I was SO good.”

Ellen had pushed herself off the couch and gathered her purse. “She was a perfect angel.”

Cici beamed up at her dad, all proud. Being kind of a smug dick about it. Simon grinned and kissed her forehead. “Good girl.”

He turned to the older woman again, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry. Thank you again. You’re a lifesaver.”

Ellen gave him that tight smile that said she didn’t approve of him, nor was she doing it for him. “You’re welcome.”

Moments later, Cici was sitting next to her father on the floor before the couch, bowls of ice cream in their laps, watching TV. “Did you have fun at your job, Daddy?”

Simon glanced down at her with a mouth full of ice cream. “Nope. Really boring stuff.”

“It’s always boring there.” She said with a shake of her head,as if she had to put up with it alongside him.

“You said it, kid. But hey, just means I get to come home and have my fun with you, right?” He asked the little girl.

Cici’s face screwed up as if considering it. “That does make sense.” she decided, nodding and shoving more ice cream in her maw. She leaned against his arm, turning those big ol’ eyes up at him. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, precious?”

“What do you do again?” she asked him in her little voice.

It was a question he always dreaded. He knew that if he wanted her to have a shot at a normal life, he’d have to lie to some extent, but he hated lying to his daughter. To her and her alone, he always tried to remain true.

“I...I protect people.” He explained. It wasn’t really a lie...he’d protected Lyla today pretty damn well.

“Like a cop?”

“No. No, it’s...It’s more like a bodyguard.” He clarified.

“Oh.” She responded. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, precious?”

“What’s a bodyguard?”

Simon laughed. “Uh...it’s...it’s someone that people pay to make sure that...that nobody hurts them or the people they care about.”

“Oh.” That seemed to sit well with the 6 year old. “...so...is Miss Ellen my bodyguard?”

That brought on a full laughing fit. “No, Ceese. She’s your babysitter...though I bet if someone picked a fight with her, she’d whup up on ‘em.”

Cici was clearly picturing in her head the old woman fighting like in the kung fu movies she loved so much and the image made her giggle. The pair sat in silence, eating their ice cream.

“Daddy?” She said finally.

“Yes, precious?” He sighed. The kid was so full of questions…

“I miss you when you’re not here.”

Annnnd there went his heart. Completely melted. “Me too, kiddo.” He said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “Me too.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:46 am

The next morning, Simon was in the kitchen, pouring himself and Cici bowls of Cap’n Crunch The little one’s legs dangled over the edge of her chair as she hummed a little tune. Simon carried the bowls over, sliding one her way.

“Thankya, Daddy.” She smiled that toothy cheeseball grin at him, bringing a smirk to his face.

“You’re welcome, creeper.” He said, mussing up her hair.

“Dooooon’t!” She whined, swatting blindly at his hands.

“Oh, sorry. Did I ruin your look?” He chuckled, settling in and taking in a spoonful of cereal. Before he could even swallow, the sounds of knuckles rapping on the door echoed throughout the apartment.

Cici leaned backwards in the chair, letting her head dangle over the back curiously. “Whodat?” she announced in as deep and tough a voice as she could muster.

“Hey. Manners.” Simon said, reprimanding her, but was unable to hide the amused smirk forming on his lips.

Simon’s amused expression faded as he stared at the door. The tatted fighter slipped out of his chair. “Wait here, sweetie.” He said, tapping her head lightly as he passed. He’d about made it to the door when he saw her try and sneak a peek.

“Cici. Eat your breakfast.” He ordered.

“Fine.” The little girl pouted theatrically and stomped over to the table.

He waited to make sure she stayed before he opened the door. On the other end was a dark skinned woman. Slim, fit, very officious, her black hair a big bunch of bouncy curls, kept in a stylish bob-cut. Her partner, a lanky man named Evan Stanton was at her side. She smiled politely to him.

“Mr. Toews. Just the man I’m looking for.” She said, tauntingly.

“Detective Paige. Tell me this isn’t the last place you’ve looked.”

“Nah. Second or third.” She played along.

“Those skills clearly aren’t going to waste.” He returned that sickeningly sweet smile. “What can I do for you?”

Paige stepped in, eyes scanning the place. Considering he was a working, single father with a bit of a criminal history, the place wasn’t as big a wreck as she figured it would be. It could use a solid cleaning, but at least someone was making an effort, she thought. She reached out to the shelf, plucking up a red and pink-haired pony doll. She glanced back at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Yours?”

“My daughter’s.” He shot back. “More of a Polly Pocket guy myself.” He stepped in front of the kitchen doorway as Paige peered in. The protective papa bear. Paige could appreciate that. Not a lot of men like him stuck around, let alone took full responsibility for a child. He was a rarity. Too bad, he was a likely suspect in her investigation.

“What was your schedule like yesterday, Mr. Toews?” She asked, looking him in the eye.

“Got called into work at about 9. Was there until about 7:30.” He said, betraying nothing. Corrine could play amicable, but she was sharp. She was watching for ANY tick to give him away.

“What is it you’re doing now, Mr. Toews?” She asked him, propping a hip against the back of his couch.

“Ehrenshraudt Imports. I work on the docks.” Thanks to an agreement through Cotter, the foreman and a few workers at the docks would corroborate his story under questioning.

“Rough job, is it?” She asked him with that suspicious, smug edge to her tone.

“Can be.” he admitted.

“That what happened to your hands?” She asked, a nod directed at his battered hands.

“These?” He glanced down to his knuckles. “No. That’s from fighting.”

“Which I am certain was all above board.” She nodded sarcastically.

“Prizefighting illegal now?”

Paige laughed. “Official, sanctioned fights are more than fine. I tend to keep up with the big ones, myself. Up and comers. Funny I haven’t seen your name pop up.”

“Gotta start somewhere.” He fired back.

“Hm. Maybe.” She nodded slowly. Fucker had an answer for everything. “So, you were at work all day, huh?”

“That’s correct.” He said.

“Then it might come as a surprise for you to learn there was a high speed chase through the city that resulted in the deaths of 4 men linked to the organized crime in and around the greater Rhy’din area?”

“No, I heard something about that.” Simon bluffed, keeping casual eye contact.

“Did you, now?”

“Kinda hard to miss a Michael Bay flick playing out on the streets of LA.” He responded.

“That it is.” She nodded. “Funny thing is, one of the vehicles, a beautiful Mercedes was found a burnt out husk in a scrap yard this morning. It was linked to a known associate of your’s.” She tilted her head. “One Cameron Francis Cotter. Name ring a bell?”

“Yeah, I knew him back in the day.” Simon crossed his arms, resting back against the doorway.

“Rumor has it, you’ve done a bit of wetwork for the guy.” She said, eyeing him. “Simon?” Paige said evenly. “Are you doing something stupid? Something that could land you in trouble?”

His lips formed an amused lopsided grin. “I’ve never been a big fan of rumors, Detective. Lots of garbage gets spread around, and next thing you know, a simple, honest working man like me ends up with a bad name.”

“If you are working for Cameron Cotter, then I have to warn you. The man is dangerous. We like him for 23 different murders. Several of them former low-level associates. If you’re doing something desperate, something stupid...you should tell me. It might save you..and that little angel in there a heap of trouble.” She nodded towards the kitchen.

“Detective, do I look like I’m stupid enough to get mixed up with a man like Cameron Cotter?”

“Yes, you absolutely do.” she nodded, her eyes laser focused on that cool, collected face.

“You don’t know me.” Simon responded, his voice dropping slightly. “And nobody…*nobody* threatens my daughter.” He leveled that stare at her. Paige watched the man a long moment before pursing her lips. FInally, she reached into the liner pocket of her black leather jacket.

“Alright.” She said, drawing a business card. “You think of anything, want to talk...you’ve got my number.”

Simon gave the slightest of nods, took it without looking and pocketed it. The pair of them walked toward the door, Simon opening it for her. She turned halfway out the door and spoke quietly so Cici wouldn’t hear.

“Mr. Toews?” She asked, drawing his attention. “You fuck with me on this? I find out you’re lying? You hinder my investigation in any way? There is no measure to how fast and hard I will bring this all crashing down around your head.”

The pair of them stared each other down, almost daring each other to do something stupid. Finally, she smiled again. “Have a nice day.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:47 am

A week passed before the next call came in. Lyla needed a bodyguard and Simon was it. They were going to a club opening in LA that night and she was to meet him there.

Simon arrived to an empty house. Stepping in, he peered around at the silent abode. “Hello?” He called out, his voice echoing through the cavernous interior.

No response.

He wandered further in, investigating the lower floor and finding nothing, but the sound of running water from above caught his attention. He swore to God, if she wasn’t there, if Cotter had done something to her...

He made his way up the stairs and down the hall to her room, As he knocked upon the bedroom door, he found it ajar, the force of his knuckles letting it creak open slowly. He was greeted with the sight of Lyla standing there in front of a full length mirror, clad only in a pair of towels, her hair wrapped up tall beneath one. For a moment he just stood there.

“In or out.” She said.

“What?”

“Come in or go wait downstairs. Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not going to put up with you gawking over there.” She spat back at him. As she bent forward checking her make-up, he could see the beginnings of a bruise on her back peeking out from beneath the towel. He had no doubts where that had come from. The placement was too strategic to have been an accident. Cotter was trying to hide it. Simon wasn’t exactly a fan of the woman, but men who beat on women were less than scum. The image in his head of Cotter beating on her made his blood boil.

Simon stepped into the room, waiting by the door. “So.” She said, glancing at him in the mirror. “Back for more?” A defiant sneer upturned her crimson lips. “Figured you’d have run with your tail between your legs after last time.”

“I don’t run.” He said simply.

Lyla smirked and glanced sidelong at him. She watched the tall, tatted bruiser walk up to one of her wedding pictures. Cotter was sweaty and looked more than a little loaded in the picture. The beauty next to him looked flawless, but the smile on her face was so devoid of any genuine joy, one could swear he had a gun to her back.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” He said, staring at the picture.

“What do you want?” She said distractedly, fixing her eyeliner. “A medal for doing your job?”

Simon glanced over his shoulder, eyeing her as she focused on her makeup. “No. I’m good.” He set the picture down and turned to face her. “That happen a lot?”

“What? Annoying dicks barging into my room and badgering me with stupid questions?” She asked distractedly.

“The bruises.” He clarified, undaunted.

Her cool immediately dropped. “Maybe you should mind your own fucking business.”

“You don’t seem the type to just let a man beat on you like that.” He said.

Those eyes burned in that mirror staring at him as he rose his hands defensively. “Oh really? You know what your opinion means to me?”

Simon played along and just shrugged.

“Absolute fuck all.” Lyla finished, her eyes narrowed at him. “How about you get the fuck out of here? Go wait downstairs.”

Simon didn’t show any signs of annoyance, just pushed off the dresser and walked out of the room. He sat there waiting a half hour before she came down the stairs, heels held between two fingers, looking immaculate and elegant, her bruises covered by skin-tight, glamorous dress. She didn’t say a word, just brushed right past him and out the door. Quickly, he snatched up the keys and followed her out.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:48 am

The bass emanating the club could be felt even as they parked nearby. A line of club-rats waited in vain, wrapped around the block to get into a club they never would. Lyla walked up front to the door like she owned the place, acting like the bouncer wasn't even there. There was no question about who she was, he just let them through.

The crowd was dense, the music bumping. As Simon looked around, he found that he hated pretty much everyone in the damn building. The pair of them ascended the stairs to the mezzanine, catching Cotter surrounded by a kiss-ass chorus of sycophants. The stocky crime lord was bent over a table, snorting a line of white powder.

He rose up, eyes wide and dilated, letting out a whoop. “God DAMN!” He bellowed. When his eyes met Simon, he opened his arms.

“Heh-heh-heeeey! Look at this mother fucker!” He pushed through, completely ignoring his wife (not that she could have cared less) roughly throwing his arm around Simon’s shoulder. “How you doin’ kid? Come on, do a bump with me.”

Simon fought the urge to punch him in the face, moving through the crowd. “Nah. I'm good.”

“Ahhhh ya pussy!” Cotter chuckled. He put two fingers to his lips and let out an ear splitting whistle. “Oi! Get this prick a drink!”

For a moment, Simon almost considered turning it down. But this place...these people? He needed a drink. As the bartender poured him a glass, he caught Carbone in his periphery. He could smell the whiskey on the big man’s breath. He could almost feel the desire for a fight emanating from him.

“You need somethin’?” Simon said, glancing over. If Carbone was going for intimidation, he was barking up the wrong tree.

“Heard you got the Boss’s wife in a scrape.”

“Did you now?” Simon responded, disinterested.

“Yeah.” Carbone said, eyes narrowing. “You get her hurt, get her killed...or do anything else to her? I’m gonna take pleasure in taking your ass apart piece by piece.”

Simon studied him curiously. “You spend a lot of time thikin’ about that?” he asked.

“Every wakin’ fuckin’ moment.” Carbone growled.

Simon rose his brows. “Well...can’t say I’m not flattered you spend so much time thinkin’ about my ass.”

Carbone suddenly looked confused, before he finally realized what Simon was saying. “No ...wait! That’s not-”

“Have fun, Chief.” Simon slapped him lightly on the cheek, snagged his glass and left him there to stew.

Tired of it, Simon broke away from the crowd, glass of bourbon in hand. Lyla was already 3 or 4 shots and a few pills in, surrounded by a gaggle of low lives. That was a woman sprinting towards an early grave if he ever saw one.

He didn't like this place. Too many bodies, flashing strobes. It made it difficult to watch for an attack. Plus, finding someone acting suspicious in place where 80% of the inhabitants were high as kites and trying desperately to get laid was no easy task. He leaned forward upon the railing overlooking the crowd when a figure sidled up beside him.

Lyla stared at him, her hip pressed against the railing and her arms crossed in front of her. A disapproving look on that perfect little face. “Are you going to just stand here looking miserable all night?”

“No, I had every intention of moving over there eventually.” Simon nodded toward an empty booth in the corner.

Lyla rolled her eyes. “It’s fun. Everyone’s having fun. Except you.”

“Not my scene.” he responded, taking a sip from his glass and glancing over to the crowd. “Besides. Not paying me to have a good time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You always this fucking dire? Or only when you’re drinking top shelf liquor on my husband’s dime?”

He wanted to say so much. That working for her husband was as much fun as a forced colonoscopy. That this wasn’t a vacation for him. That he could care less if the scumbag and his entire organization burned. That if he had the choice between this club and having his balls jabbed with red hot pokers, he’d go with the pokers. Instead he just grinned and turned back to the crowd.

“Dance with me.” Lyla demanded.

Simon furrowed his brow, glancing her way.

“Don’t stare at me like I just asked you a math problem, I said dance with me.” Lyla shot at him, grabbing the man by the arm and tugging him away. But Simon didn’t budge. He just looked at her under his brows.

“I’ve seen what happens to men who flirt with Cameron Cotter’s wife. No thanks.” He said.

Lyla’s teeth clenched hard, the muscle in her jaw rolling beneath the skin. “What if I told him you touched me in the car? ‘I begged him to stop, Cammy, but he kept on going!’” She said putting on a sweet innocent voice.

“You really think I’m gonna let you blackmail me?” He asked her, that unreadable thousand yard stare on his face that gave even her the chills.

She sighed, the smart-assed game dropping. “Look. Just one dance. He’s not gonna care about a dance, alright?”

He remained silent for a moment.

“Please?” Her tone seemed genuine, despite the drugs and liquor in her system. Simon glanced Cotter’s way and the man raised a glass, grinning that golden toothed grin.

He sighed and turned to her. “Fine. One.”

She grinned big “Yay!” Suddenly, she grabbed him by the arm and lead him down the stairs and through the crowd onto the dance floor. On the mezzanine, a little smirk formed on Carbone’s face. He’d be watching them with great interest.

Her arms rose and hips swayed seductively to the music. The woman had a natural grace to her even now. Her arms reached out, grabbing Simon by the open jacket as she worked her way toward him. For a moment, he was lost. Only aware of the bass seemingly coursing through his body, the proximity of Lyla Cotter to himself, and the way she moved in rhythm to the beat. Part of him couldn’t help but think she must be an absolute animal in bed. The way those hips moved, that drugged up, lusty gaze, the way her hands moved over that curvaceous body. She was a predator, A siren, leading weak willed, horny men to their doom. Even know this, it wasn’t difficult to see why so many had made the foolhardy mistake of going after the forbidden fruit.

Simon snapped back to reality as he caught the glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A man in an immaculately tailored suit was watching them *very* intently. He looked to one side and found another. And then another toward the back exit. Finally, he and the first man caught each other’s eyes. Seconds felt like hours as the two men read each other, the tension boiling over slowly.

It almost happened in slow motion, what came next. The man reached behind him, drew a .45 1911 and pointed it at them.

“DOWN!” Simon yelled out, pulling Lyla close and dropping low just as the weapon was fired. The bullet missed Lyla’s head by millimeters, but burst through the skull of a bystander behind them in a mist of red. Even as the bystander hit the floor, Simon pulled a glock from his waistband holster and opened fire, but the hitman was already diving for cover. Immediately the place was in a panic. Bodies slammed and shoved into each other, trying to get away.. Simon used the crowd, yanking the inebriated woman to her feet and disappearing in the stampeding throng. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carbone smuggling Cotter out a side door upstairs. The cowardly son of a bitch didn’t even put up a fight or so much as spare a glance to look for Lyla.

The hitmen were shoving through the crowd looking for their targets. Simon kept his head low and Lyla behind him until the nearest thug was within arm’s reach. He lashed out quickly, redirecting the gun upwards and lunging forth. His forehead slammed into the man’s nose, snapping his head back. Simon wasted no time, putting two to his chest and one to his head.

His weapon empty, he threw away the gun, protectively covering a panicking, INCREDIBLY high Lyla as they pushed on. Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed him from behind. Simon spun himself around , the hitman’s grip remaining on his suit coat. Simon just put his arms out, slipping out of the jacket and roundhouse kicked the man in the chest. Before the man could recover, he grabbed him by the back of the head and simultaneously pulled him down and drove his knee into his face.

The men at the back turned their automatic weapons on the crowd and just opened fire, indiscriminate of who they hit. Simon immediately tackled Lyla to the ground, his lips going to her ear. “Stay still. Do not move.” He ordered her, sliding her underneath two already dead bodies. He play dead, keeping eye contact with her. The fear he saw there was something he never thought he’d see in the woman. Maybe it was the drugs, but any facade she usually carried around was gone, and he saw her for who she really was.

Footsteps approached as he clutched an object tightly in his hand. “This is him. This is the son of a bitch.” he heard a voice say. A strong hand gripped his shoulder and rolled him. Immediately, he flicked out his switchblade and stabbed, backhanded right in the jugular of the thug hovering over him. Blood burst from the man’s lips as he gasped, coating Simon’s face in a spray of arterial crimson. He withdrew the knife roughly and shut the man’s mouth permanently, driving the blade through the bottom of his jaw and up through the roof of his mouth.

One hand gripped the gun as the other pulled him down, using the body as cover. The last hitman opened fire, the bullets absorbed by the dead man’s musclebound form. Simon pulled the trigger. One handed, the bullets weren’t well aimed, but the spray managed to catch him, ripping through the hitman’s clothing and torso in a series of bloody bursts.

Lyla lay there on the ground hidden beneath the bodies of innocents who were killed by bullets meant for her. Tears mingled with blood, rolling down her face and marring that perfect make-up. As the bodies were pulled off of her, she let out a scream and started lashing out like a feral creature until Simon grabbed her wrists. “HEY! HEY! It’s me!”

Eventually she calmed, clinging to him tightly as she struggled to control her breathing. “Come on. We need to get out of here.” He told her. Lyla stared up at him wide-eyed, a look of appreciation and admiration...actual warmth on her face toward him. And right then, in their perfect moment together...the cops burst into the club.

Simon put his hands up, there would be no escaping this.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:48 am

Simon sat in the interrogation room, his body aching, his clothes stained and askew. This night had not gone according to plan at all. The door creaked open and that last person he wanted to see stepped in. Corrine Paige walked in, proud as can be, her partner in tow.

Paige sat across from Simon, a shit-eating grin on her face as Stanton leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Well.” Corrine said gesturing upward with her hands. “Here. We. Are.”

Simon’s eyes tilted slowly up to her. “It's not how it looks.”

Paige feigned surprise. “Oh, it's not?” She shifted with theatrical eagerness in her seat, propping her chin atop her hands. “Please. Do go on. Because where I'm sitting, I've got 8 bodies and you holding the murder weapon for 4 of them. And unless I miss my guess, the blood on your face and hand might belong to the gentleman whose head you turned into a fucking kabob.”

“Not to mention that Mozambique you pulled on that one fella. That one was my personal favorite.” Stanton said.

“I was defending myself and my friend.” Simon said, doing his level best to keep his annoyance in check.

Paige smiled, that smug look of victorious righteousness on her face.

“Let’s talk about your ‘friend’.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be shocked to discover your ‘friend’ just so happens to be the wife of Cameron Cotter. A man with quite the reputation around here. See, your ‘friend’, her husband is being eyed for several different murders, the sale and distribution of narcotics, and a string of assault and battery charges as long as my leg. And I am a *tall* woman, Mr. Toews.”

“She is. Killer on a basketball court.” Stanton nodded.

“I know who he is.” He said, ignoring Stanton’s little jokes.

“Then you know how dangerous he is.” She countered.

“Listen. I was hired to protect his wife. People came to kill her and I intervened. Why aren’t you going after them?”

“Why, because they’re all dead, Simon.” she said in sickeningly sweet tone. “You killed them.”

“Yeah, kinda hard to question a guy without a face.” Stanton added.

“It was self defense.” He said, accentuating every word.

“Sure it was.” She winked. “Let me tell you what's going to happen now. You're going to be charged with murder. You're going to be convicted. And then, you are going to spend the rest of your life in six foot box. Your daughter will go into foster care and she will never, ever again see her degenerate, jailbird daddy again. And, between you and me, Simon? That little girl will be better off.”

A dangerous look formed on his face as he stared in silence.

“Unless...you play ball with me.” Paige was unmoved by the tough guy routine. She'd seen it before. “You're in a very unique position, Mr. Toews. You have an in with Cameron Cotter’s organization. You can help me bring him down. You're small potatoes, my friend. If I have a choice between sending you up the river or him? Guess which I'm gonna choose?”

There was no time to respond as the door to the interrogation room burst open. A man in a very expensive suit walked in. Simon knew exactly who he was. Miles Garvey was a high-priced attorney who kept the worst of the worst out of prison. “Mr Toews, don't say another word to this woman.”

Paige knew immediately who he was, a tight, annoyed smile thinned her lips. “Mr. Garvey. Been a while.”

“Corrine. Still questioning without counsel present, I see.”

“That's ‘Detective or Detective Paige I think, Miles.” She corrected him.

“My client has rights, and you are currently in violation of said rights. Now you can either release him or I will see to it you won't be able to so much as check a parking meter in this city again.”

“Your client is currently a suspect in several murders that occurred this very evening. So, if you-”

“Mr Toews saved the lives of hundreds of innocent people tonight and I believe the surveillance footage from the club will provide ample evidence to support this. He is a hero, not a criminal.”

Stanton rolled his eyes, chuckling bitterly. Paige stared a hole through the man. She’d watch him put murderers, rapists, drug pushers, and all manner of low-life back out onto her streets. She fucking hated him.

“Now, if I might have a word in private with my client?” The attorney said pointedly.

Paige's blood boiled staring at the man. Toews would be released before the sun rose and she knew it.

“Cor.” Stanton said, putting a hand upon her arm. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, she stood up and started for the door.

“Always a pleasure, Corrine.” Garvey said.

Paige whipped around looked Simon in the eyes.

“This doesn't end here, Simon.” She said quietly and dangerously. “Sooner or later you’re going to get sloppy. You’re going to fuck up and I am going to be there to put your ass down. There will be a reckoning. Count on it.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:49 am

Simon was lead out of the station by Garvey. If looks could kill, Simon would burst into flames as he passed Paige. Her usual antagonistic sarcastic facade dropped completely, replaced by burning rage.

He gave her a grave nod as he passed. Somehow the fact that the son of a bitch didn't even have the decency to act all smug about his victory made Paige even madder.

“I'm going to bury that motherfucker.” She said to Stanton.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Easy. We’ll get ‘im.” he comforted his partner.

A black sedan idled outside as Simon and Garvey descended the stairs. Garvey opened the door for the man. Cotter waited in the back, patting the seat beside him. “Get in, boyo. Take a seat.”

Simon hesitated a second but climbed inside. A sense of dread hung so thick, he thought he could cut it with a knife. “I think, lad, I might have underestimated you. “ Cotter said, lighting a cigar.

All he could think of was Lyla dancing close the night before. So forceful, so aggressive right in front of her husband. This was it. He was just waiting for the pistol in that shoulder holster to get drawn and fired. Would they leave a body to be buried? Would Cici know he had not abandoned her? The thought made his stomach ache, but he would not give this bloated fuck the satisfaction.

“See...I thought you was just a scrapper. Ain't no good for nothin’ but usin’ your fists. But you…” a grin formed on his round face. “You are a stone cold killer.”

Simon’s brow creased in concern as Cotter leaned forward through a cloud of smoke, looking like the devil himself. “How would you like a more… substantial role in my organization?”

It seemed like his pulse was beating like a war drum in his ears. There was no desire in him to play hitman for a lowlife like Cameron Cotter. Slowly, he shook his head, and the smile on Cotter’s face faded.

“You should think about your answer, Simon, me lad.” He said, eyes locked on the tattooed man. “You think about what this could mean for you.”

Simon got the feeling it wasn't an offer he could refuse outright.

“And that little girl you got waitin’ for ya.”

Somewhere deep inside a fire just started raging. He slowly turned his eyes up to Cotter. The stocky criminal bringing back that toothy grin.

“I'm going out of town for a week. Take some time. Think it over.” Cotter told him. “But when I get back, I expect an answer. And I hope you make the right choice.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:49 am

Simon sat in the driver’s seat of his old Mustang, awaiting his charge. Dread had opened shop in the back of his mind. That feeling of unease consuming him. It wasn't that he was above killing, hell 7 years ago, he would have been all too eager to take the job. But now it wasn't about what he wanted. Now it was about Cici.

The doors opened to the building he was parked in front of, and there she was. Cici. The little girl lit up at the sight of the familiar car and the man inside. A grin spread across his lips as he slipped out. Cici sprinted toward him, shouting “Daddy!”

She leapt into his arms, throwing her arms around him. “I didn't know you were picking me up today!”

Simon squeezed his daughter tight. “Thought I'd surprise ya, kid.”

The look on the little one’s face told him he’d been successful. She piled into the car and strapped in. “Where to, kiddo?” Simon asked.

“Um...Todd’s! I want zella sticks!”

Simon smirked. “Mozarella sticks...alright. Maybe we get you something else to go with that.”

“Nope! Just sticks!” Cici said, resolute.

“Sticks it is.” Simon said with a little laugh.

Later, the pair sat in a booth in the cosy little diner. Todd’s was a bit of a hole in the wall, but the owner/cook could work a grill like crazy. Cici and Simon were regulars, and the eponymous Todd always gave her a few extra fries or mozzarella sticks. The little brown-haired girl was currently stuffing her face with the latter.

“So…”Simon said chewing a mouthful of burger. “You want to hit up the park after this?”

Cici nodded furiously, clapping her hands excitedly. Simon nodded to her, content for that moment. The smile faded from his face when the door opened. The woman who entered was almost unrecognizable. Gone were the fancy clothes and that precisely applied make-up. But Lyla Cotter stood there, clad in black leggings and hoodie, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Even dressed down, she had a natural beauty to her.

However, SImon was not distracted by any of that. This woman was part of his other life. A life he tried to keep separate from his daughter. She caught sight of him and started heading over, leaving him no doubts as to why she’d come. He locked eyes with the woman, catching something new there that gave him pause.. Vulnerability.

“Hey.” she said softly, a small smile gracing her lips. Cici beamed up at her waving.

“Hi!”

Lyla turned to the little girl, mild surprise on her face softening to a warm smile. “Well, hi there. Who are you.” She asked, her voice rising into a sweet, melodic, friendly cadence.

“I’m Cici.” She pointed to herself. “Who are you?”

“Hi, Cici. I’m Lyla. I’m...I’m a friend of your...daddy’s?” She said, not sure of the relationship between Simon and the girl.

“Cici.” Simon said, sliding her a few dollars. “Go play a game.” he ordered.

“She’s really pretty, Daddy.” Cici said in a whisper that was not at all quiet.

“Cici.” He said firmly, trying to stifle a laugh. The little girl collected the money with a pouty face.

“It was nice to meet you.” Lyla said as she passed.

“You too!” She responded. Simon watched until she was over by the arcade games before turning around to find Lyla standing there.

Lyla smiled after the girl. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” She asked him, chewing on the back of her lip.

He was quiet a long moment, eyeing her before planting a boot on the seat in front of him, sliding it out. Lyla sat, a thankful look on her face. “That’s your daughter?”

He just nodded.

“I’m guessing she’s the reason you…” She stopped herself, looking around. “Do what you do.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just kept staring at her as if trying to read her mind. “Why are you here?”

“I was out and saw your car.” She told him simply Though it wasn’t enough for him.

“I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”

Lyla lowered her eyes a moment. Humility wasn’t exactly her thing. “I...I wanted to say thank you.” She said softly. “For the other night.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. This was new.

“You went out of your way to protect me...and he…” she paused, looking out the window, drawing her upper lip between her teeth. “You know that son of a bitch didn’t even pick me up from the station?”

He could see there was a lot going on beneath the surface. She was in turmoil.

“He sent one of his little cronies to pick me up. Didn’t even ask me if I was okay when I got home. The fucking coward ran away and left me to die and the only thing he says to me when I get home is ‘you look like shit. Go shower.’”

In spite of himself, he felt a tinge of sympathy for the mobster’s wife. Still, though, he said nothing. She leveled those hazel eyes at him. “You saved my life. And...I just...I’ve treated you horribly.” She said, searching that poker face for some kind of reaction.

“I’m sorry.” Lyla whispered. “I didn’t know who you were...and I’m sorry.” Her eyes turned to the little girl, watching her playing a game for a moment. Simon glanced back, no longer feeling threatened.

“She’s beautiful.” Lyla said to him, a sad smile on her lips. “She deserves better than you working for...him.”

Simon turned to her, brow furrowed. “Why do you stay with him.”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t know what he’s capable of...what he could do to me. If I ran, if I left...he’d find me...and I don’t want to think about what he’d do to me. What he’s already done to me.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

Lyla stared at him, looking like she might break at any moment. “I should go. I’m sorry for interrupting your date with your girl. I just...I had to say that.”

He nodded to her slowly, deciding not to press. Lyla stood and then slowly stuck her hand out. “Again...thank you.”

Simon stared at her hand, a million thoughts running through his brain feverishly. Finally he reached out and took it, giving a firm squeeze. “Enjoy your night.” Lyla told him and made her way toward the door.

Lyla paused and glanced back at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He simply nodded in response.

Simon watched as the beauty walked out the door, suddenly feeling like everything had become much more complicated. Part of him preferred that she remain the arrogant, rude bitch he’d known. At least then, there wasn’t any part of him that was truly concerned for her. Now, she was vulnerable. Now she was a person. A terrified, wounded, incredibly lonely person.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:50 am

He heard them talking before he entered the room. Those husky, rough, boisterous voices, bragging about what nefarious activities they’d gotten into. This beautiful, expensive home, the kind of home he’d never be able to afford if he worked a lifetime...and it was occupied by these lowlives.

“I bend the bitch over a pool table, grab ‘er by the hair and she’s squealin’ for me to drop the 8 ball, if ya know what I’m sayin’!” Cotter growled, laughing along with his sycophants. Already it was obvious he wasn’t talking about Lyla. Simon pushed open the door, entering in silence.

Cotter looked up from the bar, sneering and slapping the countertop. “Well, there he is! The man of the hour! The V I fuckin’ P!” He announced.

Simon said nothing. Just walked in and stood with a bit of distance between him and the gathering.

“You made up your mind yet, kid?” Cotter asked jovially.

“No. not yet.”

Cotter’s grin faded slowly. “That’s disappointin’. Time’s runnin’ out, Toews. I ain’t gonna wait forever for you to grow a brain.”

Again, silence from Simon. The sound of the doors opening behind him drew the attention of the room. Lyla stood there, back in her familiar state. Tight, sleek white sleeveless dress, stiletto heels. Big, round sunglasses covering her eyes, and her hair immaculate.

“Ahhh...there she is. Love of me fuckin’ life.” Cotter said, pushing off the bar and ambling toward them. “I tell you what she done yesterday?”

Simon just kept his eyes on Lyla. She stood stock still and quiet as Cotter approached. “This lil’ cuss sneaks outta here. Nobody ta’ watch ‘er. Don’t tell nobody. Just thinks she can go out whenever she fuckin’ feels like it. Di’nt ya, love?” Cotter said, smiling at her.

He grabbed her roughly by the jaw and glanced back at Simon. “I don’t think I need to tell ya...I don’t like my things doin’ shit I don’t know about. Do I, love?” He looked to her with those beady eyes. “Show ‘im. Show ‘im how bad you hurt me.”

Simon controlled his breathing as best as possible, something acidic building within him as he looked into those big sunglasses. Lyla reached up slowly and slid them off her face. Though her left eye was swollen shut, she still held that strong, defiant expression upon her face.

“If you think I like hurtin’ this pretty little face...you’re dead wrong.” Cotter said as if he was the one sacrificing. “Cover tha’ shit up.”

Cotter turned his beady-eyed gaze to Simon. “I don’ like my property sneakin’ around behind my back. Y’hear?”

Simon wanted to hit him. No. Not hit. Kill. He wanted to smash that face in until it was a bloody pulp. Wrap his hands around that thick throat and squeeze until the light left those beady little eyes and that black heart stopped beating. He wanted to hear the son of a bitch beg. But he was outnumbered, and worse, he had something to lose. So, instead, he just nodded.

“Get outta here.” Cotter said to the two of them. Simon walked beside her toward the door.

“And Simon…” Cotter said, drawing his gaze. “Tomorrow. I want an answer by tomorrow.”

He just nodded and followed Lyla out the door.

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:50 am

Lyla stared out the window of the car in silence. Simon’s eyes stayed on the road ahead and not on her. He didn’t know what to say. What *could* he say? Cotter wanted to own him. Lock, stock and barrel. And he was certain that he would burn the world to see that Simon worked for him. Lyla, Cici, and then Simon himself would pay the price if the answer was “no”.

If there was something he hated most, it would be men who beat on a weaker woman. He’d known women who could absolutely destroy Cotter, but Lyla was most definitely not one of them. He’d beat her soundly, but was too much of a coward to even let the world see what he was. Made her hide his sins, because what good was a trophy wife with a busted face? Finally, he felt those eyes on him, even if he couldn’t see them, and glanced at the mirror.

“You should go.” Lyla said quietly. “Take your daughter...take what you can and go. Run as fast and as far as you possibly can.”

Simon’s brow creased as he looked forward. The mere mention of his daughter putting images in his head that he couldn’t shake. Cici looking like her. And worse…

“I can't.” He said, his voice a low grumble.

“Then you're fucking stupid.” Lyla muttered. “You think THIS is bad?” She asked, pulling off her glasses and showing that swollen, bruised eye. “You have no idea how far he's willing to go.” She said with a shake of her head. “What he will do to your daughter will make this look like a love tap. Leave.” She pleaded, her voice shaking. “Get the hell out of this town and never look back.”

“And what? He goes on to keep doing what he does? To you? To someone else?” Simon glanced into the mirror to look her in the eyes. “How long before he comes looking for me? For my daughter? How long do I run?”

“As long as you can.” She said turning her head out the window.

“That’s not a life.”

“It’s better than death.” she countered.

“No. It isn’t. I don’t run.” He said. “Not from men like him.”

“There are always men like him. You can’t beat them.”

“No. Not outright.” He agreed. “But, I can do far more damage from the inside than out. I can chip away at him. Use him. I can see to it that he never makes another penny. That every time he makes a move, someone else is there before him.”

Lyla glared at him. “You stubborn moron. You stupid, stubborn fucking idiot... ” She spat at him before a little smile worked onto her lips. “If you’re doing this, I want in.”

Simon’s blue eyes flicked to her in the mirror. “You sure? It’ll be dangerous.”

“Living with him is dangerous. I want him destroyed. I want him broken. I want to see the look on his face as we take him apart piece by piece and him having no idea I’m behind it.” Lyla said. “I want to see him break.”

Simon Toews · Post by **Simon Toews** » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:51 am

The next day, Simon did two things. He accepted Cotter’s offer and picked up a burner phone. The first job would be in service as a lookout on a deal with some of Cotter's overseas contacts.

And Detective Paige received a text from an unknown number giving the date and time of the meeting. Biltmore Docks. 12 AM. With that, he dropped the phone into a dumpster.

Simon sat in the driver's seat of a brand new Charger, tucked neatly in an alleyway between two warehouses. The cherry on his cigarette glowing orange as he inhaled. He checked the clock. 12:30. Pleasantries would be getting exchanged right now.

Paige would probably be getting ready to strike. Then all hell would break loose.

“Toews. How's it looking out there?” A voice chimed out through his FRS radio. Blue eyes glanced down before he took it up to respond.

“Coast is clear.”

“Roger that.”

Down by the dock, Cotter was smoking a big fat stogie, yacking away with Mirovelli, the man in a finely tailored suit, flanked by armed men.

“Let's get to brass tacks, shall we?” Cotter said through a plume of smoke.

“Let's. I have fifteen crates here ready for purchase. But I have come here at great risk to myself and my organization. I expect compensation for my troubles.”

Cotter narrowed those beady, dark eyes. “That was never part of our deal, mate.”

“I've travelled far to get to this hell hole. If you're not willing to work with me, then perhaps I shall take my business elsewhere.”

“Now you wait one sodding second-”

“And make no mistake, I will see to it nobody in my contacts trades with you ever again.” Mirovelli said shrewdly.

Cotter fumed, staring a hole through the man. “You ain't fuckin’ me like that, boy.”

Mirovellis men drew their weapons and so did Cotter's. The finely suited man just smiled a toothy grin. “Now, now, gentlemen. No need to turn nasty. We are businessmen. I'm sure Mr Cotter and I can come to an agreement. Isn't that right, my friend.”

Cotter eyed him a moment. “15,000. Plus another 2 when I get my crates.”

Mirovelli’s eyebrows lifted. “17? I believe we have a deal, Mr. Cotter.”

Suddenly lights burst out over the area. “Nobody move! You are all under arrest!” A voice echoed out from a loudspeaker.

And all hell broke loose.

Mirovelli’s men opened fire first, and Cotter's returned it, pulling their stocky boss out of the fray. Red and blue lights swarmed the area. Swat Vans rolled in and armored men and women hopped out. Orders and calls to cease fire were drowned out by weapons fire and soon the cops were involved as well.

That was his sign. Simon slapped the car into gear and peeled out, pedal to the metal, the Charger tearing out of the narrow alleyway.

Cotter was in the midst of the vicious, three way gunfight. Ducking behind a shipping container, he drew his .45 and plugged one of Mirovelli's men square in the face.

“Cam!” One of his lieutenants yelled. “Go!” He was then peppered with automatic gunfire, his stomach and chest bursting with every bloody impact before he fell, lifeless, to the ground. Cotter stared a moment down at the body. The sparking ricochets of bullets brought him back to the moment and he ran.

Simon expertly maneuvered the car through the maze of containers and combatants, tires screeching as he made hair pin turns around a cop car in his way. Little battles raged all around him, but he just kept driving. He had one goal tonight.

Cotter ran as far as his lungs would allow before he had to stop and catch his breath. Panting there. He held himself up with one arm. Suddenly, he was tackled from the side, the wind leaving his body all too quickly. The man might have been out of shape, but he was still strong as a bear. Through the vicious blows to his gut, he managed to climb up on top of the thug attacking him, grab him by the hair and hit him with a vicious right. The man was out cold, but Cotter didn’t stop. He grabbed his attacker’s head and smashed it against the concrete again and again and again until he heard bone crack and the sickening squishy sound against the pavement.

Cotter panted heavily, struggling to find his breath again, spitting upon the fresh corpse he’d just made. His .45 lay within reach, he noted. With a groan he started to reach out for it.

Click-clack!

Cotter turned slowly to find one of Mirovelli's top men standing there with a Desert eagle pistol leveled at him. There was no way he'd get his own weapon up in time before his head was blown off.

He squared himself, looking the man in the eye. If he was going out he wasn't going out like a punk, his hand still reached out for that pistol. “Do it. Do it, you piece a’ shit.”

The man took aim for his head, ready to pull the trigger.

Simon spotted him, for a moment considering letting it happen. All it would take was less than a pound of pressure and Cotter would be gone forever. But now was not the time.

He slammed on the gas, the man caught completely unaware. His body slammed against the bumper, and his head left a bloody crack on the windshield. The car screeched to a halt, launching the body from the hood, and Simon threw it into reverse.

Cotter watched breathlessly as the window lowered to reveal Simon.

“Get in!”

A grin crowded it’s way onto Cotter’s round face. He clambered on into the vehicle and slammed the door. As soon as he was in Simon threw the car into reverse, jerking the wheel to bring them about face. It was a war zone all around them. SWAT and mobsters trading fire while Mirovelli and some of his men hopped into speedboats and took off. The damage would most certainly be done, and with this act of altruism, Cotter wouldn’t look too hard at the real man behind it all.

Cotter lurched forward as Simon slammed on the brakes, a squad car heading directly for them. Corrine Paige sat in the passenger seat. “Ram him! Make sure he doesn’t get away!”

The darkness hid him enough that he couldn’t be ID’d but Simon wasn’t about to test the theory. The shifter clacked into reverse and he gunned it. She was dogging him hard, staying right on his front bumper.

“Toews! TOEWS! GO!” Cotter bellowed. But Simon was entirely focused. One of Mirovelli’s stragglers got caught by the rear bumper and was sent careening off to one side. “Lose the bitch!” Cotter ordered.

Suddenly, Simon jerked the wheel, the Charger going into a reverse hairpin turn between two buildings. The alley was narrow and the rear view mirrors ripped right off the door. Paige’s car skidded to a halt just short of the gap. The car came out the other end in a shower of sparks, twin scrapes up the entire side of the vehicle, spinning wildly and facing forward.

“Go around! LET’S GO! ” Paige shouted to her partner.

A few more squad cars showed up in the only remaining rearview. The car lurched forward and took off with them in pursuit. He glanced behind him, noting one coming up at his 4 o’clock. His boot slammed on the brakes before he could pit him. Simon jerked the wheel and hit the gas, putting the squad car into a concrete pole, leaving him behind in burst of shattered glass and flying debris.

Simon locked his eyes onto the on-ramp for the highway, pushing the car as fast as it would go. Before he could exit another cop pulled out of in front of him. While Cotter lost his mind, Simon was cool, collected. The wheel turned and the brakes hit, he slid sideways, clipping the front end and sending the charger into a spin to the other side of the squad car. Simon checked on Cotter then cut the wheel heading out onto the highway. The pursuing officers were slowed by their downed comrade, but it wouldn't last. But Simon had a plan.

The Charger left the highway, weaving through the streets into an underground parking garage. He pulled up next to an inconspicuous looking Soccer Mom van. Quickly, he exited his car and surveyed his handy work. The Charger was beat to shit. It took Cotter two tries to push the door open, his overweight form spilling out onto the concrete.

Simon barely hid the grin when he looked up. After pulling the man to his feet, they entered the van and took off into the night.

Rings of Honor

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