Trinity Sisters – Filthy Business

– Hey guys! I need your help. Come with me.

We went to the sleeping room, and I carefully opened the door just enough to put my head inside and do a census.

– Twelve men sleeping, I whispered addressed to Dave. How are we going to handle them? I need to ask them some questions about Pierre so we can’t just kill them. Unfortunately.

– I can go in and grab the first one closest to the door and bring him out here, but it will probably wake up the rest.

– We have five sets of handcuffs. We could sneak in and cuff five of them to their beds. That will reduce the resistance to seven men and if you get one out, we are down to six. That’s more manageable.

– That’s a job for Psycho the Ninja, Dave said. He can lock them down and remove their weapons more silently than falling snow.

– On my way, Psycho replied on the intercom.

I removed the cabinet I placed under the door handle and Psycho went in. Thirty seconds later he handed two rifles out the door. Two at a time not to make noises and a few moments later we had fifteen fully automatic rifles, a few handguns and twelve sleeping beauties of whom the five closest to the door were intimately cuffed to their beds.

– Go for the guy in bed no three on the left. Noticed he has a crescent and a star on his left hand!


Filthy Business

– Wow! Maybe this is The Butcher!

Dave’s turn. He went in silent, but we heard the bump when one of them ‘fell’ out of the bed. A fraction of a second later Dave appeared in the door dragging some bastard by his legs, hardly awake.

I slammed the door and put the closet back under the handle.

Dave took him up, threw him on a couch and slapped his face a few times to bring him up to speed, so to speak.

I initiated our short conversation.

– I assume you are Ramon the Butcher. We are looking for a French boy named Dio. Where is he?

– Who the fuck are you? He asked.

– It is more interesting who YOU are, I said. First of all, as of this moment, you are unemployed as your organisation is dissolved. So, no more salary for you.

– Second, if you don’t answer my questions, you will on top of your unemployment also be dead.

– This boy, Dio… his dad Pierre was locked up in the pit with his wife and a lot of other people. Yes – I said WAS! The roles have changed. All your prisoners are free an YOU are prisoners! Now, where is Dio?

His eyes did that fast movement you know, that revealed he had to come up with an alternative answer fast that could save his ass. The true answer would be a death sentence from his former employer. And the wrong answer could be a death sentence from me.

– I can tell you are trying to avoid the question, I said. You flinched.

At this point, all the guards were awake and tried to open the door but the cabinet under the door handle was a formidable opponent! It didn’t budge one iota!

Neither did the guard I questioned. So, I looked around trying to get an idea of some kind. My eyes fell on a garbage can made from aluminium.

That just might work!

– Dave, can you find something to tie his arms with?

He cuffed him while I took hold of a wooden chair and smashed it to the floor. It broke – which was intended. I needed a solid stick and picked up one of the legs from the chair.

Our friend in the couch began to look slightly worried about his immediate future.

I placed the garbage can over his head, took a few seconds to get ready and swung my improvised bat which hit the can with well over 100 mph. Still accelerating on impact!

The pain inside the can isn’t that big, but the sound is! And the waiting for the next blast is terrifying and exhausting.

– Did you rape Céline?

I heard him moaning. I took that as a confession. And swung the chair leg once more.

A singing twack that left an ambient reverb floating between the concrete walls. What a beautiful sound.

Don’t misunderstand me. I am not a sadist or psychopath. At least not full-time. I just hate people that make money on other human beings’ sufferings. I know! I am no better than them. The only difference – and that is not an attempt to justify anything, is they do it for the money. I do it to stop those who do it for the money. Money can make some people do horrible things. Somehow it has become my mission to teach these people a thing or two about entrepreneurship.

OK – I enjoyed it a little. The feeling of bringing their own shit to their own doorstep is very enjoyable. Because this way they need to fight a superior and qualified opponent. Not innocent and defenceless women and children.

– Stop!!! He shouted. STOP!

I hit the bucket once more. His head leaned forward.

– Please stop!!!

– Nah – this feels really good! Are you going to tell me what I wanna know?

– I am! I will!! We sent a kid back to Mexico yesterday. He shouldn’t even have been here, but the pickup team fucked up, panicked and drove out here. We threw the parents in the pit and sent the boy back.

– Back? To where? Was it Dio? I was just about to violate the Universal Declaration of Human Rights for the fourth time as I had the strongest urge to swing my homemade bat once more. Honestly – this one didn’t deserve the protection from the bucket! Five inches of barbed wire up his ass seemed more appropriate.

Obviously terrified of yet another close encounter with my improvised but highly efficient bat he answered:
– Yes, yes, it was their son. He was in a hurry to get his words out now.

– Who raped the woman? I asked again.

He gave me four names still with the bucket over his head.

– This is only four, I said. This means you raped her too! You are no. five!

No answer.

I swung the bat one more time for Céline as hard as I could while the sucker’s moaning drowned in the resounding crash from the bucket that covered his head, and once again waved through the underground hallways for seconds.

A very satisfying sound I might add! And the vindictive feeling too!

– Now, I need an address! You still have your teeth so you can still speak! Where did they take Dio?

I got the address. It was in the outskirts of northern CDMX so we had to go back.

Trinity Sisters – Big Business

Being in jail is no holiday. Survival hinges on securing a place at the apex of the social hierarchy. The rest are merely considered expendable.

Within these particular walls, two factions hold sway. One group may outnumber the other, yet they maintain an uneasy equilibrium. The first faction caters exclusively to individuals of Caucasian descent, while the other encompasses Hispanics, Africans, and Muslims – essentially, anyone who doesn’t fit the ‘pale’ mold. You get the picture.

The top brass of the biggest faction was the one I would target. Her name is Violet and she is violent like hell. Borderline personality for sure. Serving a two times life sentence for murder. One of them was a cop. I’m fairly certain she has a long trail of more murders in her wake.

I have no allies in here so seizing control of that faction would be quite a challenge.

And it would start a lot sooner than I thought.

In the past, I used to favor having a relatively well-structured plan before taking action. However, the experiences gained from working with Dave and the crew have schooled me in the art of improvisation.

My rep. preceded me and when Violet caught wind of my previous merits she obviously felt threatened. That was intended.

The most dangerous place in prison isn’t the chair. It’s the shower. More people are killed in the bath room than in the gas chamber. When taking a forced group shower that first evening in my new home I was very aware of that.

So it didn’t appear as a big surprise when I was attacked. It was one of her leutennents. No idea what her name was.

She attempted to inch closer, yet her peculiar demeanor did not escape my notice, nor did the concealed right hand she kept well-hidden. As she closed within two yards, she abruptly pounced on me.

With a pointed stick in her hand, which might as well have been a sharpened shard of plastic, she charged toward me, screaming as if intent on impaling me. Swiftly, I sidestepped at the last possible moment, pivoted, seized her by the neck, and forcefully collided her forehead with the water tap. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. Keeping a watchful eye on the others in the shower, I retrieved the makeshift weapon, uttering cautiously:

– Anyone else?

Nobody volunteered.

What a shame. I love nude fighting.

I knew Violet sent her. She is a coward sending people to do her dirty work. I threw the plastic thing on her and left the shower. Well knowing next time I would face likely five or six of them.