Business.
Business, was good.
It didn't matter where you went, or who you were, there was one constant in life, and that was that sex and violence were always commodities. He might not have much to offer when it came to the former, but the latter was a matter in which he excelled. It wasn't all grim dealings in the dark, sometimes he could dispense more justice by the edge of his blade than the police force could through legitimate matters. You see, some crimes were simply unforgivable to the standards of most people, and when you violate the morality of the majority, sometimes otherwise decent people sought out indecent means.
It didn't take long for that to happen in this case. The system had failed, and a predator had escaped. They said that justice was bought, and they weren't wrong. Justice could be paid for with money just like it could be evaded by money. So, when the coin had passed hands, the contract was made, and Mr. Mahoney's fate was sealed.
That's why, right then, Prikaza was waiting outside of that gambling den in silence. His hood was up, his jacket buttoned and zipped. He was casual, careful, his scarf around his mouth and nose to obscure his face from the world. In his gloved hand" A Hi Point C9 was clutched by his side. The serial numbers filed off, the gun recently cleaned and loaded, fingerprints all but removed from the equation, nothing was left on that pistol that could link back to him and why should there be? This was a murder, and the murder of a man that'd be investigated. Cops, citizen patrols, they didn't like to be outdone, so Prikaza believed in the possibility of an investigation, even if this was some shoddily thought up public service murder.
He'd learned his tricks regarding investigation from an old gumshoe he'd worked with and for from time to time. Little things you pick up along the way. Hell, it's why he stood there, calm as could be, waiting...When that door opened though, and the lumbering frame of James Mahoney walked out of that poor man's casino' Well, Prikaza merely gripped the brick like slide of the cheap pistol and racked it back to chamber the first round, lifting his hand and sliding it, and the pistol, into his pocket as he walked
Head down, face down, he kept to the side, looking like every other schmuck around. Mahoney, still the side, walking towards his car, his keys already out.
He never heard the first shot, Prikaza imagined. He probably didn't hear the second, third, or fourth either. Round after round the Roma pumped into him until the gun 'clicked!' Quickly, he knelt down, gloved hands roughing up his bloodied shirt, pulling the man's wallet from the inside of his jacket, along with the jewelry from his fat fingers. Rings, his watch, and then he walked from him. The money was pocketed, the wallet dropped nearby a trash can as he walked, dropping the gun in there as well. Casually, calmly.
Why ditch the gun" Because it was the tool of a low rent gang banger. A cheap pistol, with the serial numbers gone" Stashed in the trash can where the emptied wallet was found? It'd look like a mugging gone wrong, and it gave nobody a reason to search further. A pedophile that'd escaped justice, was dead. No one was going to look any harder than they had to, and why should they'
It was business, and business was good.
Business, was good.
It didn't matter where you went, or who you were, there was one constant in life, and that was that sex and violence were always commodities. He might not have much to offer when it came to the former, but the latter was a matter in which he excelled. It wasn't all grim dealings in the dark, sometimes he could dispense more justice by the edge of his blade than the police force could through legitimate matters. You see, some crimes were simply unforgivable to the standards of most people, and when you violate the morality of the majority, sometimes otherwise decent people sought out indecent means.
It didn't take long for that to happen in this case. The system had failed, and a predator had escaped. They said that justice was bought, and they weren't wrong. Justice could be paid for with money just like it could be evaded by money. So, when the coin had passed hands, the contract was made, and Mr. Mahoney's fate was sealed.
That's why, right then, Prikaza was waiting outside of that gambling den in silence. His hood was up, his jacket buttoned and zipped. He was casual, careful, his scarf around his mouth and nose to obscure his face from the world. In his gloved hand" A Hi Point C9 was clutched by his side. The serial numbers filed off, the gun recently cleaned and loaded, fingerprints all but removed from the equation, nothing was left on that pistol that could link back to him and why should there be? This was a murder, and the murder of a man that'd be investigated. Cops, citizen patrols, they didn't like to be outdone, so Prikaza believed in the possibility of an investigation, even if this was some shoddily thought up public service murder.
He'd learned his tricks regarding investigation from an old gumshoe he'd worked with and for from time to time. Little things you pick up along the way. Hell, it's why he stood there, calm as could be, waiting...When that door opened though, and the lumbering frame of James Mahoney walked out of that poor man's casino' Well, Prikaza merely gripped the brick like slide of the cheap pistol and racked it back to chamber the first round, lifting his hand and sliding it, and the pistol, into his pocket as he walked
Head down, face down, he kept to the side, looking like every other schmuck around. Mahoney, still the side, walking towards his car, his keys already out.
He never heard the first shot, Prikaza imagined. He probably didn't hear the second, third, or fourth either. Round after round the Roma pumped into him until the gun 'clicked!' Quickly, he knelt down, gloved hands roughing up his bloodied shirt, pulling the man's wallet from the inside of his jacket, along with the jewelry from his fat fingers. Rings, his watch, and then he walked from him. The money was pocketed, the wallet dropped nearby a trash can as he walked, dropping the gun in there as well. Casually, calmly.
Why ditch the gun" Because it was the tool of a low rent gang banger. A cheap pistol, with the serial numbers gone" Stashed in the trash can where the emptied wallet was found? It'd look like a mugging gone wrong, and it gave nobody a reason to search further. A pedophile that'd escaped justice, was dead. No one was going to look any harder than they had to, and why should they'
It was business, and business was good.