A Thing of Beauty
A motivation for violence…
The sleek machine is a thing of beauty, it’s red body flows through his imagination. He is a teenager the first time he sees the car being driven by the boss. It’s the motivation for all that is to come.
He starts as a runner, the same as everyone. Days of casual brutality and effort, violence as normal as breathing. Turf wars are always nasty. The risk of physical pain keeps the legs quick, the risk of arrest keeps the mind quick, how it’s always been done. You either rise up or get torched. Better to be the one holding the flame-thrower. Those pieces of shit deserve everything they get.
He rises up the ranks, deception, betrayal and murder are just a part of the process, to be expected. Like clocking in for the day. He has a talent for killing, death and pain do not bother him at all, no feelings either way. All those childhood beatings were good for something. When Dad would go to town on him some days, it took a week to walk straight again. Mum was even colder. Taught him a thing or two. Some of these young lads fall apart after their first time, they haven’t the guts for it.
As he ages, he perfects the art of discretion. Murder from afar. Much more respectable than getting your hands dirty every time. Let the young lads get into the thick of it. He learns that a man’s weakness is a good place to start…
