The following morning…

  Derrick stood over the fireplace, cradling the photo of his family. It was all he had left, that and this godforsaken plan. He spun around, taking in everything around him. The house was in ruins; the smell of week-old booze and drugs filled the air—a stark contrast to what it was merely weeks ago.

  Derrick's door opened, and in stepped a foot, crushing the broken glass on the floor in the doorway. Derrick’s head snapped to the side and down slid his hand to his pistol, drawing it out and storming down the hall.

  He burst round the corner, finger on the trigger, gun aimed, ready to let it fly.

  “Wow-wow-wow, it’s me,” Malakie said, hands raised in front of his face. “I rang the bell five times—when no one answered, I came in to check everything was OK.”

  Derrick lowered his gun, tucking it into his jeans.

  “It’s time already. I must have lost track of time.”

  Malakie’s eyes gazed around the mess that was now Derrick’s house.

  “You sure you’re OK?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Derrick,” he said, looking him dead in the eyes. “Look at this place—it’s a tip. You can smell the alcohol as soon as you open the door.”

  Derrick wiped the saliva from around his mouth, then walked straight past Malakie.

  “If I say I’m good—I’m good. Remember who put this thing together—who’s getting you your biggest payday,” he said whilst walking out of the door towards the car.

  Malakie took one final look at Derrick’s place, then shook his head and followed him into the car. This wasn’t the first time Derrick had crashed out like this, but to Malakie he was glad that it would be his last. He took out his phone and pressed send on the message that was written out, then stuffed it back into his trouser pocket.

  Derrick, on the other hand, was just sat in the passenger’s seat, eyes closed, head leant back against the headrest. Malakie’s hand drifted down towards the start engine button, his finger pressing into it gently until the engine started.

  He spun the wheel of the car and drove towards Robert. As Derrick lay there, memories of his family flashed into his head. His child’s first softball game. Then his mind drifted to his son’s graduation, bringing a tear down his cheek. It was a moment he held dear and could never forget. It was one of the few times where Derrick felt he’d done something right in life. His kids were his only stamp on this earth he felt he didn’t get wrong.

  As the memories continued to flood, they pulled into the grungy alleyway. Malakie couldn’t see Robert, just a man standing there wearing a black mask. He thought it was a setup, so he picked up his gun from the side of the car, wound down the window, and sped towards the hooded figure. The car stopped in front of the hooded figure, and Malakie stuck his gun out of the window, pressing it into the stomach of the hooded man.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Make any sudden movements, and I’ll blow your guts out, you hear me?”

  “Malakie, it’s me—it’s Robert,” he said through hasty breaths.

  “Robert,” he said, pausing for a moment. “What the hell are you doing wearing that stupid mask? I almost smoked you.”

  Derrick, overhearing all the commotion, sat up in his seat and opened his eyes. Malakie turned to Derrick with a confused expression on his face.

  “Derrick, you know about this?”

  “Relax, Malakie,” Derrick replied. “It’s all part of my plan.”

  “All part of your plan—Robert dressed up in some stupid mask?” Malakie asked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Derrick turned to Malakie, a smile plastered on his face as he spoke.

  “Remember the Black Hood and all the crimes he and his—let’s just say associates—did back in the day.”

  “Noooo—,” Malakie said through tears and laughter. “You’re trying to tell me this guy is the Black Hood? This lame? Derrick, come on—no one’s going to believe that laaaame—is the Black Hood.”

  But when Malakie looked into Derrick’s eyes, he saw the seriousness behind them.

  “So this joker is actually the Black Hood.”

  Malakie nodded repeatedly.

  “I always knew you were a dark horse. What you waiting for? Get in.”

  Robert got into the back of the car, and Malakie slammed his foot into the accelerator, dragging the car down the alleyway.

  “Derrick, I thought we had an agreement,” Robert said. “I do this job, you leave my son and this Black Hood thing alone. Now you’ve gone and told Malakie—what reassurances do I have now? He could go and tell anyone.”

  Malakie looked up at the car mirror and noticed Robert in the back, fidgeting.

  “Don’t worry, old head. I always remain solid to those who remain solid to me. I ain’t got no reason to talk. So you stay solid with me—I stay solid with you, and we leave the Black Hood dead and buried in your past where it belongs.”

  As Malakie continued to drive, Derrick pulled out his phone, called Travis—which caught an angry glancing eye from Malakie—and put it on loudspeaker.

  “You guys in position?” Derrick asked. “Because we’re not too far out from the compound.”

  “Don’t worry, boss. We’re in uniform, and we’re in position,” Travis said. “Everything is going to run smoothly.”

  “All right, boys. We’ll be there in five,” responded Derrick. “Remember, we come in first, then you follow directly after.”

  “Understood, boss.”

  Click.

  The call ended, and everyone continued to drive toward the compound.

  “We’re getting close,” said Malakie, wary of Derrick’s mental state. “Everyone good?”

  Derrick gave a subtle nod, and Robert’s head flung up and down repeatedly. As the car pulled up to the gate, Derrick stuck his head out of the window and pressed the intercom mounted on the wall next to the towering black gate.

  A voice came blaring out of the intercom. The voice sounded impatient, like a man who had had enough of his job.

  “Who is it?” the man asked.

  But when Derrick stuck his head closer to the camera, that was all he needed.

  “Deeerrrick, our old friend,” the voice behind the intercom said. “Come through—come through.”

  The gates began to pull apart, metal retracting to allow them passage into the compound. The men waited in silence, the engine beneath them humming steady as Derrick looked around for Travis and D’Angelo, but there was no sign of them.

  Derrick’s eyes glanced down at his watch, sweat dripping from the corner of his forehead.

  “Come oooon, guys…” he said through gritted teeth.

  Then came the sound that was like music to Derrick’s ears—the screeching of tyres, which grew closer and closer with each passing moment until the maintenance truck burst around the corner, with Travis and D’Angelo in tow. Derrick let out a sigh of relief, his back sinking into the chair as his head tilted back. He couldn’t help but release a sly smile as the car pushed on beyond the gates.