It was 12:27 when it happened. A little past midnight, when three boys dressed in tattered green uniforms made their regular patrol around the lower east side of New York City—of course, there were many other Vipers lurking around town. They turned in to a darkened alley, where the dank, pungent air wreaked of smoke and garbage. One of the boys, Ronnie, who was a little over sixteen, had a cigarette in his mouth, and was the head of his small team. He took it between two fingers, pulled it away from his lips and blew.
“Alright—Vince, Todd—I think this area’s clear.”
Todd, the second oldest, squinted his eyes as he gazed down the alley. “I don’t think so, Ronnie—I see someone down there.”
“Where? Down there?” Ronnie replied, and did the same.
“Yeah—it’s a guy,” Vince added.
The boys continued toward the figure, who’d been sitting on a dumpster. Ronnie raised the cigarette to his mouth, and inhaled.
The man shot a glance in their direction, a wily grin smeared across his face. “Hello, boys,” he called to them, as he courteously waved his hand, “What brings the three of you here—to my charming little hangout?” His voice was ironically enthusiastic and youthful for someone who hung out in what was considered to be one of the foulest areas in the city.
“Your hangout?” asked Ronnie, in a suspicious tone, “This is Viper territory, Bub.”
“The Vipers? Oh, my—they’re a pretty rough group for a few kids like you, aren’t they?” The man had a sarcastic tone in his voice, as if to mock their age.
“We’re not kids!” yelled Vince, in his most serious voice, as he stamped his foot onto the pavement.
“We’re pretty rough ourselves,” Ronnie remarked, as he blew another puff of smoke.
The man seemed amused. “Yes, yes. Because you’re smoking, that means you’re a big boy now.”
“Shut up,” Ronnie muttered, annoyed. “Who are you, anyway?”
The man jumped down from the dumpster, slipped his hands into his pants pockets, and glared down at Ronnie, arrogantly. “Acting all grown up, are we?”
“I said shut your trap—if you don’t leave, me and my boys are going to make you. What is your name?”
“You can call me Jack—but don’t bother to tell me your name, kid. You won’t need it for long.”
“The Hell is that supposed to mean?” Ronnie asked, as he dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. “Are you trying to start something?” His face expressed an intense anger, which showed that he was clearly affected by Jack’s harsh words.
“Actually, I am,” Jack answered, as he licked his teeth. He took the bottom left end of his shirt and lifted it slightly, flaunting the tattoo of a vicious looking rat on his belly.
“Dammit—he’s a rat!” Ronnie announced, as he stepped back slightly out of shock. He frantically looked left and right at his two partners, who were obviously confused. “Well? Get him!”
They immediately scrambled forward, though they didn’t have any confidence that they would stand a chance against the man.
Jack cracked his knuckles, and waited for the two bunglers to get close. He then grabbed Todd’s hand to block a very sloppy punch and delivered a solid blow to the lower jaw, and spun, throwing the boy into Vince, who toppled over. “Oh, what fun!” he exclaimed with glee, as a flip knife slipped out of his sleeve and into his palm. He flicked out the blade, and took a stance that challenged Ronnie’s patience.
“Why, you—” Recklessly, Ronnie charged at Jack as he pulled a handgun from his pocket. But before he could pull back the hammer, Jack sliced his wrist, and caused him to drop the gun. “Gah!” Ronnie screamed, as he leaned over and grabbed his bleeding wrist. That was when Jack hid his knife and picked up the gun, then kicked him down.
“Now, then—” Jack muttered, as he turned to the two boys who were struggling to stand up, “Which one of you is youngest?” He spoke in a very sadistic tone, as he repeatedly patted the gun against his palm.
“I—I am,” Vince whispered, as he slowly backed away.
“You tell your boss that the rats declare war—and, leave your friends here—if you don’t want to end up like they did.”
Vince scurried away, and didn’t look back once. All he heard after that was a couple of shots, and a burst of laughter. “This city better go to Hell—and fast!”
“TGIF,” Jack sang, as he pulled the brown envelope containing that week’s salary from his mail box. He climbed the steps to his apartment and swung the door open. “Macbeth, Daddy’s home!” he called, and set the envelope onto a round, wooden table beside his white couch.
The black cat padded into the living room and jumped onto the couch, as it mewed and pawed at his owner’s leg. “Did you miss me?” he cooed, and playfully ruffled the cat’s fur. He continued to his kitchen and noticed the empty silver bowl with the name “Macbeth” written on it. He grabbed a bag of cat food from the cupboard and poured some into the bowl.
As Macbeth scurried to the bowl and started to eat, Jack grabbed a newspaper and started to smile as he sat at the table and read the headline: RATS WAGING WAR?
“Imagine it, Macbeth. All chaos will ensue. And finally—” he stopped, as he chuckled to himself.
Meanwhile, Don Antolini, the leader of the Rats, was furious. “What the Hell is going on!?” he yelled, as he slammed his newspaper onto the desk. “I never authorized a gang war, not with the position we’re in!”
The Rats’ hideout was almost as filthy as the alleys. It was mostly populated by men, so one could imagine they’d have littered the floor with food and trash, and write vulgar things on the walls. They resided in an old warehouse, where there was plenty of space to hang out, gamble, hold meetings, and even have fist fights. The air smelled strongly of sweat and beer, and the occasional pizza.
“I dunno, Boss!” exclaimed Bobby, one of the Rats. He was skinny and tan, with long black hair tied back into braids, and wore ripped jeans and a tank top. “I was out walkin’ today, and a couple Vipers jumped me! They told me they were gonna kill all of us, and even pulled a knife on me!”
Don looked nervous, as he wiped the sweat off his brow and clutched his forehead. “My God—I need to know who started this. We can’t have a war! Not now—”
“Sir, I have new info about the war.” He was approached by Susan, who pushed a finger onto her glasses. “Two bodies were found in an alley—both were killed by gunshot—but one of them had a slit across the wrist, and the other had a broken jaw.”
“So? How does that start a damn war?”
“It’s been reported that four people were at the scene—there was a third Viper who escaped.”
“Three Vipers? What about the fourth?”
“The fourth—the one who used the gun—was heard laughing and shouting after killing them.”
“It must be a rat. But the Vipers always send out kids for inspection, right? It’s unlikely that—”
Susan interrupted, “Unless he was allowed to get away.”
Out in the streets of New York City, the sound of gunshots and shrieks of terror could be heard everywhere. The Rats and Vipers, who once opposed each other in the shadows, were completely in the open and innocent people were caught in the crossfire, too.
Several police cars blocked the roads, as officers tried to stop the fighting. They put people down with Tasers, and some were shot down as well.
“My God!” exclaimed Mary Peterson, the chief of police, as she read the paper, “How did this happen? I thought these gangs lived underground!”
“Something set them off, Ma’am. Something about two Vipers getting shot in an alley. One of them escaped, and told their boss,” explained Connor, one of her senior officers.
“But how does that start a war? I mean, sure, I’d expect them to devise some petty revenge or something, but not on this scale!”
“We’re doing everything we can to put a stop to this—“
“Well, what I need you to do is find these gangs’ hideouts and figure out who started this war!”
With that, Connor rushed off, and slammed the door behind him. Mary sat in her black leather chair and rubbed her temples. “How could this city become such a Hell over night?”
Vince sat at a green table with his head down, as the leader of the Vipers, Kevin Johnson, approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. Kevin looked up at the man, his eyes watery.
“Don’t worry, kid. We’re going to find the guy who killed Ronnie and Todd and make him pay dearly for what he did,” he assured, “what did he look like?”
Vince looked down again, shuddering to remember what had happened that night. “He wore all black—” he mumbled, in a shaky voice, “and he had this really big smile. He acted like he enjoyed it.”
“That sicko,” Kevin spat, as he glanced around. He watched a small group of vipers beat on a new recruit—they were picking up more and more people to help with the war because so many of both sides were getting killed so quickly. “We’re going to find him,” Kevin repeated, “and we’re going to make sure he wishes he were dead.”
Vince couldn’t help but continuously replay the scene in his head—Jack’s insane laughter, his friends dying before his eyes—
“Boss, we have another one,” Marty called. He was Kevin’s right-hand man, and oversaw everything that went on within the gang.
“Give him a gun and send him out,” Kevin ordered, as he turned and retired to his private room.
He peered out the window, and sighed as he watched the massacre in the streets below.
“Jack! Man, where have you been? There’s a freaking war going on!” yelled Bobby, as Jack made his entrance to the warehouse.
“Oh, that? I saw,” Jack remarked, as he strolled in, with his hands in his pockets, and a cool look on his face. “It’s pretty messy out there.”
“Messy is an understatement, Jack,” Don muttered.
Jack ignored the comment, and eyed the group of Rats that sat around and smoked cigarettes to pass the time and blow their cares away. “You guys aren’t fighting?”
“No way, bro,” Bobby said, and inhaled. “Whew—we’re not going out there.” He raised the cigarette. “Want one?”
“Oh, of course,” Jack replied, with a grin. He was passed a cigarette, and had it lit. What he did after—he took the cigarette, pressed the burning end against Bobby’s cheek, and twisted it sadistically.
“Aaaaahhh!” Bobby cried, as he pulled away and held his cheek. “What’s your deal?!”
“You know I don’t smoke, you mongrel,” he muttered, and stomped out the cigarette as his expression changed to an emotionless frown.
“Who the Hell do you think you are?” Don asked furiously, as he stepped up to Jack’s face. “You’re acting like a complete ass.”
“Am I, now,” he remarked, and formed that arrogant grin again, “and who do you think you are, letting your men sit around here like bums?” He pressed his index finger against Don’s chest. “What kind of leader does that make you?”
“A leader who actually gives two about his gang,” he answered, “a gang that is now dying because some reckless bozo let a Viper escape.”
“Reckless?” Jack muttered, in a sly tone, “How do you know this bozo was being reckless?” He walked past Don and grabbed a cup from the table, and filled it with water.
“Do you know anything about this?” Don asked, as he became more angry and confused.
“Me? Maybe.” He took a sip, and watched Don’s face with amusement.
“Don’t play games with me, Jack.”
“Ah, but isn’t this all just one big game?” he asked, as he paced in front of Don, “These gangs, these people, they’re no more than pawns at our disposal—what use are they if they sit around and smoke weed while the others go out and fight for us? Where’s the fun in that?”
Don felt stupid. He stood and stared at Jack, the man who had clearly started all this. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. “You little—” Don leaned back, and threw a powerful fist toward the Rat’s face. He missed, as Jack slid to the left and splashed water onto Don’s face. “Rat—” As Don flinched, Jack flicked out his knife. Quickly, he lunged forward and stabbed Don in the chest.
Don’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, and could feel his body become weak. He gagged, as a spurt of blood escaped his mouth. Jack removed the knife, and grinned as Don’s body fell to the cold, hard floor.
“Hehehehe—”
“Sh-shut up, Jack—”
“Hahahahahaha!”
The other rats watched in horror as Jack stood over Don and laughed, as blood dripped from his knife. Don struggled to rise to his knees, but was kicked onto his side.
“You’re not fit to lead this gang anymore, Donny,” Jack muttered, “You’ve gone too soft!”
“You—you’re the one who started all this, aren’t you—” Don murmured, his breath becoming weak and awkward.
“Well, now, don’t you deserve a cookie, smart one?” Jack remarked.
“No way,” Bobby gasped, as he and the others backed away, “it was you?”
“Well, duh!” Jack barked, as his expression became crazed. “Who else could it be? Who else would have let that boy go? Who else would have the balls to turn this damned city to utter chaos?!”
“B-but why, Jack?” Don choked, as he held his wound. “Why would you go to such length?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you, worm,” Jack spat.
“B-bastard—” Don whispered, as he grabbed Jack’s ankle.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” Jack yelled, and stomped on Don’s hand. “I am the new leader of the Rats, and I am going to make orders from now on!”
“Monster,” Susan shrieked, “What makes you think we’d ever take orders from you?”
Jack pivoted his foot, causing Don to moan in agony. “What makes you think you won’t receive Donny’s fate?”
Susan gasped, and covered her mouth.
“Now, what are you all staring at?” Jack asked, “Get your act together men, it’s time to go!”
The rest of the Rats flocked out of the warehouse, except Susan. She crossed her arms. “What’s all this even about?”
Jack gave her a wicked smile, and licked his blade. “It’s my…” He seemed to be out of it, as he stared off and mumbled to himself.
Don, who had gone silent, was no longer moving. He’d bled out on the floor, and Jack squatted beside him as he searched the body’s clothes. “Here we are—” he mumbled, and pulled an old pistol out of Don’s pants’ pocket. It was a sentimental item, and a symbol of his leadership.
“Susan, be a doll, and round up some new—recruits. Forget the initiations.” Jack stood, and flipped Don’s body with his foot, so it was facing upward. “If anyone refuses, don’t give them a choice.”
“But, I—”
“And, take care of this—trash.”
Bobby and his group of stoners hid behind walls and trash cans, as they shot at Vipers who were in the streets. “Hey! I got one!” Tony called out to Jasmine, proud of his own aim. While he was distracted, one Viper approached him and beat him on the head with an iron bar, which knocked him out and caused his skull to crack. Jasmine, shocked at the beating taken by her boyfriend, gasped, hesitated, and then shot the man who hit him.
Bobby had taken out five before he’d taken a bullet to the throat. Ed, Barry and Tom were put down by Tasers. Several bodies covered the blood-stained roads, and still, more and more were coming into the fight.
“It’s as horrid as I imagined,” Mary muttered, as she stepped out of the police car. The streets were still blocked off. She’d brought a whole team with her to back up the previous group of police, and was disappointed that a lot of them had died. “Move out, men,” she barked, as a bunch of policemen suited up in bulletproof vests and helmets came out of their cars and armed their guns.
The police started to shoot down anyone that carried a gun, and quickly began to overpower both gangs. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Mary complained, as she waited for her team to clear the area. She then followed the trail of bodies that led to the Rats’ hideout. She grabbed her gun and stood beside the door, as she signaled to one of her men to open the door. He kicked it in, and was instantly shot multiple times.
“Go! Go!” Mary yelled, and her team opened fire into the building. A bunch of Rats were waiting inside to defend the place, but were all shot down. “That’s enough.” The police ceased fire, and cleared out of the warehouse to let Mary inspect. One door was open in the back of the room. “Must be where their leader is hiding, that coward—”
Upon opening the door, she found Susan, standing in the middle of the office with a gun held in both hands, aimed at Mary’s chest. “D-don’t take another step!” Susan yelped, as her body shook and her voice sounded very nervous. “I’m warning you!”
“Put the gun down, miss, I’m not going to hurt you,” Mary assured, in a calm way. She started to walk slowly toward Susan, putting her gun away and holding her hands up. “I’m not going to—”
“Stay back!” Susan tightened her grip on the trigger, her hands trembling furiously. She’d never shot a gun before, and didn’t want to, either.
“Miss, I’ll say it again, put the—”
Susan shrieked, as she fired the gun. Mary stopped in her tracks. The shot had missed, but only by a few inches. Susan hadn’t looked where she was shooting, as her eyes were closed and her head turned to the side—she was afraid to see someone die by her hand.
“Please, put the gun down.” Mary carefully approached Susan, and lowered the gun. She could see the tears dripping from Susan’s eyes. “Look at me,” she whispered, calmly.
Susan turned her head to Mary, and opened her eyes. She was still crying softly, and had a worried look on her face. She dropped the gun.
“Who did this?” she asked, “Who did this to you, to the city?”
“It—” Susan had a hard time getting the words out. She lowered her head, and started to sob.
“Who?” Mary had become impatient, and put her hand on Susan’s shoulder.
“It was—Jack—” she choked, terrified by the name. “Jack Peterson—he let that Viper go, he started the war on purpose.” She buried her face in her palms. “He killed our leader, he told me to send out more—”
Mary gasped, her eyes widened in shock. “No—”
“He left me alone here—I—I don’t know what to do—”
Jack sat at his kitchen table, reading the latest paper. WAR COMES TO A BLOODY END.
“So they’ve taken Susan and the Vipers’ leader. A few of my men, too. As long as they keep their mouths shut, I should be able to disappear without any trouble.”
Macbeth mewed, and hid himself behind a pile of old newspapers.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, as he watched the cat.
At that moment, there was a loud crash as the front door was kicked down.
“There he is! Hold him down!” Mary ordered, as her team rushed into Jack’s apartment.
“Hey, what’s with you guys always kicking down doors?” Jack asked, as he stood up and set down the paper.
“Quit joking around,” yelled a cop, as he grabbed Jack’s arm, and another did the same.
Mary approached him, and slapped him across the face.
“Nice to see you, too, sis,” he sang.
“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, Jack? Starting this damned war?”
Jack was amused by her mixed expression of terror and pure frustration. He remained silent as he grinned at her evilly.
“Answer me!” she demanded, “What happened to you, Jack? Why are you doing this?”
“I’ve finished my purpose, Mary. You can’t stop me—because I’ve already won.”
“Won what, Jack? Both of these stupid gangs are done for! There is no winner!”
“Hehehehe—“
“Why the Hell are you laughing?”
Jack began his insane cackle, as the police started to carry him out. “I hope you have a big enough cleaning crew!”
Mary stood and stared at the wall, as she silently started to cry. “Dammit—” she muttered, and noticed Macbeth peek out from behind the stack of papers. “What do you want?” she asked the cat, who mewed as it started to paw at her ankle. “I bet he cared more about you than he did for anyone in his stupid gang,” she sobbed, and toppled to the floor. She started to stroke Macbeth’s soft, black fur, and it made her feel somewhat comforted.
“You must be the only good thing in his life,” she told the cat, who sat politely and swished its tail from side to side as she scratched behind its ear, “after what this city’s done to him.”