of people all trying any way they could to make a dollar. It was a place where junkies slept in broken, rusting cars and only came out at night. It was a place where the smell of garbage had once been a scent people became used to. And where sights like a van’s back doors being held together by three rolls of duct tape was considered the norm. Where graffiti on the walls and burnt out cars became the only flashes of colour in this typically grey part of the world.
But like I said, a world that no longer existed thanks to the city finally intervening. However, this merely meant that a lot more Chop shops ended up opening around different areas of the city, as stealing cars and stripping them down for parts was still a business many didn’t feel like giving up on. Which was where Wendy’s contact came in.
See, after he had followed the wastelands of the Iron Triangle, he had ended up meeting quite a few people and only one name continued to pop up among the drunken chatter of small shop owners during that time. He was the one who dealt with the more, should we say, wealthy side of things, and movies like Gone in 60 Seconds became the documentary of life for this gangster.
They called him Big B, which from what I gathered could mean anything from boss, boulder, berserker and bone breaker. In other words, he was known as a ruthless, hard bastard that took no shit and was one scary motherfucker. This being the word on the street.
Big B was also the one who dealt with cars that weren’t easy to come by or easy to steal for that matter, as it wasn’t as if you could just jimmy a window of a Ferrari and hot wire one. Meaning that he had a syndicate of experienced and highly talented thieves working for him. He was also the one who had them stolen and on a container heading off to his clients before the owner even knew their prized possession had even been stolen.
He was in the big leagues.
And, as insane as it was, he was exactly who I needed right now.
So, I arranged to meet her contact, a guy called Micky and was just pulling up to Central Avenue after Wendy had arranged the meeting place. And well, seeing as I was the one currently sat in a Ferrari, then I wasn’t exactly hard to spot. Which meant the second some skinny white guy with a baseball cap and a hood over the top approached my door and knocked on the window, I lowered it and asked,
“You Micky?”
“Bitch, I will be whoever the fuck you want me to be, now get the fuck outta the car!” he said pulling out a gun and pointing it at me through the window. It was at this point that I rubbed the top of my nose in frustration and said,
“I guess that’s how you people say hi in New York then, huh?” He snapped,
“Bitch you fucking wacked or…AAHHH!” This ended in a scream of pain the second I grabbed his wrist and bent it back on itself making him drop the gun in my lap.
“Tut, tut, Micky, you don’t think I would be stupid enough to drive my nice expensive car around here if I couldn’t take care of myself, now would you?”
“Bitch, my name ain’t…Ahhh, okay, okay.” I cut him off by applying some more of that handy, agonizing pressure before giving him some advice,
“Tip for you Micky, never start off an answer with Bitch, especially if that bitch in question is the one who’s had a bad fucking day and might just snap your wrist for the sheer fucking fun of it…now let’s start again should we?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay cool…shit Bitc…I mean lady, you got it!” he said quickly singing a different tune and wincing through the pain I caused.
“Good, now there is a place I am looking for around here that is owned by a guy known as Big B and well, seeing as you were intent on stealing my car, I will assume you know who I am talking about and where it is.”
“Nah, nah, I was just gonna take it for a spin is all.” I flattened my lips and cleared my throat before bending his wrist back a little more and making him scream again.
“Let’s try that once again, should we Micky?” I said in a calm tone