The Jouralist's last stand

“Speak now”, he spat with his hoarse and raspy tone. It wasn’t necessarily an inviting statement to get me to talk, yet I remained steady in my efforts to not collapse from fear. In front of me was a man of an inconsiderable size probably around 4’3, who had dark brown hair, accompanied with severe burn marks on his left cheek. 

As I gazed at them, I could tell the man was not fond of spectators, concerning that particular area which was at least then adequate.  Lowering my gaze, from his face to the 32 inch bat, I was certain he would use it if I didn’t fulfill his request. It looked blunt and from the way the man held it, so firm I was sure he had used it before to scare reporters making the same irrevocable error as myself. 

Looking at him face to face there was nothing extremely scary about him, he was a stout man. He wasn’t the type Ramirez usually sent to enforce his will, he usually fancied  those of athletic builds to do his dirty work. Yet the way he carried himself, and the way he gripped the bat was almost eager beyond that of someone with their sanity fully intact, to bash someone's brains out. It scared me.

Finally finding my voice, which came out more meek than intended, I replied to the man which I knew would inhabit my nightmares for the coming days. “I'm sure we could speak of this matter, without the bat”. Snorting, it was clear the man would not comply with my attempt to inspire a more pacifistic approach. As futile as the attempt may seem, at the time it seemed just a bit promising. But I must have been delusional from fear, as nothing from the whole man's whole persona, suggested peace. Rather it suggested a deep love for violence and anger. As said before he look absolutely mad 

Acknowledging the only short duration of time before this man's patience would expire, I racked my brain for an escape to this untimely predicament. As dismissing this immediate threat, I was needed three blocks down to the nearby apartment complex. Where I would receive the admission that the infamous Ramirez family. Widely known for philanthropist efforts and overwhelming altruistic efforts to help the poor. Especially that of act 25 , which recently relocated the homeless to “safer housing’’. Which I just recently figured out happens to be a cocaine manufacturer on the eastern side of the city. Where it doubles as one of the many of the drug distributors, and temporary housing for the homeless. 

As in exchange for their work the Ramirez family gives them a roof to sleep under. Something so cynical it would permanently lock this family in jail for about 40 years. A feat I have been trying to accomplish, in the 12 years of my professional career as a journalist. At first I dismissed this as a rumor as it seemed impossible for the Ramirez family to  keep this so under wraps or keep any of these homeless from squealing. Yet when I was contacted by  one of the family members of the homeless, who adamantly corroborated the rumors. Stating the one of their loser brothers who had been off on the street for about 2 years now. Had out of the blue, contacted them and let it slip about the illegal business transpiring in these “new developments for the poor”. 

I quickly exchanged contact info, and received the person's address. I left in a great haste, as I was informed of the situation in minimal detail but promised more details upon my arrival.  I had rushed over in the cab and was so enthused to finally gather  some dirt on the portrayed “Perfect family ''. To finally put a stop to their corruption. That I become  unaware of the man waiting for 3 block’s before the apartment complex. He was in the alley way, and had a keen eye as I was barely an inch away from crossing the alley way. When he had snatched me with impeccable force for a man of his stature and thrown me directly in a pile of rubbish, which leaked from an overflowing dumpster. Now smelling like rubbish it hit me like a ton of bricks how foolish I was. Of course the Ramirez family would have someone patrolling this place. 

This testimony is the one thing that can bring them down, and I in my ambition. Had let my guard down, which could now cost my life. 

Returning back to my more pressing matter at hand, I return to the present. I dismissed my overwhelming need to get to the apartment complex. And focused on the task at hand, I try to fathom a way to evade my pursuer. He towered over me, as I lay on the floor.  Yet in a fit of adrenaline I kick his legs from under him. Seemingly in slow motion he falls, his body seems to flutter like a feather towards the bare concrete. Yet in that same moment, unaware if it's my adrenaline-fueled body that allows me to take in everything at a variable slower than real life,  but in that mere moment  I grab a nearby plank of wood and slam against his skull. The plank bursts into two as it makes contact with his skull, and he lays unconscious. 

No longer an immediate danger I check my surroundings, no one else has been alarmed by the ruckus. There in the cold air of the city, I contemplated what to do with the body. I could leave it undisturbed, no cameras were in the general vicinity. As due to poor funding the city did not necessarily concern themselves  with security.  But somehow that seemed wrong even though I acted in self-defense, and the man laying at my feet was the aggressor. He was the one craved violence, still I could not get myself to not mask the situation to some degree. Either from guilt, or a sub conscious need to cover my own back. 

Grabbing the man, slipping my arms under his shoulders, realizing how heavy he was. I haphazardly dragged his body behind the nearest trash can. While it wasn’t the perfect hiding spot, it would allow him to go unnoticed. As only someone one with the intent to snoop around, would find the body. 

Finally free, I rapidly ran down the block. Heaving profusely, at the destination. I disregarded my need for oxygen, and embarked on the 3 flights of stairs between me and my witness. Arriving at the door, with its poor applied paint and crooked number 4 sign. I knocked on the door, where I was met with a lovely young lady around her mid 20’s, ushering me in. I noticed her nervous expression. Coming in I realized why sitting around the coffee table were 3 men of athletic builds, sitting there idly. All in matching black suits, all who had a calm expression but as I entered the living room, all their attention was directed towards me. As in a synchronized fashion their necks snapped back to take me in. To know if I was the guy they were sent to eliminate, with a deep breath I sat down.