The Plague (Book 0): Day Zero by Ryan Cecere Page B

become the leader himself. After all the years spent being Mr. Errand Boy, Roy learned that loyalty was shit and got you nowhere. To get somewhere you had to be independent and say “Fuck the rest”, stepping on them if needed (which it was). Do things yourself to get far in life.
    In his mind, he had all the credentials to be in charge. He coordinated most of the gang’s operations, yet never got the credit he deserved. For years he pictured many different scenarios on how he would take over. One of the first things on his agenda would be to make his partner and best friend Tyrone his second-in-command. Next, he would take over his block, then over time expand into something huge. Something never before done. Something no one would ever see coming, or expect.
    Everything was mapped out. It was just a matter of time.
    He and Tyrone were parked in their black sedan at the pier awaiting the Italian Arms Dealer.
    “Where this nigga at, Roy? We been waiting for like an hour already.”
    “Be patient T, he’s only gonna show when he knows there ain’t no po-po around.”
    “There ain’t no pigs around…hasn’t been all morning. Is this guy even reliable?”
    Roy put his sunglasses on. “That’s what the boss says. Apparently this guy Abruzzi is where we get all our supplies from. Do yourself a favor and make sure you keep eye contact with this nigga. He’s the kinda punk who will cut ya dick off if he thinks you’re disrespecting him in the slightest.”
    Tyrone was also ambitious to get Roy as leader of the gang. He admired the smarts Roy had, the vision he had. “When do you think it’ll be your time to run this gang, yo?” Tyrone asked.
    “In time, in time.”
    By 10:40 a white van made its way toward them. Roy—who was laying back—leaned forward. The van came to a stop ten feet away. Roy patted Tyrone on the arm, signaling to exit.
    They were met by two men in suits, both with professional stances. Roy and Tyrone kept their eyes straight. A moment went by before a short Italian man in a white flashy suit with a cane exited and made his way to the thugs. “You must be Roy and Tyrone,” he spoke with a very heavy accent.
    “Yeah, we are. You got the supplies?”
    Abruzzi smirked. “I like your straight forward style. Follow me.” Abruzzi gestured to his bodyguards to allow them pass. He led them to the back of the van and opened it up. Inside were wooden crates.
    “Let us see,” Roy said.
    Abruzzi again smirked. Abruzzi opened up the crates. One crate had semi-automatic rifles; another had ammunition; and so on. “Satisfied?”
    “My boss will be much satisfied.”
    Roy reached in to grab the crates with Tyrone. Abruzzi snatched Roy’s arm. As Tyrone reached for his 9mm, Abruzzi’s men quickly drew theirs. “What are you doin’, man?” Roy shouted.
    Abruzzi pointed his finger in Roy’s face, “Tell your boss that this is the last time we are doing business with each other. Tell him I found a new buyer; one that pays a ton of more money. Tell him that if he has a problem with that, then he can come see me face to face, and deal with it.” He then released Roy’s arm.
    Roy fixed himself. “Well let me tell you somethin’, Mr. Abruzzi, let’s just say you won’t be needing to deal with my boss any mo’ after today regardless. You want to work something out,” Roy wrote his number down on a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it over, “you come to me. You feel me?”
    Abruzzi crumbled up the paper, flinging it in Roy’s face. “Get the fuck out of my sight, or else you won’t see the light of day ever again. Understood?”
    Tyrone took a hold of Roy’s shirt. “Let’s get outta here, Roy.”
    Roy stared in Abruzzi’s eyes, not afraid of the consequences. “Your loss old man.” Him and Tyrone loaded up the crates and sped back to their hood. Abruzzi whistled for his men to return him to his office.
     
    10:58 p.m.
     
    Roy and Tyrone dragged the bodies out onto the