Luckily his wallet, keys and main valuables were on his person since he was preparing to leave anyway. Hopping into his car, he started the engine and drove away amid the havoc of the screaming guests of the hotel. In all the confusion, no one had even thought to hassle him, which made the next leg of his journey that much more satisfying. Saying goodbye to Oklahoma, he turned up the radio and never looked back.
30
Blood pooled at his feet as he held the dying man in his arms. He could have made it so the man never knew what he had done. He could have made it quick and painless with relatively no mess. He could have spent the rest of his years in quiet servitude, but he knew this would be an affront to this man who was soon to be only a memory.
Ace was the closest thing Yefferson had to a family, and better yet, a father. Through his years in and out of the system, no one ever had the courage to tell him the truth about his existence. The foster families he ran through never admitted that they wanted a low maintenance child so they could get a check. The fact that he was good looking and strong only sweetened the deal as he would be able to bring value to the household.
The representatives of the state only spoke in hushed whispers about the strange child who defied all logic, so he could never be loved. He had to learn the hard way that difference is not prized if it cannot be controlled and moderated. For the state, his unique physiology presented the possibility of technological advances, but even without him trying, he was inherently resistant to study. It did no one any good to have a chest full of treasure that could never be opened.
The night he met Ace, there were no attempts to lull him into a false sense of security. There were no honeyed words to gain his trust so that he might prove useful. From the beginning Ace made it clear that he was the boss and Yefferson was the subordinate. He spoke plainly about what he foresaw in his and Yefferson’s relationship.
Yefferson’s attitude immediately struck Ace as being one of pure defiance. Often it was thought that a colt needed to be broken to be an effective tool, but Ace recognized Yefferson’s talent and worth. Fearless with a body to match, he knew Yefferson would be perfect for grooming into a guided missile. Little did he know his intuition was much more accurate than he could have imagined at the time.
After being beat down for so long, Yefferson needed a way to vent his frustrations at the world. This benefited Ace because there were many situations where recklessness was the preferred solution, and with Yefferson, he never had to worry about the joker in his deck being destroyed. By keeping him close, Ace took away the other most adverse outcome: him being taken by someone else.
The once proud and powerful man was now gurgling on his own blood as his entrails laid hanging from his body. As he tried to speak in his final moments, Yefferson gently brushed the greying hair from his face, his bloodied hands streaking it with crimson. He had known this day would come, the day when the prince rose up to take the throne by force.
Yefferson felt Ace’s body go limp, the wrinkles of his heavily tanned skin loosening as his face fell slack from its contortion. He stared down into the man’s cloudy blue eyes, now lifeless, until with his same bloody hand, his closed his eyelids. This was his tribute to Ace for all he had done for him. He refused to let the man die a weakling’s death alone.
Ace had taught him that power was everything. Nothing mattered outside of securing power. With power, anything else one could want would follow. From the moment he was taken under the cunning man’s wing, everything he had done was either an effort to accumulate more power, or a display of such. This is why he was more than happy to play the role given to him as the wrecking ball sent by Ace.
For years he had plunged headlong into situations no normal person should ever survive and sent a horrifying message by leaving mangled corpses and destruction in his wake. Thanks to his efforts, it did not take long for Ace’s power to grow substantially. Even though he was already at the top of the food chain, his hunger was insatiable.
Ace was a shrewd man despite his appetite. He knew that his enterprise ran much smoother if he allowed others to retain their power as long as they understood who was king. He wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor, not spend every waking moment managing it. This was a lesson he chose not to teach Yefferson. He hoped this would keep the now towering boy in line for many years to come.
From his body, Yefferson ripped Ace’s head, blood spewing and some of his vertebrae still attached at the base of the neck. Standing from the floor, he exited the luxurious office where Ace’s body still laid, walking into the club packed with the men and women he had come to know over the years. Stepping onto the stage, he grabbed the microphone, signaling for the spotlight to shine on him. To the horror of all present, he held up the still dripping head for all to see.
“You fuckers have a new boss now. If you don’t like it, feel free to leave, but know that I don’t like deserters, so you will be lucky to make it to the door. If you think I don’t deserve it, I welcome anybody here to come take it from me. It’s your funeral. You all know what you are supposed to be doing and who you report to. Just keep doing your jobs and you can continue living it up like this. Tonight we celebrate new management!”
The crowd was stunned. They were not sure how to react. Everyone knew Ace to be untouchable. He had survived more shootings, stabbings, and poisonings than many people had birthdays. As such, he had garnered the respect of everyone. His harsh but fair style led those who followed him to understand nothing in life was freely given, but merit always received its just reward.
For a man thought to be unkillable to have his head dangled in front of a crowd like an ornament, it invoked a sense of fear that chilled to the bone. The festivities that had once been carrying on slowly resumed at barely a tenth of its previous intensity. Everyone was too busy wondering what would happen now that Ace was gone.
Yefferson made his way from the stage to the bar, smiling and joking with those he saw along the way. It had been four years since he was taken in by Ace, and he was well known as practically being Ace’s son. That status alone led him to be respected by everyone, but his reputation preceded him. He was known for being the best at putting pressure on anyone he came in contact with, usually by extreme displays of force.
His vivacious and boisterous personality led him to be liked by most people, even though he was unusually loud. He loved being the center of attention, which was easy to achieve given all he had. No one could hold a candle to him in terms of his looks, his strikingly lush nearly ankle length hair always billowing around him like an organic cloak. He could outdrink practically anyone which made him a fun companion for most. Being so close to Ace, he was already placed on a pedestal, so it only synergized with everything else that made him so magnetic.
The grand club, the most premier in all of Houston was closed that night anyway for a member’s only event, but one could never tell from the loud music, overflowing alcohol and drugs, and general debauchery. The tri-level club with its different zones was massive, but Yefferson usually had no problem filling the space with his infectious aura, except for this night. Even though he was carrying on like he normally would, the response was far from normal.
The most obviously unsettling factor for the difference in atmosphere was no doubt the head of their boss, well former boss that he was carrying around so lightheartedly. People were used to him being overly aggressive, but it was exceedingly difficult to reconcile him bouncing around so jubilantly with the head of the man so many, including he himself looked to as a father figure.
When he had finally reached the bar, he asked for three bottles of the best rum and a bucket of ice for the head. The bartender was frozen in horror momentarily, her heavily made up eyes as wide as saucers. When Yefferson sat the head down on the counter as if it were an empty glass, she immediately scurried away to get what he asked for.
When the woman came back with his requested items, he almost immediately downed an entire bottle in one long pull. He
thought he had no deep feelings for the man he had just killed, it was supposed to be like all the others. He had killed so many people in his lifetime that it was as natural for him as breathing. Though his drink was supposed to be celebratory, there was something else that was darkening his mood, something foreign.
There were rare times he had an overwhelming change in his personality, usually in response to when he was doing something particularly heinous. It had only happened a handful of times, nothing to be concerned with, but every time it was as if there was someone else inside of him, urging him to reconsider his actions. It was only through pure willpower that he pushed the voice aside, but it was so strong it felt as if it would consume him.
He could recognize this state quite easily because it felt as if he were stronger than ever. Why would it be that in the moments of his greatest strength, he would be so close to faltering? As he glanced over at the head still sitting atop the counter, the strangest sensation overcame him: He was crying. He had not shed tears in many years, his heart cold from the treatment he had received from the world. He wished he could attribute them to joy, but there was a rumbling sadness and regret that was the most powerful foe he had ever faced.
Everything was much better now that he had plenty of alcohol to numb the annoying feelings. He would not let anyone take this victory from him, not even himself. There was much he had planned out for himself and he was not sure how long it would take. Ever since he came across the peculiar man who looked to be the spitting image of himself, he had become obsessed with finding out more about this interloper. To do this he would need to be completely free to act as he pleased, and the resources to match.
He pushed the thoughts from his head and he took another swig from the bottle. He knew he had his work cut out for him, so there was no need to waste the moment dwelling in what was about to become his life. The night continued on, him burning through another three bottles before finally passing out on the floor.
When he awoke, head pounding, the club had long since cleared out and there was no one in sight. His first thought was to the head of his former father figure that he had torn asunder from his body. To his surprise it was nowhere in sight. Rushing back to the luxurious office, he found it was completely cleaned up, with no trace of what had happened the night before. He had begun to grow enraged when a voice spoke to him from the corridor.
“I suppose only Ace’s successor would be brazen enough to pass out drunk in a room full of people who loved him shortly after his murder.”
Yefferson spun to find Conrad, Ace’s right hand and brains of his operations. He had never been the fondest of Conrad, he was soft spoken and was a stickler for rules and order. The one thing Yefferson could appreciate was the sinister brutality the man’s reticence belied.
Though Conrad required discipline and proper planning like he required oxygen, he was not shy about razing a city to the ground if it was the best outcome. Personal differences aside, Yefferson knew that he would need to keep the man around if he planned to keep things running. He stared a long time at the man before figuring out what he wanted to say.
“You have a problem with how I do things?!” He immediately regretted the volume of his own voice once he had spoken.
Conrad entered the office completely undaunted as he stared down the giant man. “I have always had a problem with how you did things… well, most things. I am no idiot though. If I thought I was in any position to stop you I would.”
“So you admit you don’t want to work for me. You’ve got balls.”
“I also plan on keeping them. As disgusted as I am by how events transpired, I know Ace would have had it no other way. I have also devoted my life to this organization, so I do not intend to walk away so readily. I am accustomed to my way of life, and I am far too old to start over.”
“Where’s the head? Where’s his body?”
“The head has been placed in the freezer. I could only presume you had some use for it other than carrying it around causing a mess. As for the body, Veliscia now has the remains. Since you left him here discarded like yesterday’s garbage, I surmised you would not be upset his wife had something to bury.”
Yefferson disliked being scolded like a child. Conrad had never stopped treating him as such even after he had turned eighteen. His urge to kill the man boiling over, now that Ace was no longer around to protect him, he smothered it by thinking about Veliscia. The woman was just one in a long line of wives Ace had over the years. Veliscia was not much older than he was, and she was clearly only in it for the money. He would make sure to take care of her too.
“Unless you would like all of his assets to be fought over by his many bastard children, I would advise you leave Veliscia alive. Even as executor to his estate, the children would have some claim to his fortune. Veliscia is easily manipulated as long as you allow her to keep her money supply.”
That was another reason Yefferson hated Conrad. The vast majority of everyone he knew were either Earth or Fire Affinities. Conrad was the rare exception, being an Air Affinity. It was whispered that he was a Psychic, hence why he seemed to always know what was going on. Given his unsolicited response to Yefferson’s thoughts, there might have been much more truth to that rumor than he had given credit.
“Fine, that golddigging bitch can live. Is everyone back at work?”
“Of course. Just because you saw fit to drink yourself into stupor doesn’t mean everyone else would forget their responsibilities.”
Yefferson clenched his jaw so hard he would have shattered it to dust if not for his inability to be harmed. Everyone feared him except this man that he could not kill without everything falling apart. He particularly needed him alive if he was going to set off on his journey soon.
“Fine. You can go now.”
Conrad left without another word, confident he was the victor in the exchange. Yefferson threw a precious vase at the wall in rage as he sat down at the wide, angular desk. He needed to calm down before he went to take care of his next business so people would know it was not simply him acting out of emotion. He contemplated his next steps and tracked his targets. The purge was about to begin.
Yefferson knew that if he wanted his ascension to be a smooth one, he would need to get rid of further opposition. Ace had the respect and fear of all the other local gangs because of how long he had been around. If Yefferson wanted to get that same level of respect, he needed to show them exactly what he could do. He also did not want anyone thinking to try anything foolish while he pursued his project.
There were six other bosses who shared power underneath Ace’s thumb. Ace liked to be the final deciding vote on anything, so if the six ever found themselves split in their stances, he would be the one to break the tie. Yefferson found all of this to be too messy. Giving people too much rope allowed them to hang themselves at the most inopportune times. Instead, Yefferson decided he would rather unify everything officially under his name.
The first on his list was a woman who went by Le Sange. She was the only woman to ever reach such ranks in the history of the organization and she had held her position for decades. Many people presumed the reason no other woman was about to rise up to contend with her was because she made sure anyone who showed too much promise was eliminated. This did not make her popular with the others, though since it was only rumored, they could not openly strike against her.
In what he felt was a gentlemanly display by choosing her first, he followed the woman as she was picking up her children from school. As the two teenagers got into the SUV at their school, he charged the vehicle, grabbing it from behind and bounding over 100 feet into the air. When he reached his desired altitude, he hurtled the car nose first into the ground with all his might. Even if they had time to react, there was nowhere for them to go.
The vehicle plummeted to the ground like lightning, the screams of the occupants evident as he tossed it. The force was so strong it burrowed deep into the ground before it had the chance to ex
plode. The impact zone rippled for half a mile, causing splinters in the street that was enough to damage the school nearby. The casualties easily numbered in the dozens, though Yefferson was unconcerned as he came crashing to the ground nearby the wreckage. In his mind he had done the children a favor, at least now they would not be forced to go through what he did.
He wasted no time moving on to the next target Kelvin Halon. Kelvin had been quite nice to him over the years, so he decided to give him an honorable death. He destroyed the foundation and every supporting structure of his office building. He knew that Kelvin had been badly burned as a child, all the money he had still not enough to fix his disfigured body. Yefferson saw to it that he finished the job, setting the building to blaze so intensely first responders were unable to put it out for hours, which was only worsened by it spreading along the block.
Vinny the Fish was a man known for his set of unique circumstances. He was the only Water Affinity of the bunch, but he also had a unique physiological trait that let him breathe underwater. Most Water Affinities were much too respected and well off to ever be involved in criminal enterprises, but Vinny was first generation and grew up on the streets. By the time he came to know he was a Water Affinity, he was too far ingrained in the life to get out.
Yefferson knew he could breathe underwater, but he did not know the extent of the man’s regeneration. He looked rather old, so by his measure it could not be very strong. Not leaving anything to chance, he walked directly up to the man, flinging his bodyguards aside like nothing, the spray of bullets not even a nuisance. Grabbing the man by the legs, he slammed him repeatedly into the floor, over and over until there was nothing left but a paste smeared into the luxurious rug and a set of feet.
Apotheosis (Song of Sophangence Book 3) Page 38