Stepping into “Tony’s Groceries” was like being assaulted by a mad painter like Salvador Dali. There were colors, smells, and bright white fluorescent light. The shelves were packed to the rafters and just about everything in the store was labeled with another alphabet.

  The name ‘Tony’s Groceries’ was testament to Tony’s imagination. Tony Nguyen, Tony being one of the most obvious assumed names in history, was Vietnamese, a grocery store owner and a small-time crook. It was the best way to describe him; a crook. If he could find a way to earn an extra buck without mentioning it to the IRS and would not get the Police interested he would jump on it. He used his store as a front for selling smuggled liquor, cigarettes, false I.D.s, copied credit cards, other stolen goods and baseball cards. The last was his own private hobby, but one he took more seriously than his criminal activities. He was also a damn good friend, who always had time for you.

  I dropped my bags by the counter.

  “Wassup’, Cap?” Tony leaned on the counter, trying to look cool and failing miserably.

  Tony was short for a Vietnamese, only about one hundred and fifty centimeters, and he was dressed up like a gangster rapper from Temu. It made him look like a twelve-year-old gangster wannabe.

  “Yeah, like you could pull it off? You’re too bland, Tony. Give it up. You won’t be cool no matter what.” Tony made a face, and I laughed at his disappointment. “Besides, Mi would cut your balls off if she thought you were trying to impress the ladies. Or the guys, now that I think about it.”

  Tony grinned. “Yes, she would cut them off, if she thought that. She is a jealous girl, my Mi.”

  Tony tossed me a coke. I grabbed it and looked at the label. “Russian coke?”

  “No,” Tony said and pulled out a dust rag, “Polish actually.”

  I shook my head. “How can you get this cheaper than domestic?”

  “New labels? New dates? Slave wages, or slaves? How the fuck should I know? Don’t ask me, I just buy it. Offloaded from some ship or truck that brought all kinds of stuff I suppose. No taxes…makes it cheaper.”

  It sounded impossible to transport things for so little money, but then some people can get almost anything cheap enough. Like the rest of Tony’s wares. Working the docks had opened my eyes to how many ways there was to smuggle goods. Whatever the Customs found it was but a drop compared to the ocean of wares that they missed. Anything could be smuggled for the right price, but much was smuggled for almost nothing at all. And Tony was one of many who bought real cheap when they got the chance to.

  “I don’t think it’s possible to get more crap onto these shelves. I mean, the cans look like they come from the titanic, and your sugar is from what, Cuba?”

  “Brazil, as is my coffee. The best sugar and coffee in the world, my friend.”

  “You wish!” I snorted.

  Tony didn’t stopped dusting, but gave me the finger.

  Tony's store was very clean. People shopped here because it was cheap and clean, and because most canned food didn’t spoil that much. The shelves were packed to the rafters, and the fridges really held fresh food of decent quality. Tony never had canned seafood that wasn’t from a good brand. Bad seafood could kill people and Tony wanted someone to point the finger to if that ever happened, so he never had but the best seafood.

  “What brings you here at five in the morning? Last I heard you were doing the graveyard shift at the docks,” Tony said, looking out from behind the shelves. “Only two bags...running or moving. Are you moving out?”

  I nodded. “I need an apartment. I need it tomorrow, so I can leave before Bert gets hold of me and strangles me. I sure won’t get my deposit back.” I knew I was whining, but it was a thousand dollar deposit.

  “I can’t believe he fell for your bullshit the last time. I mean, Bobby was there to kill you, and the police knew it, hell everyone knew it – but you said you had no idea and Bert believed you. Oh man is he going to be pissed or what.” Tony’s laugh was pure malicious pleasure.

  “Just shut it.” I muttered. ”I need someplace to stay. A place I can pay cash for and someone who don’t want forms or contracts. Just cash. As long as it has doors I can lock, a place to cook it’ll do.”

  Tony looked out from behind one of the shelves. “So they came after you again? Amateurs again?”

  “They sent an old friend.” I said friend in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted. “An old stupid friend. Someone I probably will have to kill...sooner rather than later.”

  “You never told me who they are.” Tony tried to sound casual. “I mean, you’ve been in Chicago for two years now and you’ve had what, two attempts on you life here and five in total?”

  “Six, I think. Not counting Simon's little boys.”

  “You think?!” Tony laughed. "You don’t know how many times they’ve tried to off you?”

  “No. I’m just not sure what can be said to be an “attempt on my life.” It’s not only people with guns, Tony. But those were serious attempts.”

  Tony was curious as hell, but I wouldn’t drag him into this. Not any more than he was for just knowing me. I had told him that I wasn’t the safest person to know, but he just waved and said that he had his own protection and that I shouldn’t worry so much.

  I couldn’t tell him about my former life. He didn’t need to know and he sure as hell would have been in more danger if he knew. And so would I.

  Now, if only Mike Sunderland would believe my promise to never kiss and tell, things would be just peachy.

  “So you’re saying you’ve had people trying to run you over and stuff like that?” Tony’s head popped out from behind another shelf, and then disappeared again. “I could tell you things that would make you’re hair fall off, and you know I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Uhum?” I asked sarcastically. Tony couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and he knew it. He didn’t mean to tell things, but now and again he let things slip and ask me to keep my mouth shut and pretend I never heard it. “Since when?”

  “Aw, come on, Mar! You know I never tell anything really important, right?”

  “Yeah you do, Tony. But you’re always sorry afterwards, I’ll give you that.” I smiled at him.

  “Ok, I understand.” Tony sounded sullen, but he knew I was telling the truth.

  I liked Tony. More important, I trusted him with anything important. Just not to keep his mouth shut, because he was incapable of that. It was like saying that water is wet, it’s just one of those obvious things. “Tell me I’m wrong, Tony?”

  “You’re not. But I want to know!”

  “No, you don’t, Tony. This is knowledge to die for, and I mean that literally!”

  Tony returned to the counter, folding the dust rag neatly and putting it away under the counter with his baseball bat and gun. “At least you’re not as bad off as them. Nasty business, those kidnapping cases.” Tony waved his rag at the TV. “If they were baddies, I wouldn’t care, but these were apparently ordinary families! Bastards!”

  For Tony families weren’t sacred, but one thing he never did was involve bystanders. As far as Tony saw it, families lived and died together and if a family didn’t want to be involved, they left. But bystanders were never involved in the first case.

  “I find your anger a bit suspect,” I said without taking my eyes of the TV.

  It was the case right now. Every cop available was working this case. It was a really nasty case. Persons and families were kidnapped out of their homes and brutally murder somewhere else. In some case people had been ripped to pieces and not all pieces had been found. According to the media, there was no motive. At least not that anyone could find. The kidnapper, or kidnappers, seemed to take his time searching through the homes before dragging the victims off somewhere and brutally kill them. Actually cutting them to pieces and not all pieces were found. Some bodies was missing altogether. This was the case that had made detective Wilson look like he was dragged through the sewers. Not that he looked much better otherwise.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  There was nothing that was logical about these murders. The kidnapped victims were brutally slain and dismembered, and the their homes were ransacked and valuables taken, but only things that were easy to fence and hard to trace. The perpetrators could have killed their victims in their homes, but they were brought somewhere else, killed and then dumped – or some parts of the bodies anyway. A real confused serial killer slash bugler. I believed there were several killers, perhaps as many as four or five So far they had attacked twelve homes and nothing connected them to each other, other than that the houses were situated in upper middle-class neighborhoods. This was all the showed on the news. The rest was just by-lines read in-between updates.

  “Hey! We’ve discussed this before. You know I don’t approve of innocents being targeted no matter what!” Tony said angrily.

  “It’s just that your definition of innocent doesn’t hold up!” I turned and looked at Tony. “You know what I think of your definition of bystanders! Do you really want to have this discussion again?”

  “Nah. Let’s just say that we agree to disagree.” Tony muttered.

  “That’s a novel way to see it,” I said and then regretted the comment as soon as I said it. “Okay, we don’t agree, but it is not like we have to fight about it. We’re not going be in a war or a shootout anyway, so I doubt if we’re going put it to the test.“

  “Probably not,” Tony shrugged at the almost-apology, “and we’ve got different backgrounds so it’s not surprising that we’ve different views. Where I come from, family is everything and no one stands outside family unless he is shunned, Mar, and that doesn’t happen often. The standing of the family is the most important thing and what one does affects everybody else, so my views are perhaps understandable. If I was your enemy and I came against you, what would you do?”

  “I’d take you out without a thought! But I wouldn’t go for your brother or wife. Or anyone else,” I said instantly.

  “Then you’re stupid. Mi would kill you as soon as she got a chance, and my boys would do the same. And my brother…my brother would kill off your whole family, if you had one, until he got you. The order of the deaths wouldn’t matter one bit to him. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yeah…” I didn’t like it, but that was how it was. “Feud mentality.”

  “No, Mar, not feud mentality – different culture. You can’t understand because you lack the cultural responses and you lack the insight. I’m not saying you’re stupid, but this is not something that you can rationalize. Call it cultural reflexes. Being kin carries responsibilities, Mar. As does friendship. Honor dictates the responses to everything. And remember, for most Vietnamese family is the most important thing in the world! We don't talk to the police, we settle our own scores. Family is one.”

  We had spent hours discussing being from a different culture, and my view was simple; you adapted to your surroundings. That meant you tried to keep your culture and ways, but not at any cost. I might be a bit biased, since I never had to change. And I understood what Tony was trying to say; “what you believe or live by don’t matter to anyone else in the long run.” I just didn’t agree with him.

  Tony’s view on life was simpler; you did what you could get away with. That included using the society and government to accept you were different and with being different came some different rights and considerations. You could play religious or persecuted to get ahead.

  I didn’t like it, but I understood it.

  My upbringing was more cosmopolitan. My fathers didn’t put much stock in tradition, other than when it came to cooking. Guns, tactics, martial arts, acrobatics, physiology, first aid, electronics, computers, and so on were the things they found interesting. And they expected me to learn it all. One good thing about this was that I had all the latest toys in school, so I was considered somewhat cool. Not that that helped much. I still had to fight my way through high school – with my fists usually.

  Tony interrupted my brooding.

  “Maybe someday you’ll see that Big Brother only cares about numbers in the end, and that you happen to be one in a group.” Tony had picked up his dust rag again and was cleaning the counter. ” Individualism is a sham when it comes to government and on a societal level an individual is never irreplaceable! The group means everything if you’re looking at it from above, but it is a lovely thought and you keep the illusion alive. But I hope you don’t believe in it, my friend, because society wouldn’t shed a tear over your death.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Of course society shouldn’t care about the death of a single individual, other than to note its passing!” Then Tony spoke as if to a child. “Society is for the majority, not the minority.”

  “But you believe in the rights of the minority. You’re claiming them left and right anyway.” I took another bottle of coke from the fridge. “You make sure no one forgets you’re a part of a minority.”

  “The only reason for that is that the present majority is rich and secure enough that it chooses to give those rights. Don’t for a minute think that those rights wouldn’t disappear in the blink of an eye if society thinks that the minorities are a threat. You can see that it is starting to get harder for those that do not conform or bow down. There are several examples of that from recent history as well, the treatment of Japanese immigrants during WW2, and communists during the Cold War. There are several other examples I could mention, some more recent. Society isn’t the highest common denominator; it is usually the lowest. That, in essence, means that no one – and I mean no one – outside your family and friends will really care if you live or die.”

  I looked at Tony with a suspicious look. “What made you so damn philosophical today? It’s rare to hear your education speaking. I know you don’t believe in the system, but that don’t mean society is impersonal and uncaring.”

  “Yes it does. Government give the illusion of caring because people respond better to that and give their best, but on the whole your life is just a trail of numbers, tax, income, age, and so on. I won’t talk about Nietzsche, he was crank with some minor points. But Plato, there’s a well renowned philosopher for you, sets the good of society above everything else. In essence, the state is more important than an individual citizen, period.” Tony cocked his head. “Every citizen is a number, some a more important number than others, but never anything but a number. We’re not that different from ants or bees in the end. We might have feelings for our nearest kin, but if you have to choose between a stranger’s family against the need of you and yours, what would you choose? It is never two people. Always more, Mar. You might not like it, but the lone wolf doesn’t survive here – it gets eaten! You’re a real bad-ass when it comes to fighting, but you’re still a fucking idealist. How you can still be that, I have no fucking clue! You know it don’t work like that. And you have a real violent streak in you, my friend.”

  “So?”

  “It’s a kill and get killed world, Mar. And you know it instinctively.”

  “So you’re saying I should stop playing nice.” I waved away whatever Tony was going to say. “I prefer to eat those who eat others, if it gets down to eat or be eaten. I’ll admit you’re spot on about some of the things, but I will still do what I think is appropriate. And I still need someplace to stay before I can do much else. Practicality before philosophy, my friend. ”

  I knew what Tony was trying to say; survival comes first! And so it does. Almost everyone else is expendable when it boils down to an individual’s survival. Most prefer not to think about it, but that is life. There are glorious examples to the contrary, but I bet you a million dollars that you can find a thousand selfish bastards for every altruist you can come up with. It all confirms my faith in humanity. Most often selfishness pays off both on a societal and on an evolutionary level. Unless it is too blatant. Tony could get even me brooding sometimes.

  “What I really mean is that you shouldn’t think so damn much! But, about a place to stay…I might have something for you…hmm I just might know someone.” It was clear that Tony was talking to himself. “If I can remember who said it. I wouldn’t want it to have anything to do with Simon.”

  I twitched when he mentioned Simon. “Oh no, not Simon!”

  “Ease up! I’m not on his party list either. Remember?

  That was an understatement. Simon Burns was the local fixer who thought he was the Godfather. He was small fish, and I had had worse guys on my tail, but he was annoying and he had some twenty local lowlifes doing his bidding who all wanted a piece of me. He wasn’t gang, and Shaun, who ran these blocks, would have nothing to do with Simon Burns. They detested each other.

  I had stopped Simon destroying Tony’s shop and a whole shit storm had come of it. Tony’s family had to call in some favors to Simon back down. And so far we had a truce, but he would kill us if he thought he could get away with it. Maybe it was time to leave the neighborhood. It would save me a lot of trouble. But the thing was; my kind of trouble was the kind that followed you anywhere.

  I wasn’t afraid of Simon Burns. In a way he reminded me of John. He believed he was better and smarter than all others, evidence to the contrary. But I was always careful, even idiots succeed sometimes, and I would hate to be a part of that statistic. I had put a number of his little friends in hospital and threatened him with capital punishment and he still hadn’t backed off.

  Then Tony’s father had stepped in. That was unusual in itself. Tony’s family wanted as little to do with Tony as possible most of the time, except for his brother, but according to Tony his family’s stance was that no one but family was going to kill him if he needed killing.

  It didn’t take long for a couple of really heavily armed guys had showed up to have a little talk to Simon. The men that had showed up at Simon could have come from any Asian mob. I couldn’t tell if they were from a Vietnamese gang, Yakuza, Tong, or any of the other Asian syndicates. The first time Simon met with them he asked them, not so politely, to fuck their mothers.

  Not that smart.

  When they came back, they did enough damage to Simon and his business that he begged for truce. He paid damages, swore an oath to leave us alone, but his ego was hurt, so I believed he still planned something. Not that the asshole was high on my list of worries at the moment. He had promised not to act first, after some serious convincing. Self-defence was the operative word. But I trusted that promise like Simon Burns himself – not at all.

  “I know who has the garage! Uncle Trin!” Tony scribbled down a phone number on an old receipt and gave it to me. “Might need some redecoration, if you know what I mean. I hope you’re good with your hands, because you’ll probably have to DIY for a long, long time.”

  A garage. Great.