7
Tony started to wonder where his other brother was. The one who ran away, spoiled little child. Victor had always been the older brother who was just, there in Tony's eyes. All Tony ever paid attention to was Vinny. He guessed, that was one of the reasons why Victor left.
It had been a little freeing for him to know that there wasn't always someone to bully him there. After all, Vic was always picking fights with him. Yeah... Wicked moments of his...
Tony went to the living room, quite a few steps from his bedroom, to see what all the fuss was about. Miles followed him.
Tony's father had just fiercely came through the bedroom door, filing a large complaint about a dog being tracked inside of here. "I found a big chewed hole in 'ere!" He pointed at the door. "Next thing I know, some killer dog busts through! Didn't give me enough time to react, really. It started attacking me!"
He furiously shot a look at Miles, who, to be fair, was trying to save his own life from the said, "killer dog".
"You! You think you can come in here, leading your dog in here, without permission? IT'S TEARING UP EVERYTHING IN THE NEXT ROOM!"
They heard a horrible scream.
"Darn! It's gotten to the bedroom!" The father cursed as Tony's mother ran inside, flailing her arms like crazy, and saying something very fast in Spanish that even Tony couldn't comprehend.
"I know Marissa, I know!" His father said in Spanish as well.
As Miles went to open his mouth, wanting to clear his accusations, Tony shook his head hastily at him.
"Tony!" His father bellowed, shaking Tony's spine once again. "Get my gun!"
"You're going to shoot it?" Asked Tony concernedly, but his father messed up his face. "YOU GOT A BETTER IDEA?"
Tony quieted down, quickly running into the hall leading to the master bedroom, carefully trying to avoid sight with the dog.
When he got to the bedroom, he could see it sniffing around his father's side of the bed, slobbering on all of his gear. It growled loudly, like it didn't like his smell.
Tony was etching closer and closer, trying not to even think about breathing.
The dog's head snapped back, as it could clearly smell Tony all along, just waiting for him to get close enough for the point of no return. "AHHH!" Yelled Tony as he partially slipped and tried to dash away from the dog, but he was still trying to create friction against the thick slobber on the floor, causing a not-so fast acceleration. The dog chased after him, obviously having more energy than Tony did, tired from being up at 5 in the morning and having to do all of this.
The dog's barked traveled like sonic waves against the walls. "Help!" Tony yelled at his family once he got back into the living room. He still had to run in circles around the room as the dog was catching up to him. "Did you get the gun?" His father tried yelling over the dog's barks.
As of that, the dog stopped, slowly turning it's head in Miles's direction. Then, it did the same in the father's direction. It jumped higher than a Mexican jumping bean, landing on the father, biting down viciously on the neck, and savagely jerking it's head back and forth, as though trying to rip off his flesh as if it were a zombie. Tony's father screamed in agony, finally grabbing it by the back with both hands, scrunching it's fur up very viciously, and ripping it off, throwing it with all his might toward the wall.
It slammed the wall, as big as it was, making it sound like a war bomb just went off. This was very bad, considering—
"AGH!" Tony exclaimed, grabbing his ears. Not again! Said the voice inside his head once more. His father, though, seemed to be experiencing the same thing. He slammed himself against the opposite wall, making a faint bomb sound on it. This worsened his reaction, and he fell over on the floor. "Juan!" His wife said, running to his aid, but all she could do was comfort him the best she could. "Shh, shh, it was just a dog, my love," she'd whisper to him in Spanish.
"What the ...?" Said another voice beyond the door. "Is anyone in there?"
"Please help!" Screamed Miles, trying to get the man's attention. The man stuck his head through the hole. "Why does it sound like war in here?" He asked, immediately stopping by the view of people on the floor, and a man with a huge gash on his neck, bleeding perfusely.
"Oh my god!" He started to say, jumping through the hole and into the apartment. He rushed over to the man, "What happened to all of you?"
Miles answered the questions. "This deranged dog chased me inside of here while I was trying to run for my life, and it ran into the master bedroom, waking Mrs. Verez up, and chasing my friend all around! It attacked his father after trying to attack me and him, and Mr. Verez threw it over there!" He pointed at the wall, "It caused a bomb sound and that triggered their PTSD—" he now pointed to Tony and Mr. Verez, "Please, you have to help us!"
"Say no more, kid!" The man said, getting out an aid kit. While he took some tools out of the kit, he motioned Miles over to the telephone with the long cord. "Call the animal people!"
Miles did just that. He ran over to the telephone, picking it up and dialing. Tony, who was still feeling the effects, looked at the whole scene with blurred eyes. He looked at a distressed Miles, trying to remember what number animal control was. He looked at his mother, who refused to get off of his father when the man was trying to help him. He finally looked at his father, who, earlier suffering from the sound, had looked as if he was passing out.
"LADY, IF YOU DON'T GET OFF HIM, HIS AS GOOD AS DEAD! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO BE THE REASON HE LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD?" Boomed the man, who actually convinced Mrs. Verez to get off.
He looked up to see the unconscious dog, wondering where the owner was in all of this. Tony had hit the coffee table, blood trickling down his head, himself. He finally, after being tired as all get out, hitting the glass table so hard it put a gash in his head, passed out himself.
Victor's POV
I had been waiting for boss at the base again. The diamonds he had stolen last round was still on the floor, asking to be stepped on. Of course, it couldn't really talk.
Just then, the boss busted inside the Vault. That's what we called our homebase, The Vault.
"Gameplan, boys! Any of you came up with a good gameplan?" He asked, looking around at all of us. The other's shook their heads.
The boss slammed his fists down on the nearby table in anger. "DOTHEADS! WE DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME! HE'S GONNA FIGURE OUT WE'RE UP TO SOMETHING ANY MINUTE!"
"Uh, boss?" I said, my voice a little shaky. He looked at me, and cracked into a smile. "Of course you have an idea. Why didn't I ask you first?"
I couldn't help but be a little prideful in that. I cleared my throat. "I say we go in—This is a bad guy, right? He must be old, not too much of a fighter, by what you tell me,—And we're going to wait 'til he's sleep. It'll be his fault, he should've given you the money if he owed you, right?" kind of felt like I overtalked, and he must've noticed that, too, because he had a weird look on his face.
"...Yeah, kid.... He owes me his life. He turned a cold shoulder and was arrogant. He's lucky I didn't take it away from him, but some people, ha, there just not that grateful of what they have 'til it's too late." He creeped into a smile again. "So, you're saying you're gonna be the one who sneaks in, gives us the go when it's all ready, and watch and learn?"
"Ha, yeah, you know it!" I said excitedly, as I was finally gonna be apart of something.
"Yeah kid," one of the goons started to say, "And then you're gonna snuff him out when we bring him back to base?"
The boss shot him a devilish look. The goon quickly looked the other way, sweating like crazy.
I, for one, wanted to know what he was talking about. "Don't listen to that idiot, kid, we don't kill people 'ere, just steal from 'em."
The next night was game night. All of the boss's goons got ready, and I was doing the same. The boss came in that instance. "Wish he didn't have to ruin his own Christmas Eve. Pretty sad, eh?" He asked. All of his goons snickered, "Yeah boss, he's going to have quite the Christmas!"
All of them laughed, except for me. "What does he care with losing a few bags of diamonds? Isn't he living it up like the president?" I said. They all stopped laughing and turned to me. "'Course, kid, but people like him want it all to himself. He's a greedy guy. Okay, everyone ready?" He asked, and all of his goons nodded. I nodded as well. "In the van, all o' you."
We drove to this mansion that was quite the distance away, but finally arrived at this huge mansion. Boss scoffed, "He's livin' it up here, so stuck up, kid!" He was clearly talking to me, since he said kid.
By what the boss always said about this guy, he cared for no one on the streets, and had his own people beat up people to get what he wanted. He took people's food, even pulled out a gun and shot some, just to see them suffer. "And he didn't stop there," the boss would say. He said that he also messed with him, which is how he got the worn scar on the rich man's face. "I pulled out a dagger to defend myself, he was gonna kill me. Even though I saved his life, he wanted to pick a fight, saying he didn't want my help. My grandfather was North Vietnamese, but he was anything but a communist. He attacked me just for that..."
I would think, man, the boss is one great guy, and was hated by this evil man who wanted to see the world burn, just because of his heritage. And I still do think that. "Ready to go in, kid?" He asked, patting me on the back. I nodded vigorously, though trying to keep cool.
I ran in on his call, though once inside, I slowly tiptoed to see the man sitting on his couch in his lavish living room. It was disgusting to me that he had everything, but still took and took and took, even took people's lives, as if it wasn't enough. He was reading a book, which looked to me, like, "How To Make the World a Better Place", which was even more engrossing, since he was an evil man. "Hmm, yes, gave to charity just last week, hoping they had a Merry Christmas," said the man, very pleased with himself. I hardly believe it. I tiptoed outside, stealthily as I ran out once I was outside. "He's awake, and I think he knows we're here, trying to make it seem like his a saint!" I said, out of breath. The boss almost laughed, but quickly controlled himself. "That's what he would do. Boys, you know what to do. Come on, kid."
He guided me back into the mansion without any care of the man being awake.
Once we stepped in, I could see the man quickly sit up. "Who's there?"
"The devil," the boss said as the 10 goons, each in groups, raided each room. "Ahhh!" The man yelled. I started to get this overwhelming feeling of guilt. This was an old man, who didn't look all that evil to me... He was even reading a book on how to make the world a better place!
"Too bad you didn't give us the money sooner, Roger. You could've been spared all the trouble."
"Ray, please, don't do this! I beg of you!" The man pleaded. "You think I would just let you walk all over me and almost kill me?" Said the boss, getting angry.
"I never did anything of the sort! You tried to kill me! I was trying to help the kids out of you're gang!" The man was now crying.
"LOOK AT THE LITTLE LIAR!" Screamed the boss as he marched up to the man, taking his gun out. "YOU BETTER WATCH WHAT YOU SAY, OLD MAN!"
The aged man looked at me, teary eyed. I stared at him, not knowing what to do. "Stop! We only came for the money, boss!" The boss rounded on me, an evil look in his eyes. "Oh, you really want to get involved, kid? Here, take this man to the van, we got work to do."
I hesitated. I came to my senses and walked over to the fragile man, pulling him very easily off the couch. "Move!" I yelled, and he did so. I led him to the van while, back inside the house, I heard them ransacking the place, smashing everything that could break, ripping everything that could tear.
I wondered why all of this was needed. In, and out, the boss said. Had he been lying to me about the whole charade?
"Please, child, help me... I wouldn't hurt a soul... Please!" The man pleaded once again, his hands in a praying form. I felt awfully bad for him... I could get in a lot of trouble for this...
"If I get your sorry self out of here, tell me everything there is to know about my boss!"
He nodded vigorously, and I steered him in the opposite direction of his house and the van. I ran away with him, almost carrying him. We ran so far, it was like we had run miles.
Finally, at a point where we got to the city part of the city, among the millions of people there, I took him into a valley, completely far away from any home base whatsoever.
"Tell me!" I said demandingly. The man gulped.
"Your boss has bad blood for me because I've tried destroying his plans from day one. He's tried acting like a true equalist, trying to bring people who've earned their money down. All he wants is to be rich, not caring for anyone else. He's a selfish little guy, and he usually kills all witnesses, including his own gang. He wants to share with no one, no matter what he tells them... I was his mentor, trying to get him to do good deeds, not worrying about the fact that he was Vietnamese. He'd do anything for money though... And the strife you have to get through to do it, he didn't want. He wanted to do it the easy way in, but the hard way out. He wanted to manipulate people into doing it for him... Just like his father..."
He stopped, grabbed a handkerchief and damped his eyes. "It pains me, he was assigned to me because he had been affected badly by the war chemicals. He only started acting like this a while back when that happened..."
I stopped thinking about anything else at that moment. War chemicals? He was in the war? It made him go this bad?
"I feel as though I've failed him... He's gone crazy, recruiting anyone and everyone, making up this sick excuse in his head like he's doing this for all of his people... For equality... He knows deep down he's being manipulative, and even deeper down that he's being manipulated.
Once you go to Vietnam, you never come back, even if you do, you're still never there... You change no matter what... I know.. I was part of it. I helped people in the army deal with their PTSD. With their wounds. With their emotions. I was a war doctor."
I stumbled back on my feet, bumping into and slowly sliding down the wall in disbelief.
"He's lost so much... He left his family because he was just so angry at himself for being such a mess up... That's also why he went into the war, he wanted to do something to make his family proud. But when he came back, everything changed. His father died, his mother, aged and sad, and his brother and sisters turned a cold shoulder. All because he left. He left them at their greatest time of need. He thought being in the war would fix all of that..."
Realization slapped me in the face like it was actually there. He's just like me! If I made the same mistake he did, then I would turn out just like him!
"I tried helping him, but he wouldn't listen. My brother had the exact same issues, and he went to prison for it. I tried telling him I knew how he felt... Then, he started recruiting children, putting them through absolute torture... I snuck them out as fast as I could before they started dropping like flies... He didn't like anything I did. He tried to kill me, his own godfather, mentor, the man who helped his father get through this, and that's how I got this scar. I moved far, far away, taking my earned riches with me... You know, I got all of this money from helping with the war. I got too old to serve... I earned this money fair and square. But he didn't get a penny because of his anger issues and his consistent lack of respect and his disobedience.
You don't know what you have until it's gone, kid, or taking away for a long time."
No... No! I left my family at their time of need.... I'm just like boss... I need to make things right.
"Thank you..." I said, getting up. "The name's Roger Dugg." The man said, handing out his hand. "I'm Victor Verez. I'm going home, I'm taking you to safety, and I'm going to make things right."
If you don't like long stories, I'm sorry, but if you do, :D
