Dead Head slammed his fist down. The table shuddered under the blow. “You got arrested!?” he screamed.

Pax cleared his throat, trying to hide his nervousness. “I mean... I didn’t get arrested. I’m still here, aren’t I? And not in the slammer?”

Dead Head was tending to the warehouse floor when Pax walked in with the terrible news. Pax got away from the cops but word passed his way that both O’Malley and Duck got arrested when the cops arrived at the construction site and found illegal materials and a wad of bills to pay for it. No telling on what happened to either of the buyers, though.

“Where are they now?” asked Dead Head.

“They took Duck away but they let him go,” said Pax. “O’Malley– they tied him to the evidence and he’s looking at getting charged. He’s likely going to get prison time.”

A table and chair had been brought out into the middle of the floor for Dead Head while he was dealing with construction stuff around the main building. The shipping containers had been moved thanks to Seven getting the in-house crane working, a heavy magnetic disc hanging from above. Hustler Petrov wasn’t qualified to work such equipment but he moved all the shipping containers out without putting more than two dents in the warehouse’s walls.

Shimmer had a couple goons measure and paint a large square on the floor to mark where the big machine was going to be built. They were distracted by Dead Head chewing out Pax, though. A few other goons gathered around to watch the show, Thrash included. Thrash found a support beam to lean up against, smirking over at Pax for every second it felt pleasing. And it felt pleasing for every one. Seven was there, too, but nobody could tell what he felt about the situation with his face sealed behind a mask.

Dead Head weighed if he trusted O’Malley to keep his mouth shut and not point any fingers for the cops. When he hired the dope, Dead Head was told that O’Malley was a loyal criminal and wouldn’t rat anyone out, but meeting O’Malley in person and experiencing O’Malley demeanour... Dead Head got a very different impression.

Crossing his hands behind his back, Dead Head shot a mean gaze at Pax. Pax kept a stone face even if his brow dabbed with sweat.

“This is the second time you’ve failed me,” said Dead Head, “and this time you failed me hard!”

“Dead Head, boss...” Pax’s voice was low. He raised it up and continued: “This lady was shooting freakin’ lightning out of her hands! It was just nothing deal downtown; nobody was expecting the city’s other superhero to pop in!”

If it wasn’t that nuisance Ghost Thing than it was Toronto’s more chronicled superhero Lady Beat. Dead Head had no idea that starting a gang would have him lock horns with local guardians of the night.

He brushed his hair back and gave a strained sigh. It was just one deal that went bust. There was other product left to sell and he was going to get together with Haze tomorrow to make some more– another large batch. In a way, Lady Beat ambushing Pax’s spot was barely a setback.

Still, Dead Head knew he shouldn’t have been lenient on anyone that came back from a deal having lost everything.

“I’m thinking that you aren’t fit to walk my deals anymore,” said Dead Head.

“Boss, I–”

Dead Head snarled his mouth. “I’m not hearing any of it. Be thankful you have a place here, even if I’m not sure yet what that place is.”

Thrash gave a big loud clap that echoed across the room, walking up to the desk. “Well done, dingus. You screwed up enough to get demoted.”

Pax sneered at her. “Too bad you weren’t there to get thrown down by someone who actually fights back.”

Dead Head was angry at Pax but didn’t see the point and letting him and Thrash have another one of their little fights. He fluttered a hand at Pax. “Leave here.”

Pax didn’t need to stay there and soak in the humiliation. He turned heel and walked out the door, keeping his head high to salvage what dignity he had remaining. First he was demoted to a low-level goon and now he was looking at a rank even lower. He dreaded what his job was going to be now. Maybe Dead Head needed somebody to lick his boots.

He changed out of the work outfit and put on his regular clothes like he was reaching the end of a regular workday at a plant. When he left the warehouse, the door shut loud.

Dead Head brushed his hair back. “Am I going to have to put a look out for Lady Beat, too?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Seven approached. His haggard voice was low, rumbling through a mask. “Hunting Lady Beat? Difficult. Doesn’t show herself in public. Not like Ghost Thing.” A heavy breath ventilated through the filters. “Only during hunts.”

Even as Dead Head heard those words, he couldn’t take it as anything but a minor threat. He looked around his warehouse. Construction was under way. That was his end-goal: to obtain a command that surpassed what was normally possible for someone in the criminal underworld. How long would it take? How many times would he have to deal with Lady Beat until then?

And what was Lady Beat going to do once he had an army of demons? Or Ghost Thing, for that matter, if the little brat decided to show himself again?

“Speaking of,” said Dead Head, pacing the floor with his eyes on the ground, “have we seen him lately? Ghost Thing?”

Thrash shook her head. “Not since I put the fear in him.” She chortled. “I’m guessing he slithered back to the pond he spawned from.”

“Lady Beat? Doesn’t show often,” said Seven, his mask muffling his speech so only those close could hear. “Knew some men. Had a laundering operation by the Beaches. Lady Beat showed up. Ruined the thing.”

“Well if she comes here,” said Dead Head, “we’ll make mincemeat out of her.” He cracked an eye at all the idle men sitting around. “Riiiiight?”

Everyone gave him their petty confirmations. “Yeah!”, “Yeah, boss!” and that sort of thing.

Shimmer came out of the office and approached the men painting the square. Right away, Shimmer saw a problem. The men were using white paint– not yellow like he asked.

He walked up. “What’s going on? Why is this white?”

Garrison, the goon wielding the paintbrush and bucket, looked up and smirked. “Does it matter?”

“I specifically told you to employ yellow paint,” said Shimmer, his expression angling with annoyance.

Lombardi, the guy doing the measuring, shrugged. “I don’t know if y’noticed, but we’re criminals. We don’t have to be fancy.”

“We are presenting ourselves as a legitimate business,” said Shimmer. “If the Ministry of Labour comes around, we need to look the part.”

Garrison sighed, then chuckled. “What’re the chances that a Minister of Labour is going to come around? Don’t you need to have a call-in to get someone to come around?”

“Paint it yellow,” said Shimmer.

The goons moaned, with Garrison getting on his feet. They would head to the supply closet to get the right colour of paint, hoping that Shimmer didn’t have a particular shade of yellow in mind.

Shimmer looked around to examine the space once again when he and Dead Head crossed eyes. Shimmer gave a small nod and Dead Head offered one back.

Dead Head had a job for Thrash, though. She was on her way out, walking to the door, when Dead Head called to her. “Thrash. Would you join me in my office?”

Thrash wouldn’t say no. With swagger in her step, she walked with Dead Head to his office.

Pax stepped out into the night. The first hues of sunset had dyed the clouds above, but the city was still lit. That part of down didn’t have heavy foot traffic so while Pax walked out to the end of the lot and gazed up and down the road for other signs of life, nobody was walking those sidewalk-depraved streets.

Weasel was waiting by Pax’s car. He was hunched over like standing upright was a challenge for him. He only had one arm through his winter coat, the other hanging out in front of him. His snow cap rested on his head, rustling his brown hair over his eyes.

The one mutant who I enjoy time with, thought Pax. He asked, “What’s up, Weasel? Ready to go?”

Weasel looked up and nodded. “Yeah.” He lowered his eyes again. “Did D-Dead Head f-fire you, boss?”

If there was anyone Pax could talk about it with without feeling compromised, it was Weasel. He said, “No, but I don’t think I’ll be running deals for him anymore.” His voice weakened and quieted as the sentence went on.

“Oh...” said Weasel. “Did y-you want to... quit?”

Pax looked over the warehouse, up the walls that were an faded colour of brick and only furnished with a few tiny windows near the top. He exhaled. “This isn’t the kind of place you can quit.”

Weasel twitched his eye. “They’re... they’re not going to kill you, a-are they?”

Pax sighed. He had to remember that Weasel wasn’t as hardened as everyone else at that place. What was obvious to everyone else was lost in Weasel’s naïveté. Pax scratched his facial hair. “No. They’re not going to kill me.”

Weasel was naïve but he wasn’t so naïve that he believed Pax when he talked in that dismissive tone. The little goblin looked around, unsure what to say or even think.

Pax walked around to get into the driver’s seat. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The passenger seat was available but Weasel couldn’t sidestep the habit of getting into the back. The car started and drove out of there.

Dead Head let Thrash walk in and shut the door.

“So this is serious business, then?” asked Thrash. She didn’t pepper her words with wit or sarcasm so she was either putting herself into work mode or taken aback by Dead Head’s beckoning.

“O’Malley,” said Dead Head. He waited for Thrash to nod before he continued. “He’s in police custody.”

“Yeah,” said Thrash.

Dead Head folded his hands behind his back and paced around. “I don’t like him out there, knowing the things he does about me and this organization.”

“So you want me to...?”

Dead Head took a finger across his throat. He let the gesture linger in the room, then he said, “I need him eliminated. Make it look like an accident.”

“He’s probably going to be in prison in a matter of days,” said Thrash. “Eyes will be on him. It’s not going to be easy.”

Dead Head stopped and rubbed a thumb on his palm. He looked up. “You got psychic powers, don’t you? Figure something out. This is what I pay you for.”

Thrash was annoyed with being assigned creative thinking along with messy work, but she knew her powers better than Dead Head or Shimmer so she had to be the brains of the operation. And ultimately, she was professional and it settled upon her that it was her duty to follow through on her boss’ command. She had a date with O’Malley.

She left the room and walked through the warehouse. Garrison and Lombardi returned to the floor with a yellow can of paint. Seven sat on a stool and sharpened a blade. Shimmer collected papers that he had left around the main floor and stuffed them into a folder.

Thrash left the warehouse to stalk the night. She would have prey before long.