I was sitting behind Ivan and Sergei, right next to Jack, in the first row of seats in the whole minibus. We were driving toward Vincent's. We passed right by the shack where I’d gotten the bread that morning. I was staring out the window, watching the streets pass by.

I wondered how Irina was doing. She had a fever this morning. Hopefully, she was just staying in bed, with Tatiana and Olga tending to her. Hopefully, Ivan and Natalie were keeping Mikhail out of trouble—the little shit.

“So, where’s that down payment?” Sergei asked, looking at me.

“Here you go,” I said, chucking the fake wad of bills I'd made into the front at Jimmy’s feet.

Sergei gave me a foul look and tried reaching for it before Jimmy slapped his hand away. “I’m driving here! Just get it later!”

Sergei sat back in the seat but kept eyeing me, much closer now.

Finally, I looked at the other passenger in the car. All the color had drained from his face long ago, and he was staring into his hands.

I calmly stated, “Oh, by the way, Jack. After I talk with Vincent, I think we need some private time together. Just one-on-one. You know, to sort out our differences.”

He shook his head like this was something he could disagree with, before saying, “Look, Boris, I—I just needed… Look, you have to understand.”

I raised my eyebrows, feigning ignorance. “What would I have to understand? Have you done something I’d need to think about? How about you, Jimmy? You think he’s done something I need to think on?”

“I believe he wants you to understand why he tattled,” Jimmy said, a smile on his lips in the mirror above him.

The only good thing about gangs: they don’t like snitches either.

“Oh? And why did you tattle, Jack? Was it because I insulted you this morning? Even though I’ve looked after Glenn and Jill for years now? Or was it because of my good looks? Got a bit jealous, I think.”

“What’s there to worry about? Thought you were going to sort it out with Vincent,” Sergei said, looking at me skeptically, trying to guess the game I was playing. Joke’s on him—I was winging this whole thing. Funny, now that I knew I was fucked, I had all the confidence in the world. Not one shred of fear. Maybe I’d just gone loony.

“Well, that’s true. Still, though, he gave me an apple earlier. I thought it was a sign of our bond. And here he is, snitching,” I said, shaking my head with disappointment. “What did he get for it, by the way?” I asked the front of the vehicle.

“I dunno, a high five,” Jimmy replied.

Sergei just shrugged. “A free ride?”

Jack said, “Vincent pays twenty bucks if you turn someone in.” He said this while looking into his hands, shame running down his face.

He’d answered honestly, which somehow made this way worse.

“Two sandwiches. You turned me in. For two sandwiches,” I said, with actual disbelief.

I felt my knuckles crash against his jaw. Felt the teeth through his cheek crack. Felt the reverberation all the way up my arm before I’d even known I had thrown the punch.

His head snapped back, cracking the glass in the window next to him. He started trying to get away from me, backing into the corner between Jimmy’s seat and ours. His mouth was bleeding, eyes darting around. Didn’t fucking matter.

I loomed over him, ready to see how many teeth I could crack with a second punch before Sergei tapped me on the back with something hard.

I whipped around, but he was pointing a gun at me.

“Sit down, Boris. I’ll give you that one, but no more out of you,” he said, like he thought he was some fink in black.

But I obeyed, sitting back down and gently wrapping the fabric I’d kept earlier around my right hand.

Jack was spitting blood out of his mouth before Jimmy said, “Do you just like hitting people? Every time I’m with you, it seems to be the only thing you do.”

“Hey, something’s gotta pay the bills. Why not this?” I replied. But I didn’t really give a shit about what he was asking.

I noticed Sergei kept the gun in his right hand, hanging on the seat separating us and them.

We kept driving, in silence now. I looked at the tower in the distance and thought that maybe God was watching over me. Because at that moment, we turned down Paradise Street, and an idea struck me.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

In the distance, at the end of the road, was a huge gate that had been boarded up, with a big “KEEP OUT!” sign. Two gold statues flanked the gate—one of those finks from before the war. Funny, never in my life had I seen the gates of paradise as inviting.

“So, Jimmy,” I said, breaking the silence, “I got a question. Is it true that Vincent throws people in Paradise?”

“Not sure. Bit above my pay grade.”

“Ever wanted to find out?” I asked, as I wrapped the fabric around his throat.

He choked back his response, gagging, taking one hand off the wheel and frantically grabbing at the fabric with the other.

I saw Sergei snap out of his surprise and lift the gun, yelling something incoherent. I grabbed the gun with my left hand, pushing it forward, just as it fired, the bullet going straight through one of Jimmy's feet and into the pedals. We swerved into traffic, and I felt the impact as we hit the side of another car. My head slammed against the roof with a loud thud. I struggled to keep my grip on the gun and stay standing. The fabric I had been holding onto felt like it was about to snap.

Suddenly, Jack struck the back of my head. His arms slid under mine, trying to wrench me backward. The minibus lurched forward as Jimmy took both hands off the wheel, kicking it desperately. Sergei, unable to pry the gun from my grip, started biting my wrist to try and make me let go.

The fabric finally snapped, and Jimmy was slammed forward against the wheel. I landed on Jack, who was stunned by the sudden weight crashing onto him. Scrambling forward, I saw Jimmy struggling to regain control of the vehicle, steering us away from oncoming traffic.

Sergei had fallen onto the dashboard, and the gun slipped out of his hand and into the seat. I threw myself into the front, reaching for it at the same time Sergei did. We wrestled for control as Jimmy frantically tried to slow us down, his foot pounding on the brakes with no effect.

“You bastard!” Jimmy screamed, taking one hand off the wheel to start smacking me in the face. Stars danced in my vision, but I refused to let go of the gun. Behind me, Jack grabbed my remaining pant leg, trying to pull me back into the rear seats. I kicked at him, trying to keep my focus on Sergei and the weapon.

I shoved Jimmy’s face into the window, grunting as I wrestled for the gun. Words spilled from my mouth—insults about their mothers, although I couldn't remember exactly what I said. Jack finally lost his grip, flying backward into the seats and taking my pants with him.

Sergei shifted tactics, letting go of the gun with one hand to wind up for a punch. I pulled with all my strength, dragging him forward, and suddenly, the gun went off.

A hot, searing pain shot through my leg, but it didn’t matter. Sergei's punch connected, and he screamed, “Let go, for fuck’s sake!”

I grinned at him through bloodied teeth, refusing to back down. Letting go of Jimmy, I slipped my hand through the steering wheel and wrenched it to the side, making sure we were heading towards the gate. The tires screeched as the minibus careened onto the sidewalk. People dove out of the way, screaming curses as the vehicle tipped precariously onto two wheels. My legs smashed through the already weakened window, and I caught a glimpse of Jack sprawled in a pile of vomit before turning my attention back to the chaos.

Jimmy managed to grab the wheel, steering us back onto the road just in time to avoid a traffic light and a woman pushing a stroller. The minibus straightened out, but Sergei kept punching me in the face, his blows finding their mark more often than not.

I saw Jimmy desperately reach for the handbrake and yanked it upward. It didn’t work. That let me focus on the gun, pulling it toward my face before realizing my mistake and shoving it away just as Sergei pulled the trigger.

The shot tore through the side of Jimmy's head, straight through his ear, splattering my face with blood and chunks of flesh. Jimmy’s body went limp, his foot pressing flat on the accelerator. The minibus veered wildly, crashing into a parked bus. The impact hurled the gun out of our hands, and threw me back into the seat.

“Oh come on!” I shouted, shoving myself upright, trying to get over to the front again. Sergei kicked out from the dashboard, his foot connecting with my face and sending my teeth through my lip. He dove over the seat into the back, wrapping an arm around my neck as we both fell into the narrow walkway by the door.

I tried to roll him off, but he pinned me down, his hand forcing my face into the floor. I used my free hand to grab at his jaw, pulling with all my strength to free my trapped arm. His legs slid over my waist as he shifted his position, then sat up, holding me in place completely.

"Fuck you!" he roared, punching me square in the face with full force. My nose crunched beneath the blow, and despite raising my arms to block, his fists found their way around my arms often enough.

Then I saw the statue through the window—just as the minibus slammed into the gate.

The world exploded around me. Metal screamed as the front of the vehicle buckled inward, the gate cracking apart like cheap wood beneath the sheer momentum. The windshield shattered into a thousand knives, glass raining into the cabin as the minibus punched through the barrier like a battering ram.

But we didn’t stop.

We tore straight through the gates, the force sending us skidding forward. The tires shrieked, barely holding onto the road as the van tilted dangerously onto two wheels before slamming back down.

Sergei was still on me.

“Just die, you bastard!” he snarled, driving another fist into my face.

My skull snapped sideways, blood filling my mouth. But there was no time to react—we were still moving.

The minibus barreled forward, mowing down rusted-out signs and sending dust clouds kicking into the air. Cracks spread across the pavement, the ground beneath us uneven and broken. We hit something metal, and the van jolted, throwing Sergei forward against the seats.

I sucked in a breath, only for him to recover immediately, slamming his forearm across my throat as he pinned me down again.

A distant wall loomed ahead.

Sergei barely had time to register it before the front tires hit debris, sending us into a wild, uncontrollable spin.

The world blurred, the wreck spinning, twisting, throwing bodies and debris into every corner of the minibus. My head slammed into the door, the force rattling my teeth, but Sergei kept punching, his knuckles driving into my skull again and again.

The minibus collided with a concrete pillar, the force ripping me free from Sergei’s grasp and hurling me into the ceiling.

The last thing I saw was Sergei flying past me, hitting the opposite wall—before everything went black.