Tupac Shakur “Let me say for the record, I am not a gangster and never have been. I'm not the thief who grabs your purse.I'm not the guy who jacks your car. I'm not down with the people who steal and hurt others. I'm just a brother who fight back."

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                        (1 hour later)

Chicago, Illinois.

The best place on earth. 

How could it not be? With its tall buildings, vibrant nightlife, and of course lets not forget the epic cuisine.

My hometown.

My inferno.  

I could never imagine myself living anywhere else. Probably because I never seem to have more than 20 dollars in my bank account. Then again, most of the money I acquire isn’t exactly fresh neither.

The way I see it if you can’t beat 'em, join 'em.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I lower the surveillance binoculars from my face and glance at the guy standing next to me. His muscular frame is leaning against the rickety wooden fence. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn out black dagger jacket. The wind has picked up and as result a strip of his shaggy black hair has fallen in his icy blue eyes.  

He is right. I don’t have to be here.

There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t. 

But I want to. How many times do I need to say it?

I huff and roll my eyes. “I have nothing else better to do. Besides, you need a spotter.”

He smiles but I can tell it's forced. Something is obviously bothering him. Whatever it is, it’s making him think too hard. I don’t have time to bug him about it, though. We have bigger problems going on right now. Like finishing this ‘job’ and making it to the other side of town before midnight. Whatever personal issues he has can wait.

“Thanks man. I appreciate it.”, he says.

I nudge him in the ribs. “It’s whatever, dude. Now, can you stop being such a pansy?”

He grins and snatches the binoculars from my loose grip.

Bored, I look around with little interest as Tyson lifts the binoculars to his eyes.

I can barely make out anything past the wire fence that’s five feet away but I am able to catch a glimpse of the loading docks to the left and just beyond that is the Stevenson-Riley Warehouse. It’s nothing special, really. In the daytime it looks just as warn-out and abandoned. I guess that's why nobody gives it a second glance when passing by the on-ramp that leads to the highway.

The faint sound of cars zooming by lets me know we are not the only ones here, even though it feels that way.                                 

For tonight I opted to wear my usual all-black get-up which consists of a hoodie, cargo pants that have multiple pockets, old worn-in leather boots, and gloves that tie at the wrist. 

As for Tyson, well, it looks like the kid just threw on the first thing he found in his closet. And knowing him, that’s exactly what he did. He definitely has the whole 'school boy' vibe pinned down. By looking at him you would never guess that he has a killer right hook. Fortunately for me I have never been on the receiving end of his wrath. I can’t say the same for the other poor bastards who like to challenge Ty both just for fun and for his position. I don’t know about them, but I like my nose the way it is thank you very much.

Years of dedication in the gym has done the boy some good, I'll give him that much.       

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those rare occasions when I actually attended school, when he told me about a ‘job'. He promised a share of the cut. He thinks it's because I need the money. And as much as I could really use it, I really just want to keep an eye on him.

As smart as his 'GPA' claims him to be, Tyson is known for his ‘spur of the moment decisions’. And in the line of work that we are in, that type of characteristic can be deadly.

Being the more cautious one, I took it upon myself to study the layout of the warehouse. I also made sure to bring my dads’ old hunting binoculars. They are a bit awkward to hold because they are bigger than the average size but strangely light as a can of chicken stars.

I kept my old mans bulky camouflage binoculars because I thought they were cool-looking. It's times like these when I'm glad that I did.

The warehouse is 25 feet by 30 feet and has wire industrial shelving.     

Since there is no alarm in the building I don’t have to worry about the police being notified about a possible breaking and entering. Although sometimes they do take the back roads that run past the docks on their way to the apartment developments where domestic disturbance reported is not a taboo subject on this side of town. That and the gunshots that blast in the distance that’s almost always due to a drive by shooting. But we haven't gotten much of that in the last few days.

There’s a war going on between a suicidal Dominican named Steele who has a thing for short women and ‘the boss’ who doesn’t give two shits about no one.

Word is Steele hijacked some rims full of premium powder. You could imagine why ‘the boss’ would retaliate.

That’s a quarter million down the drain.

More than I would ever see in my lifetime.  

The thought should depress me. But it doesn’t. It’s a fact that I live with.

Once this night is over I’m going home and sleeping until noon.

As long as we stick to the schedule we won’t be late for a stand-up meeting with ‘the boss’.

The blue warehouse doesn’t have a high-security system alarm installed. Instead there is a fat middle-aged guard who sits on a plastic chair right next to the door, usually with a cup of coffee in hand and a book to keep him company for the six to nine hours he clocks in for work.  

I look at the sports watch on my left wrist. It’s almost ten o’clock and his shift ended an hour ago.

We better get this done soon.

‘The boss’ wants us back before midnight and he is not a very patient man.

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well. what do you think? it is pretty short but the next couple of chapters should get longer.