I was 15 when I first joined The Exterminators. My cousins founded the organization, that's right, organization, not gang, when they were only 19 and 20 years old. I earned my way in by poppin a cat who beat up my female cousin. The leaders knew I had what it took to be an Exterminator because I didn't just shoot him from across the street or in a drive by. Nah, I walked right up on the dude, put the 40 caliber pistol under his chin, and squeezed twice. A piece of his jaw bone flew out and hit me right above the corner of my eye. It got stuck there and when I pulled it out, the wound bled profusely. A couple of centimeters over and I would've probably lost an eye.
That was my first body, and I have chased the thrill of that first kill ever since. There's nothing like seeing and smelling the fear of a pitiful soul who realizes you're responsible for his last seconds on Earth.
But I digress. This story isn't about me, really. It's about making certain business decisions when family is involved. Needless to say, with my psychopathic nature, I moved up in the ranks, swiftly. By the time I reached 19, I had at least 15 bodies. Mostly casualties of war. But quite a few were contract hits, with only a couple that dealt with any kind of emotions involved. Coming from a pretty big family, it was inevitable I would have some members that got high. That means there are times when money and blood mix, and it's almost always with bad results.
Once I became a shot caller in the organization, we branched out from drug and gun running and contract killing, to running credit card and insurance scams. We were a young and hungry crew, with the oldest members being only 26. To be so young, we were fairly organized and disciplined. We even did random drug testing. We were all loyal and respectable of one another because you knew to the right and to the left of you were gonna always have your back and in some circumstances be there for you more than your own parents.
My aunt and uncle come into this story just as we reached the pinnacle of our success. I had plans to slowly legitimize our business and was ready to eliminate our drug and gun running enterprises, because it brought too much heat. Some of the members didn't agree that we should get rid of the most lucrative part of our business. There were certain resentments simmering within the ranks that went beyond business decisions. So trouble was already in the air.
Sherry and Uncle Walter both taught me a lot about the streets. Coming up, I had a lot of love and respect for both of them, despite both of them stealing and selling my chain to get high when I was younger. My uncle Walter was my favorite. He rescued me out of a burning house after my parents were both shot and set on fire on my eighth birthday. If it wasn't for him braving the flames, that could have collapsed the building on top of him, I wouldn't be here.
That being said, the events and circumstances that occurred tested the limits of loyalty and devotion to family. Uncle Walter had a good heart, but the same couldn't be said for Aunt Sherry. She was accused of tricking off her 14 year old daughter for crack. Now at 22, my cousin is a dope fiend and crack head, that will sell her body for a $5 bag. Their teenage son had left home and barely acknowledged his parents. None of the rest of the family liked her. She had even shot at Uncle Walter, clipping his left ear. But she was always nice to me periodically exclaiming how sorry she used to feel for me because of how my parents punished me, so we had a pretty good relationship.
Her and my Uncle were known to pull licks, like Auntie taking a target somewhere to trick, only to have Unc waiting for them in the shadows and get them. Aunt Sherry didn't know too much about The Exterminators, but Unc did. He had a lot of nephews in the organization and he was fully aware of what we were capable of.
One day, Him and Auntie were at our headquarters when she stumbled across a package of powder stashed in the bathroom. She could have easily gotten away with it if it had not been for one of the foot soldiers that happened to be walking by the window and spotted her. Unc was in the dark about the theft, which was a good thing, because you could see the genuine surprise in his expression when we approached them 20 minutes later.
If it was just any old foot soldier accusing her, she might have gotten away, with her persistent denials. But this was an exceptional up and comer known for his quiet demeanor, consistent earnings, and unflinching loyalty. He happened to be my protege, and had absolutely nothing to gain by lobbing false accusations. I had every reason to believe him over my grimy, scheming aunt. We locked my aunt and uncle both in a room with barred windows while we held a council on the matter.
My uncle explained the conversation he and his wife had while they awaited their fate. "Baby, if you got it, please give it up! They're gonna strip us both naked, and if they find it, they're gonna kill us both!" She denied it a couple more times before she finally, reluctantly, pulled the pack from her crotch. When we returned to the room and opened the door, my aunt was standing there with the pack in her hand next to my uncle, who had a defeated look on his face. In our meeting, we had decided to kill them both if the pack was found on her without her surrendering it. If she did give it up, she would only receive a beating with a 2 by 4 from two females we employed for such occasions. I was partly relieved that I didn't have to order the execution of family members, but knew a brutal beating was definitely called for.
The couple was taken downstairs to a basement and my auntie was tied to a beam. The two female enforcers were given their boards and signalled to begin the punishment. After about the fourth or fifth wack, Unc couldn't take it anymore and he wrapped himself around his wife to absorb some of the blows she was taking. One of the lieutenants snatched a board from one of the girls and clocked my uncle upside his head, knocking him out cold. After close to two minutes, Auntie finally collapsed, unconscious from pain and exhaustion undoubtedly, which ended the whole affair.
I have to admit, I felt absolutely no sympathy or regret having made my decision. I felt it was for the best. If they weren't family, it wouldn't have mattered whether they surrendered the pack or not. They would have been executed immediately, and their bodies disposed of. Believe it or not, there is a bright side to this story. Not long after the incident, my Aunt and Uncle were inspired to go to rehab. And to my knowledge, they have both been clean for a little over a year. The situation also reinforced my decision to eliminate drug and gun running from our enterprise.
I sometimes wonder though, what inspired them more to clean up? The ass whooping, or the harsh truth that their own son is the foot soldier that turned them in?
