“I’ll go after that drug cartel and I’ll have more fucking money, glory, and pussy than a single man can handle,” he thinks. Alfred does a lot of meth. The book deal will buy him more meth to fuel his efforts in outing members of a drug cartel who are working with the Mexican government. Or perhaps he’ll just continue to make self-important videos talking about the operation. What’s the difference?
Alfred Allwyn is, in his own mind, humanity’s greatest writer. He was run out of the world’s leading cybergang after convincing the public that he was an important leader when he was not. Today, he’s come back with a vengeance. It’s just a damn shame that Alfred’s drug dealers are too afraid to do business with him.
“We’ve got the information on this bastard sent to your people. Talk some sense into him. He’ll do whatever you tell him to, as soon as you put the pressure on. We’re just as opposed to the cops as you guys are and we have no reason to white knight.” The outdated answering machine clicks and hums as it automatically rewinds. Hernando Alvarez smiles to himself. The cybergang hates this weaselly gringo as much as he does.
Alfred opens his front door, there are visitors. He ushers two enormous hispanic men into his apartment and not without hesitation. The bigger man asks for a glass of water, and when Alfred turns towards the kitchen the smaller man kicks him in the back. They are both on him, one crushing his throat with his knee and the other pinning his flailing legs to the ground.
“We’re here from the cartel. We don’t really think you’re a threat to us yet, but we were convinced by your internet friends. They really don’t like your big mouth. Open your big mouth so I can see if there’s anything of value in there.”
Alfred opens his mouth and the thug takes a careful look inside. Like lightning, the thug draws a knife and yanks a bloody tongue from the dark abscess and nonchalantly throws it behind him, accidentally hitting his partner.
The men leave with no further comments, their job finished.
