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Mistakes Were Made
Razor
"Who are we going after for this, boss?" One of my older members asks.
I currently can't talk, since I had my throat stitched up. So here I sit in a hospital, a "victim" of gang violence. I wasn't about to fess to being the leader of one of the gangs. Both those killed each other according to the story I wrote and signed for the police and the federal agents.
Amongst the feds, I swear I saw none other than the youngest Zen, Slater. What an exciting bit of juicy information that is. He didn't notice me, which is a small mercy.
I wrote on my notepad that we would take care of all that later. I need a plan first.
I'll have to be carefu
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