Pucking Forbidden Claim
“We...we don’t know what happened. The driver left on time, the route was clear, then nothing. No word, no call, nothing.”
My father exhales slowly, then nods. “Right.” Then he pulls his gun and shoots the guy in the knee.
The sound echoes through the warehouse, a sharp crack that has the other men stiffening, backing up, knowing better than to step in. The guy collapses, a broken, pained scream ripping from his throat as he clutches his leg, blood already pooling beneath him.
My father crouches beside him, gripping his chin and forcing him to look up. “I don’t do mistakes,” he says simply. “Now, you’ve got two options. Either you find my shipment, or you lose a lot more than your knee.”