In a dirty, damp and empty warehouse TJ lay curled up like a foetus on the ground, whimpering. His eye and nose already started to swell and blood dripped down his cheek and chin. He cradled his broken hand and arm, and Beth half expected him to start rocking back and forth. Just to make sure her 'message' got through, she gave him a final few kicks to the ribs, then lifted him up by his shirt and slammed her fist into his face. She couldn't help feeling a tiny bit proud of herself that he passed out from the strike. 

Otherwise, she was all 'business'. Her crew kept a number of these little warehouses dotted around the city. They had an agreement with a couple other big shots, but it was never smart to kill people in the same place too often. Then again, that's what bribes were for. Needless to say there were a few people in law enforcement and real estate that conveniently couldn't see these warehouses on a city map.

She knelt and searched him, coming up with a roll of cash, a few full baggies, a switchblade and a handgun. He had two burners on him; she scrolled through his texts on both. One for their everyday shit, and one for the Ciprianos. Beth scowled at the phone, then at TJ, as if he was conscious enough to feel her glare. 

“What the fuck, TJ? This is who you snitched to?” She read through the foremost texts again, locking them down in her memory as best she could, then stamped on both phones. Pocketing the rest of her loot, she stepped back to nurse her bleeding knuckles. Whatever TJ told the Ciprianos – and Beth guessed her crew didn't know yet; they would have sent a team to deal with him if they did – it meant they were in the Ciprianos' sights. And if they were in the Ciprianos' sights, they were screwed.

“Fuck you, TJ,” Beth spat. She took the safety off his gun and shot him with it. Once in the head, nice and quick. She swapped out the gun for her burner, tapping out a quick message.

[center][b][i]Clean up on aisle four.[/i][/b][/center]

The codenames were her idea, of course. At least for Beth, they never failed to lighten to mood. But this time it would take a little more than a bad joke. She dumped TJ in what must have been an office in the back and left the warehouse. 

She managed to get two blocks away before she was shot at.

Ducking low, she dove into the nearest building – a closed down antique store – and sprinted through to the back. As she broke through the back door, heavy footsteps pursued from the front of the shop. Beth cursed and ran through the back streets, headed for the main road; she'd parked her bike on the next street over. Bullets struck the brick walls either side of her. She swore again, pulled TJ's gun out of her waistband and shot back, but didn't stop sprinting.

She ran straight across the open streets and into the road. They weren't on the outskirts of the city any more, there were security cameras here. The bullets stopped flying. Beth narrowly dodged traffic and jumped over parked cars, stuffing the handgun away again as she went. A minute later she found her bike and couldn't get away fast enough. Only when several roads separated her from the shooters did she feel the pain in her arm.