[h3]Here’s To You…[/h3] >RESIDENCE OF KIN DANG >CALLSIGN: POKER >HUNTER’S POINT >SAN FRANCISCO, CA >4NOV2019 >0940…/// Kin was in that state between sleeping and waking, not paralyzed, but not recognizing he could move yet. Or not wanting to. He drew in a breath and sighed it out through his nostrils, the house smelling of dust, weed, and spilt beer. It took him a second to realize there was a buzzing coming from somewhere on his left, but it wasn’t important to him yet. He didn’t want to wake, really didn’t want to sleep either. Life was addicting like that sometimes, you spend enough time doing it and it seems like any alternative doesn’t even exist. Not until he was on the police force, and even further dried up when he was on the California Bureau of Investigation. His first homicide investigation was the worst. He remembered his phone and opened his eyes, snatching it up and expecting it to be Foster or Ghost telling him to suit up and kill someone again. It was someone else, that name he both loathed and loved. Sometimes both at the same time. But then again, he only missed the old Jasmine. And she was dead, for all he cared. “Hey.” He answered. “You know how long I’ve been calling you, [i]pinche pendejo?[/i]” The woman on the other line spat acid at him, “How are you? Still doing… whatever you do?” “Not today, at least.” Kin grumbled, reaching up to his face and rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he groaned. “Why?” “You have Maria.” “Okay. [i]Why?[/i]” “Because, she’s your fucking daughter, [i]puto.[/i] You’re going to hop in your stupid [i]ranfla[/i] and pick her up, and show her a good time while I’m out with my boyfriend.” Kin growled, and he could hear Jasmine growl back and spit a string of colorful language he couldn’t fucking understand out of her heavily lined Mexican Chola lips. “It’s in the fucking shop. You drop her the fuck off.” He said through gritted teeth. He didn’t growl because he had to take Maria. Taking Maria for the day wasn’t even an inconvenience for him. Hell, he’d press Foster to get him out of the game and have Ghost take THUNDER over if it meant he could take Maria out of that stupid mother of her’s hands and never give her back. Always snorting meth and coke to the point Poker wondered how the fuck she even had a nose anymore. Almost made him want to give the green light to some Norteños to come around and beat her and her boyfriend up, but then where would Maria be? With him, sure, but Maria wouldn’t be the same after seeing her mother like that. Maria didn’t know what it was that her mother did, what her father did when they were away. At least the consolation there was Kin was cleaning up the world Maria was forced into eight years ago one psychotic piece of shit at a time. Same kind of person as when he was taking them to prison with the Bureau, different crime. And a much more efficient, permanent solution. Sometimes he wanted to take it to the streets here. “Hey, are you listening to me, [i]Vato? Pinche guey?[/i]” Jasmine yelled, and he heard her draw on a cigarette, “In [i]one hour[/i], okay? I’ll drop her off, but don’t bother me after that.” “Whatever you fucking want.” Poker growled, then grumbled under his breath, “[i]Piece of shit.[/i]” “What’d you say, mother[i]fuck-[/i]“ [i]click.[/i] Kin sat up in bed and tossed his phone away from him, every muscle seizing as something shifted on his stomach. The bullet hole, Bear coming back to life even after his face was blown right the fuck off in front of everybody to see. He put a hand over it and then checked, it was healing well, but he still felt the pain of it even if he didn’t see the blood. They’d dug the bullet out of him and he kept it as a trophy, it was there on his desk, with the others. Next to the big Bowie knife that sicario tried to gut him with. He sighed, there was a house to clean, and he’d be damned if he hosted Maria in this place and let her see him living like this. He picked the beer bottle up from the ground, leftover from last night, and took a swig. He rolled it around his mouth to wet it and then got to his feet. >1100…/// He was just cleaning up the kitchen, the last of the house needing cleaning, and shoving another beer bottle and empty pack of cigarettes into the full trash bag he was carrying when he heard Jasmine pulling up with Maria. The engine cut off and he carried the trash bag out the front door, standing on his small porch and looking at the car. With one hand, he brought out his cigarettes, bit one out and then lit it after putting it away and finding his lighter in the same pocket of his jeans. For some reason Jasmine and her stupid fucking boyfriend in his stupid fucking suit were walking with Maria hand-in-hand up to his porch’s steps. “Oye, mano.” Jasmine’s boyfriend nodded up at him, only to receive a hard stare from Kin as he took another drag and blew it out just close enough to his face that he had to stop and think if it was intentional or not. It was. He wasn’t his fucking [i]mano.[/i] “Hey, Kin.” Jasmine was acting nice now, like she did when someone was there to see, all smiles and batting eyelids. It was a shame he was there to see for five years until she slowly decided to drop the fucking act, “Maria missed you, didn’t you?” Maria smiled and nodded, the only person there that Kin spared his hard image to smile at, “Hey, pretty girl.” “Hi, daddy.” Maria beamed. Kin noticed Jasmine and her boyfriend- [i]Jose,[/i] he remembered- Jasmine and Jose’s faces shift in quiet, unspoken embarrassment. Kin knew Maria would never call Jose her dad. The girl was loyal, gotten from him. Everything else, her looks besides her Asian eyes, she got from her mother. “Why don’t you go inside, baby.” Jasmine urged her on with a gentle push to her shoulder, no doubt relieved to be rid of her for a couple nights. “I don’t want you smoking that in front of my daughter. Not with her in the same room, not in the car, not anywhere.” “Those are like nails in the coffin, [i]Vato.[/i]” Jose had lost the smile, probably finally catching up to the fact years later after meeting Kin that he hated his rotten fucking drug dealer guts. “That’s the fuckin’ [i]point.[/i]” Poker blew another cloud of smoke directly at his face this time and flicked the cigarette into his chest, knowing he wouldn’t start anything in a neighborhood that wasn’t his. Or in front of Kin’s daughter. Kin only smiled that smile as Jasmine put her hand on Jose’s shoulder as he growled. As if he’d even a chance of touching him. Kin had stared down and killed far more dangerous men. “This it?” He asked Jasmine, wholly ignoring Jose. “I guess so.” Jasmine said. “And why don’t you stop being such a fucking asshole, Kin, you set up a really good example for Maria and-“ Kin stopped listening when he shut the door behind him and left Jasmine on his porch. He smiled at Maria, “How are you, pretty girl?” “I’m okay.” Maria shrugged, then smiled at Kin, “What do you wanna do today?” “We can pick up my car, go cruising. Listen to that Smokey Robinson song you like.” “[i]When we’re cruisin’ tuh-gethah![/i]” Maria swayed and nodded her head as she sang. “That one.” Kin smiled. Maria was the only person in the world who could make him do that. The only one left in the world he’d do it for. >1700…/// Kin and Maria sat in his Buick Riviera listening to Chicano soul and other artists. He’d played Smokey Robinson’s [i]Cruisin’[/i] at least eleven times just for Maria while they drove through San Francisco to get ice cream and a new pair of shoes. Maria spooned another bite of ice cream into her smiling mouth, nodding along to the twelfth time Smokey Robinson played. No matter how much he loved Maria, he didn’t have the same love for Smokey Robinson, “I pick the next two songs.” “Okay!” Maria said, looking at her new Chucks as she kicked her feet idly and sucked on her spoon. Kin smiled and looked away from Maria as he swallowed another mouthful of ice cream. Something in his rearview caught his eye in the parking lot, another car behind them full of people wearing sunglasses, one row back. The two in the front seats of the Honda Accord were staring right at them, and he could feel it. “Let’s,” Kin shifted into drive and rolled out of the parking lot, “Let’s get home, okay?” “Okay, I wanted to go to a movie though.” Maria pouted as they drove. “I know, how about tomorrow night?” Kin answered, looking in his rearview intermittently. He couldn’t see the car anymore and breathed easier. Before long, were back at home, rolling into his driveway and then into the garage. He cut the engine and then slid across the hood on his rear to make Maria laugh and clap as he opened her door for her, “Princess.” He offered his hand out to her and she took it, smiling bashfully. He held her hand as they entered back into his house from the garage door. Kin let Maria run off down a hallway so she could put her backpack away in his room. “Hey, can we watch a movie I brought?” Maria asked, hiding it behind her back. “Frozen?” Maria showed it to him, and sure enough, it was Frozen, “‘Cause we didn’t get to watch a new movie.” She asked quietly. “[i]Please?[/i]” “Only if you sing to me.” Kin winked. Maria’s smile widened and she nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, okay. Put it in.” >1840…/// Seemed like the marathon of kid’s movies was finally over, Kin thought, as he felt Maria snoring against him. He got off the couch and scooped her up easily to put her on the bed in his room. Walking back out into his kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and then lit up a cigarette, falling back into his old couch and switching on whatever was good on cable. After a few hours, he shut off the television and made his way back to the bedroom, laying down next to Maria and shutting his eyes as she shifted in her sleep, scooting her back closer to him. He was dozing when he heard it, just in a light sleep. Something scratching at the door, jiggling the handle. He sat up, going to his desk and opening a drawer, finding his .45 inside, suppressor already screwed on. He looked back at Maria softly snoring on the bed and his frown deepened. Whoever was trying to get in picked the wrong night. He walked out into the hallway leading to the living room and listened close to the noise, the jiggling of the doorknob, the sound of his porch creaking under shifting weight. The seconds crawled by as Poker just stood still as a board and breathing in, out, in, out in the hallway. The messing with the doorknob stopped, then the squealing of the hinges as it was opened. Poker’s eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. He punched out with his handgun and trained it on the end of the hallway, waiting for whoever it was to walk inside. It was quiet. No footsteps. Just the sounds of the crickets outside and a soft, cold breeze he could feel as the door was yawning open now. The first step came in, slow, even. He put just the slightest pressure on his handgun’s trigger, the trusty HK sitting easy in his grip. The first one came around the corner holding some sort of club and the suppressor rendered the explosion of his trigger squeeze into a loud pop, blowing the assailants brains onto the wall. The second one pushed him over and bounded towards him. Poker stepped back and Mozambique Drilled him, two in the chest, one in the head and he fell just short of his feet. Poker left him leaking into the carpet as he ducked inside to grab the huge Bowie and closed his bedroom door. A feeble defense for incoming rounds, but he bounded into the bathroom. Another came around the corner and sent a shotgun blast straight at him, catching his shoulder. Poker grit his teeth as he threw himself into the bathtub and waited. Blocked in, Goddamnit. The light from the living room came in through the doorway leaving a pillar of it glowing in. Streetlights from the outside hit the window near the shower behind and above him. Another round of waiting, hearing footsteps and whispers until he heard Maria start crying in his bedroom. He heard one of them speak, saying something he couldn’t understand. Russian? He scrambled up and leaned out of the doorway, sighting up on one and dumping the last four rounds of his mag into his back. He threw the pistol smacking into the last one’s face as he brought the Bowie knife up and screamed through gritted teeth. The huge Russian caught his arm just as the point poked into his shoulder, making him grunt. Poker brought his head back and sent his forehead cracking into the Russian’s nose, the two of them stumbling into the living room. They struggled with each other over the knife, Poker not making any progress against the strength of this bear-like Russian. He grit his teeth, biting down on them so hard they might shatter, “You motherfuckers, you messed with the wrong fuckin’ one, you [i]motherfuckers![/i]” He brought his whole weight down, jolting the knife down once, twice, closer and closer. Until it was just poking the Russian’s chest, then sank deeper, and then deeper, the Russian grunting out a curse through a throat filling with blood, pink teeth bared and eyes wild. One more thrust, and the Bowie was buried to the hilt in that barrel chest of his. Poker stood, breathing hard, looking down at the Russian. He snorted something into his face and spat it smacking into the Russian’s cheek. Then he heard someone at the door, turning to see a skinny Russian with a shaved head and a handgun pointed right at him. “[i]Fuck,[/i]” He heard the shot, felt the punch of it in his side, right into his ribs, right into his lungs. He stumbled back and tried to catch the TV, his hand only sliding uselessly across the screen as he fell on his back. He drew in a reedy, shaking breath as he looked from his red chest and up at the tall Russian, “They’ll come for you, motherfucker. You and your [i]fuckin’ family.[/i]” “I have many brothers. And you will still be dead.” Poker frowned deep and stared with unerring hatred at the Russian’s face, who stared back impassively. He raised his hand, middle finger extended, “Fuck-“ >…/// Maria flinched and whimpered when she heard the last huge bang come from the living room. Was dad alright? She didn’t know, she was too busy hiding in the corner after he closed the door, hands over her ears and praying someone would come and help. Was dad alright? When the door opened, she clasped her hands over her mouth and made to crawl under the bed, but she was frozen still in the corner. Watching, just watching the door open slow as slow, like everything was happening in slow motion, but she knew it wasn’t. She was scared. Was dad alright? Someone stepped through the door, leaving themselves shadowed by the light coming in from the living room. He was skinny and his head almost touched the top of the door jamb. He held something long in his hand, a gun, probably. She knew because Jose’s looked like that, but this person was taller than Jose by a lot. She found she was shaking, and then he was walking into the room and he crouched in front of her, smelling like cigarettes, which only reminded her of how dad smelled, was dad alright? “Hello, pretty girl.” The huge man was smiling, something sad about it, and he had an accent so thick she could barely understand what he was saying, “I need you to do favor for me, okay?” Maria opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She nodded instead. The man nodded back, “Okay, you take this,” he took her small hand in his huge one and pressed a little slip of paper as big as the ones inside the fortune cookies at the restaurant she and dad went to that day, “And, you make sure whoever comes in after me gets this note. Very important, you understand?” She nodded again. “Good.” He pat her on the head and it took everything not to scream. He rose to his feet and she shut her eyes. She heard him walk back out, but before he did, he said, “You must not leave room, okay? You will not like what you see. Goodbye, princess.” She said nothing. Just held that little paper in her shaking fist and kept her eyes closed until she couldn’t hear the big man walking away anymore. Was dad alright?