From the beginning, The Wolf accepted
assassination
as a possibility. He could accept it coming in many forms.
Poisoned drink, while out in public.
A drive-by shooting, while out in public.
However, he would not accept being assassinated inside his homebase so easily. He refused to sit there like an open season duck for whoever might want to kill him. That was too easy. And he didn't like making things easy for people who hated him.
He himself, didn't hate anyone. The Wolf never got into
The Game
to prove himself to others. There was no
ego
to salve. Each person he put-down during his ascension, he did not out of malice. Not once did he feel pleasure in finally having someone killed or incapacitated. Not a moment he passed smirking in anticipation of the revenge he was planning.
This business was filled with emotional hotheads who were trying to prove that they were
Tony Montana
or
Bruce Willis
. Charged up on emotions, trying to finally feel -- and believe -- that they were big shots. Childish desires never lasted. These hotheads always either got caught up in the wrong way trying to prove a point or they realized that they didn't want what they thought they wanted.
If they were lucky then they'd get out and start a family and work a regular nine to five. When The Wolf learned of anyone who went that path it made him feel some glimmer of satisfaction. He would sit behind the bulletproof glass, looking out into the world wondering what life would've been like for him had he had such a possibility. Of just getting out. Working a regular job. Watching TV with the family. Going on vacation and having the wife post it online. That would be nice, he felt.
The Wolf never got into the business because he felt sorry for himself and it so happened to be an opportunity to "prove himself". The Wolf arrived at the business because of one reason and one reason only.
survival
.
He hadn't thought about that blood stained week that happened all those years back in awhile. It was far away enough now that he could view it without spinning his narratives onto it, trying to make it look the way he wanted. Although now he couldn't remember the details of the scenes as much, he could finally see what had actually happened.
He had just been 25. It was a hot, humid summer. It seemed to be lasting forever. Until his old friend from high school ran into him while he was finishing breakfast at his daily haunt. Bryce his name was. He couldn't remember anymore actually how Bryce had approached him at that diner. His mind had repainted it over and over until it became some cinematic scene rather than a recall of what actually happened. Cinematic in that there were foreshadowing clues. When The Wolf watched this playback in his head he could see Bryce already coming up to him with a plan that would seal his fate.
There were three evenly spaced but respectful knocks on the heavy door. The Wolf escaped the sunshine memory of that summer and was teleported back to the overcast yet bright day in his office yet again. He turned around and said, "come in" knowing who it was.
"It's Gardner. He says he needs to speak with you. No digital comm or phone lines."
"Okay. Tell Ricky I'll leave all of tomorrow open."
The door closed and The Wolf was alone again. He kept his mind clear for a moment, seeing if that summer memory would return. But it was gone. All he could think about now was Richard Gardner.
The Hawk
.
It was not good news that he needed to talk to him in this manner. No
email
. No phoneline. No end to end encrypted messaging. In these cases, which there was only one instance before, The Wolf knew not to question what it was for or why. Just open up the entire following day. And meet in person.
