Chapter 4 - THE FIXERS
Arrogance makes people blind to danger.
Instead of fleeing after a military helicopter extracted my daughter from his front lawn, Marcus assumed I had simply called in a favor with a private security firm. He still believed I was just a mechanic with some flashy friends.
On Wednesday night, I was sitting alone in my old auto repair shop. The lights were off, save for a single bulb over my workbench. I was waiting.
At exactly midnight, three black SUVs rolled to a stop outside the garage. Six men stepped out. They weren't cartel; they were cheap local muscle Marcus had hired to come teach the "old man" a lesson. They carried aluminum bats, crowbars, and cheap handguns.
They kicked the side door of the garage open, fanning out into the shadows.
"Hey, old man!" the leader barked, kicking over a toolbox. "Marcus Vance says hello. He wants you to sign some papers, or we're gonna break every bone in your body."
I was sitting in a chair in the darkest corner of the garage. I didn't say a word.
One of the thugs walked past a stack of tires, his flashlight beam sweeping the floor.
I moved.
Thirty years of muscle memory took over. I stepped out of the shadows, grabbed the barrel of his handgun, stripped it from his grip, and delivered a devastating elbow strike to his jaw. The bone cracked like a dry branch. He went down before he even knew I was there.
"Over there!" another one shouted, raising his crowbar.
I didn't shoot them. That would bring police attention too soon. I used the darkness. I moved flawlessly between the parked cars and hydraulic lifts, disassembling the strike team with brutal, surgical precision. Knees were shattered. Shoulders were dislocated.
Within two minutes, the garage was dead silent, save for the groans of six heavily armed men writhing on the concrete floor.
I walked over to the leader, who was clutching a broken arm, hyperventilating in terror. I crouched down next to him, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.
"Call Marcus," I ordered, my voice barely a whisper.
The man nodded frantically, unlocking the phone and putting it on speaker.
"Did you handle the mechanic?" Marcus's arrogant voice drifted out of the speaker.
May you like
I leaned into the microphone. "I'm afraid your boys ran into some mechanical issues, Marcus. By the way, check your bank accounts. You have a good night."
I crushed the phone under the heel of my combat boot.
