MARCUS.
YEARS AGO:
He had just finished his swim when he noticed his father crossing their spacious living room and making his way towards the stairs. The young boy, seeking amusement on a dull Sunday afternoon, swiftly followed his father, matching his pace until he caught up effortlessly.
"Dad, let's play!" He was giddy. His father, Ezekiel, never said no when he was around the house and had nothing to do.
"No, Marcus, not now. Go play with Sebastian."
"But Sebastian never wants to play with me."
Turning to face his son, the imposing figure of Ezekiel cast a stern expression that usually had his other two children and even his wife intimidated, except for Marcus; the youngest amongst them all.
His demeanour softened upon seeing his son's unwavering stance. "Not now, ok? Daddy has work to do," he explained gently.
Disappointed, Marcus protested, "But today is Sunday. You never have work to do when you come home on Sundays."
"Not every Sunday will be the same, Tiger," Ezekiel crouched to his son's level, offering a reassuring smile. "I promise you; when I return, I'll be all yours, alright?"
"I wanna come with you."
"No, Tiger. This is 'big men' business. A child like you has no business doing with the adults. One day, when you're all big and strong like me, no one will stop you from doing whatever. You'll be your own boss."
"I'm already my own boss," Marcus barked, drawing a chuckle out of Ezekiel.
"Yes, Tiger," he praised. "You're your own boss, as you should be. Tell you what; when you come with me next time-"
"You mean now."
"Next time you come with me, I'll let you be in charge."
Marcus gasped happily. "You mean I get to yell and order everyone around?"
Ezekiel nodded earnestly, relieved at finally convincing his determined son. But as he turned to leave, Marcus asked: "How soon is next time, Dad?"
The persistence of this kid is just-
"Next week," he replied.
"Next week?"
"Tuesday, Marcus. Next week Tuesday."
"Okay, Dad," Marcus grinned, watching as Ezekiel hurried to the study, likely fetching something before departing.
Marcus was stubborn. That was why he had no intention of waiting until the following Tuesday.
He rushed to his room to put on casual wear, then making sure no one in the mansion saw him, he stealthily made his way to his father's prized Honda, exclusively used on Sundays.
He hid his scrawny little body in the backseat, patiently waiting until he heard the car engine ignite. Midway through the journey, a call came through via the car's Bluetooth connection.
"Tyrone?" Ezekiel spoke.
"Where the fuck are you? If your ass ain't here in the next two minutes, this whole empire is going down, Z!" the voice spoke so harshly, Marcus couldn't help but come out of his hiding place to warn the voice. How dared anyone speak to his father like that?
"And who the fuck are you?" he yelled out of nowhere, and at that instant, Ezekiel swerved an approaching car, fast enough to park at the side instead of driving into the residential gate of the Jeffersons.
"What the fuck did you say to me, Z?!" Tyrone roared over the Bluetooth while Ezekiel struggled to pull an escaping Marcus to the front seat, all the while trying to shut his mouth from talking back at Tyrone who continued to howl. "You may be a fucking King in your world but you ain't shit in mine, you hear me?!"
"I hear you, Tyrone. I'll be there soon."
"You got two minutes," he exclaimed. "I ain't playing with you. Two minutes!"
"Alright, alright."
Marcus sat back in the front seat and watched silently as his father fixed his eyes on the road and drove at the speed only the family chauffeur drove at when he was late for school.
After a reckless drive, they reached their destination. They'd arrived at the part of town Marcus wasn't familiar with, precisely in front of an aged building where a big man stood in front of. He was dressed just like their bodyguards back at home, Marcus thought. But why did such an ugly building need protection?
"Listen here, Tiger. Stay put in this car and make sure you don't come out -"
"But Dad-"
"I wonder what your mother would think about these new words you're now learning - the f word to begin with? Why don't we make a deal, mm? You stay put, and I won't tell her." Ezekiel had to negotiate if he was to ever get this boy to listen to him for once, and Marcus knew better than to cross his mother. Especially since he knew he wasn't her favorite.
"Yes, Dad."
Locking the door as soon as his father entered the unappealing building, the young boy fixed his gaze in silence on the imposing bodyguard stationed at the entrance. Clad in shades and a stern expression, the hefty man intermittently communicated through an earpiece, and when he did, a car would pull up minutes later, and people would come out to talk to him before he'd let them enter. When the metallic door groaned open, it emitted a cascade of blinding lights from within.
Marcus was too curious to stop himself from unlocking the door and getting out of the car.
A pickup truck had just arrived, its occupants engaged in conversation with the bodyguard as usual.
Unnoticed by the group, Marcus cautiously approached, carefully scrutinizing his surroundings until an opportunity presented itself.
With swift agility, he surged past the group and into the building without hesitation.
"Hey!"
Not expecting the inside of the building to be dimly lit and so noisy, Marcus found himself colliding with bodies at every turn, the oppressive heat and stifling congestion intensifying with each step.
This was no place for an eleven-year old.
Just as he felt his body giving up on him as he struggled through the crowd, someone grabbed him harshly and dragged him along until the sea of people reduced. His head no longer bumping into butts and legs, he finally seemed to recognise where he was.
It was a nightclub. Jason Statham normally fought in this kind of setting in his action-thriller movies.
'Wow,' he marveled to himself. 'An actual nightclub!'
Marcus finally looked up to see who it was that was pulling him. Another man in a suit. This one was way taller and bigger than the one at the entrance. Marcus began his struggle to escape from his grip. On their way to wherever he was taking him, he slapped, punched, pinched, and even bit the huge man's hand, but obviously to no avail.
They stepped into a room illuminated by red lighting before the guard finally released him.
"He emerged from Mr. Price's vehicle, Sir."
There were five people in the room when they entered: Two imposing figures in suits stationed upright, flanking a bald, attractive man seated between them. Kneeling in front of the central figure was a teenage boy, with Ezekiel seated not far from his location.
"Already recruiting, Z? You brought your kid to our meeting?" the bald man in the middle mocked.
"I, uhh..." Ezekiel cleared his throat, side-eyeing Marcus as he spoke. "I didn't know he was in the backseat, and I was running late so I had no choice but to bring him along, Tyrone," he admitted candidly.
Tyrone put his hands together, clapping as he erupted into bellowing laughter while everyone remained silent.
"You left him in the car, right?" he asked Ezekiel in between his outburst.
Ezekiel smirked and nodded, replying after a chuckle. "Yes I did, Tyrone."
"And how did you get in?" Tyrone directed his attention to Marcus, who continued to gaze curiously around him, showing no hint of fear. Marcus was most curious about the kneeling boy. Was he in some kind of trouble?
"I ran in," Marcus responded to Tyrone, who burst into another fit of laughter, his amusement evident until tears welled in his eyes. Ezekiel just chortled lightly, smiling widely at his son while he shook his head.
"You ran in?" Tyrone asked, more interested than before.
"Yeah," Marcus shrugged indifferently.
"And do you have any idea where you are?"
Marcus hesitated momentarily, offering a tentative smile, before responding, "A nightclub?" His gaze met Ezekiel's, now standing upright, hands nonchalantly tucked into his pockets as he kept his smile. That was a good thing, Marcus guessed.
Tyrone nodded to himself, impressed.
"One of these days, Z, when this job gets you killed, you got nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. This kid right here is fucking insurance."
Ezekiel locked eyes with his son, acknowledging the undeniable truth in Tyrone's observation.
***
PRESENT DAY:
After the guards mistakenly assumed I was the new driver for mother - since I was behind the wheel of one of her custom Hondas, which she's always been chauffeured around in - they let me through without even checking if she was actually in the back seat
You'd think they'd be more thorough than that, like ask for my ID or verify who I was before waving me through.
As I drove inside the mansion, every single thing in sight reminded me of my childhood days. I shook the memories away, not ready to sober up at this stage.
It'd been three good years since I saw my brother, Sebastian. I hadn't missed him, so I most definitely didn't need a face that showed otherwise.
As I pulled up, I saw him emerge from the grand building, one of those brainless goons trailing behind him. Damn I hated those bodyguards.
Sebastian appeared puzzled yet had a slight smile as he waited for the car engine to die down and for our mother to step out like he'd expected. So you could have imagined his shock when he saw me instead.
The smile went as quick as it would come at the price of my downfall, while mine widened. It was like he'd seen our dead father come back to life.
"Marcus…"
"You should really fire those guards. Not the sharpest tools in the shed, brother," I said as I approached him, his face ridden with shock.
***