How can we win when fools can be kings?
Don't waste your time or time will waste you
No one's gonna take me alive
You and I must fight for our rights
You and I must fight to survive
Knights of Cydonia, Muse
To him, there was living, breathing proof that there would never be real justice in this mockery of a civilization.
That bastard, with his shit eating grin, sitting on his ill-gotten gains of his 2 million dollar fortune like a particularly greedy and corrupt emperor.
That lying bitch who would later be promoted despite her incompetence and failure. He inwardly seethed with rage every time he saw her face or name in the papers.
While these people grew richer and stronger, drinking from a glass held by a world without any sense of right and or wrong, with no karmic retribution at all, he toiled in the dregs of a rotting career. He saw the way his former colleagues looked at him, with both pity and giddiness in their eyes, just itching in anticipation to tell all of their mutual acquaintances of who had fallen pathetically down the latter. "Yeah, guess who I saw today? Kevin Mulrooney, poor bastard is stuck working the D.A.'s office again, what's the next stop going be? Paralegal? Oh and by the way, who's your tailor? I can never get mine to lay that way, I paid seven-hundred fifty fuckin' bucks for this suit..."
They all looked down on him. He was the loser, the flash in the pan, the little man. Something to be pitied, to be made an example of, avoided just in case his condition of being a failure might be contagious. He had pounded the pavement, making many fruitless calls throughout the years to get his career back on track, to no avail. All the people who had praised him on his way up, now ignored him on the way down. "Were not hiring right now, why don't you try Gerald/Hale? I hear they're looking for someone..." and on and on. What little pride he had left had been beaten out of him with every fruitless referral. He felt himself going in circles, in a kind of purgatory. The only light throughout these difficult and frustrating years was his mother, his biggest fan and sole supporter. She had not once given up on him. And now, even she had checked out.
He had buried his mother earlier that month. He remembers how cold it was that day, and how his cheap asshole of a father hadn't even sprung up enough cash to bury her properly. She would be leaving this world in pine box instead of a real casket. If he had known this, he would have pulled out all the stops to make sure she was treated like a queen for her last hurrah, but his father had closed him out all of the affairs prior, so there was nothing he could do about it. Even in matters such his own mother's funeral he had been pushed aside, powerless. Castrated.
Now all he had left was Gabby. He only saw her every so often, but when she did make an appearance, it was a great comfort to him. She was always pushing him to do this and that, like a nagging, but well meaning wife. Sure, girls came and went, like a cheap assembly line of fun and perky diversions to be used, abused and discarded. But Gabby was true and steadfast. But she was also unpredictable, a contradiction of sorts. Lately she'd been trying to convince him to get his life back in order. The last time they had visited with one another, she had reminded him of his impending birthday.
"You'll be 44 soon. You know what you have to do."
Together, they hatched out a plan. First on the list was Boz.
"I don't think actually killing him is a good idea... I've never done this before--I mean, I'm not a murderer for christs sake." He shook his head at this suggestion.
"You know we have to do this. If you don't, I will. Besides, I'll be there the whole time," she said much to his relief.
"What about Alexandra?"
"I thought we already agreed about her. You have to do that one on your own, I'll set everything up, but other than that, she's all yours."
"And..." she added, "If you cant even do that much, than you really are pathetic."
He wonders how differently things would've went if he had been stronger, or smarter. If he had taken the time to destroy all the evidence. He had underestimated his opponents, but he did get a few jabs in at her in front of that asshole partner of hers. Looking back on things, he'd relished that broken look on her face, it almost made it worth it. But now that the jig is up, he mourns the fact that after everything they had been through together, even Gabby seemed to have abandoned him for a while. Though, she did visit him a couple of times during his exile, congratulating him on a job well done on the insanity plea, and also to remind him of their previous agreement.
"Don't forget, I've set everything up, you just have to do your job-on your own, I mean, you will be 45 soon. This is pertinent to getting back on track, you need this. And besides, she is a civilian now anyway, completely defenseless. Fish in a barrel. Don't forget the plan."
"Alexandra resigned? Retired? Or was she fired?" he questioned in gleeful shock.
Gabby rolled her eyes. "Look, we don't have much time, I've drawn out a map..."