《"Stardust and Solitude"》 Preface "Oyabun¡ªwe cannot do this," he pleaded. "Fuck off." A hard shove sent him stumbling, and then¡ªa gunshot. The sharp crack silenced the lingering screams of torture. "Finally, the bitch is dead. Take care of the corpse. Let¡¯s go." Footsteps receded into the distance, swallowed by the final, echoing bang of the warehouse¡¯s rusty door. He stood frozen, struggling to make sense of the reality before him. His gaze remained locked on lifeless eyes¡ªstaring, unblinking, into eternity. His ears strained, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing¡ªonly silence. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The adrenaline that had sent his heart racing at breakneck speed now slowed to a torturous crawl. He hesitated, then carefully cracked the door open to ensure his boss and the kobuns were gone. Satisfied, he stepped back inside and knelt beside the body, gently straightening it in the wheelchair. Tears came unbidden, mingling with the snot he wiped away with his sleeve. Sniffling, he pushed the body out of the warehouse, guiding it toward his car. The trunk creaked open. With effort, he lifted the lifeless form inside, folding the wheelchair neatly beside it. Returning to the warehouse, he searched for a sack, gathered the remaining mess, and hosed down every trace of the crime. When he was done, he tossed the sack into a fire bin, watching the flames consume it. From the same fire, he lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag, exhaling slowly, the tension finally unwinding from his shoulders. Alone in the night, he stared into the void, lost in thought, contemplating how to survive another day¡ªunbothered by the dead body in his trunk, the blood staining his clothes, the acrid scent of burning fabric, or the biting cold. Stanza - I With a tired yet satisfied sigh, he set his pen down. Pages lay scattered beneath his chair, and the table was a chaotic landscape¡ªjust enough space for his notepad among the clutter of dirty, coffee-stained cups, cigarette butts, an old lighter, and other remnants of the night. It mirrored the state of his mind¡ªthoughts tangled and diminishing with each rhyme he meticulously wove, crossing out lines again and again until, at last, perfection bloomed. Finally, the poem was complete¡ªa thing of beauty born from the ugliness of a harrowing night. Subtle in its metaphorical rhymes, it transformed his distress and suffering into something hopeful, offering him solace in the final lines. "Hmm..." he murmured thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the notebook. After a moment of reflection, he titled it: "Stardust and Solitude." A wistful smile crossed his lips. He closed the notebook, stretched like a cat, and leaned back in a deep, satisfied bow. Then, with a weary sigh, he made his way to the crumpled bed nearby, pulling the covers over himself. Nestling into a comfortable position, he reached out and switched off the night lamp, letting the darkness claim him. * * * Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Sleep took him swiftly, but the night was restless. Shadows pursued him through shifting layers of dreams¡ªeach one darker than the last. He ran, desperate to escape, but his fears always found him, lurking just beyond reach. It wasn¡¯t until the first light of dawn crept through the window that the nightmare finally loosened its grip. Ring. Ring. Ring. The sharp, grating sound of his phone shattered his brief respite. Half-conscious and irritated, he blindly groped for it on the bedside table, his fingers fumbling with tired familiarity. Swiping the screen, he mumbled groggily, ¡°Hello¡­?¡± ¡°Hey! Are you still in bed? You¡¯re supposed to be here already! Get your ass moving¡ªpronto. The boss wants to see you now!¡± The line went dead. For a moment, he sat there, still half-dazed, not fully awake. Then¡ª ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit!¡± Adrenaline surged through him. He jolted upright, kicking off the covers in a frenzy. Stumbling out of bed, he wrestled into his pants, scrambled for his wallet and keys, and finally snatched his leather jacket before rushing out the door. * * * ¡°Well, well, well¡ªif it isn¡¯t our very own literary don, gracing us lowly troublemakers with his grand presence.¡± Jimmy¡¯s voice dripped with mocking falsetto, the words stretching into the silence that followed. Behind him, two of his hitmen stood rigid, their dark shades masking any emotion. They flanked his revolving chair like statues, while Jimmy himself sat with his arms crossed, exuding an air of casual menace. He wasn¡¯t much to look at¡ªunremarkable, really¡ªexcept for his eyes. Cruel, calculating, always searching for weakness. ¡°Good morning, boss,¡± came a trembling response. The voice belonged to Elias Mercer¡ªEli to those who bothered using his name. Errand boy for the local crime family by day, insomniac poet by night. Out of habit, his eyes flicked to his cheap Mi Band, checking the time. A mistake. A small, heavy package hurtled toward his face. He barely caught it, stumbling a step back as he steadied himself. Jimmy smirked. ¡°You¡¯ll get that down to the docks before noon and bring back the subscription¡­ hmm, let¡¯s see¡ªby one. Your time starts¡­ now.¡± * * * Intermission As the door closed abruptly behind Eli, Jimmy¡¯s false cheer faded. Leaning forward, he opened the first drawer on his right. Inside, half a dozen burner phones lay in neat disarray. He picked up a black BlackBerry, thumbed it open, and scrolled to a contact: Gateman003. "Mule on the way. Confirm on arrival." A moment later, he switched the phone off. He lingered for a beat, lost in thought, before putting it back and reaching for his Galaxy Ultra. The screen lit up, and a familiar green owl hooted at him. Thirty-day streak. Jimmy grimaced but tapped the app anyway. Might as well keep up appearances. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Konnichiwa, wa-ta-shi wa¡­" Koh-knee-chi¡ª Meanwhile¡­ Eli rushed downstairs, taking two steps at a time. As he passed, he snatched a sandwich straight from the hands of a brown-skinned man who had barely opened his mouth. ¡°Thanks, Rav,¡± Eli whispered¡ªutterly unapologetic¡ªbefore darting toward the door. ¡°What¡ª?! Really?!¡± It was Ravi, the same guy who had called him that morning. Without hesitation, he flipped Eli off, shaking his head in exasperation. ¡°M*derchod, you owe me!¡± he yelled after him, his voice thick with irritation. Eli was already out the door, past the blue-uniformed guard in his stiff, official-looking cap. The man shot him an annoyed look, but Eli ignored it, letting out a good-natured chuckle as he took a huge, triumphant bite of his stolen breakfast. It was heavenly. ¡°Well, duty calls first,¡± he muttered to himself. He wedged the remaining half of the sandwich between his teeth and crossed the narrow street, leaving behind the unremarkable hotel with its flickering neon sign declaring it ¡°Open for Business.¡± The neighborhood was neither poor nor rich¡ªthe kind of middle-class limbo where no one stood out and no one was remembered. Life continued under the radar, business as usual. Well, except for the occasional snooping by law enforcement. Mostly in plainclothes, rarely in uniform. Eli, as always, blended in like a black crow among swans. Then, spotting his Tata Nano, reality hit him. Shit. It was already half-past nine. Peak traffic was about to kick in. He needed to hurry.