Chapter Thirty Six: The race

The man’s breath had seized due to the sudden bullet sent directly to his forehead. His body was now lifeless because Dennis had shot him.

“He is a waste of time,” Dennis said before placing the handgun back on the metal table where he had gotten it.

Dennis didn't appreciate his time being wasted, he had seen men like that before, they weren't new, and he believed Frank to be familiar with that too. He was either too loyal or they had something against him, something he'd rather die for. 

"What did you do that for?" Frank asked in a thrilled tone.

"He'll never talk," Dennis adjusted his suit, straightening out any ruffle.

"I know, this is for the fun," Frank said moving closer to the lifeless body and having a careful look at it.

"Good to hear, but I don't have any schedule for fun today," 

Frank glanced back at him after he spoke, then moved away from the dead man, went over to the table, and dropped the plier.

"It's been how long? And yet, you haven't changed, still very temperamental." Frank said.

"People don't change in old age," Dennis gazed around the place as he spoke.

He slightly now regretted his actions there, not that he regretted taking a man's life, this was obviously not his first and he was certain it was not his last. He just hated that after so long of keeping his hands clean, it was a man that was almost insignificant to the cause that got him back to the dirty game.

"Says a man in his middle thirties," Frank said with a little shrug.

"That's old enough," Dennis said calmly but argumentatively.

"Look at him," he said moving his attention to their victims body. "I'm not quite sure he was up to thirty, and he is a dead man now." He added.

"He is only dead because YOU shit him," Frank said, emphasizing the 'you.'

"Common, like you, wasn't going to do it anyway," Dennis said before moving closer to Frank and taping his shoulder.

"I will be off now, update me when you find out who he was in contact with in London," Dennis added.

" Sure will," Frank said before looking back at his men behind.

"Take care of that," he pointed at their victim's body before proceeding to make his way out.

Dennis had gotten to work, he sometimes didn't have much to do, except when they made deals, launched any product, or met with other top companies or personnel to reach a deal. He approved everything, but he necessary didn't have to be present.

He rested on his swivel office chair with his eyes pinned to the TV hanging by the wall. His gaze might be on the TV, but his mind was elsewhere, if not everywhere.

His thoughts hovered around his recent worries.

Theodore had died for love, for him, for loyalty, for brotherhood and he deserved nothing more than Justice. He was elated that they now had a lead, either way, he would still take it slow.