The Wrong Bitch

Fang Lang returned to the gas station to pick up Pitt, who stood with his arms crossed, his face morphed into a disdainful scowl. As he got in the passenger's side, he didn't even look at Fang Lang.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"There was a woman getting assaulted in the parking garage. I helped her." Fang said resolutely.

Pitt looked at him for a second, then a small smirk played at his lips. "Was she hot though?"

Fang smirked. "Yeah."

"I'll let it slide just this once," Pitt said, nodding with a stupid grin on his face. Fang Lang laughed, started up the car, and drove them back to the mansion. Morning was passing quickly, and the sun was beginning to nearly reach its peak. The sound of birds chirping had been replaced by the never-ceasing bustle of the Miami ecosystem. Compared to the noise of this environment, Fang Lang could see the mansion as a sort of retreat. Back at the mansion, they were met by Benji at the front door. He seemingly had been waiting for their arrival.

"Mr. Hehrbenstrautz must speak with you both."

Fang and Pitt looked at each other with confused expressions, but they continued onward anyway. They navigated wide corridors and grand walls until they finally reached his office, and Fang felt nervous. He knocked three times.

"Come in, Fang Lang. You too, Pitt!"

The two young men walked inside, each sitting down in a chair.

"How's it poppin', Mr. Hehrb." Pitt said casually.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you. Those pesky migraines have stopped just recently. And how are you, Pitt?"

Pitt nodded. "I'm cool."

"Delightful." Hehrbenstrautz smiled. "Gentleman… do you know who that woman was who you saved today?"

"Say what?" Pitt murmured, confused, shooting a glance at Fang.

"Let me rephrase. Rather, do you know what that woman was?"

Pitt shook his head, resigning back in his chair. "No, sir."

"And how about you, Fang Lang?" Hehrbenstrautz looked at Fang Lang, and a deep pit fell in Fang's gut.

"No, sir. I assumed she was a citizen." Fang said modestly.

"Hahahahaaha!" Mr. Hehrb laughed. "A citizen? Well, it's quite the contrary, actually, dear boy. That woman is an illegal immigrant shipped here from a very powerful man in Russia, and she was smuggled over the border for one purpose."

There was a silence.

"That woman was not a person, don't you understand!?" Mr. Hehrb shouted, his face growing red. "That woman was property! An asset! Mind you, Ms. Elena Romanova's asset."

Fang Lang looked visibly disappointed. Pitt looked bored.

"You must understand, Fang Lang," Mr. Hehrb said, locking eyes with the new recruit. His hands folded together. "It's a tight business. There are rules. There's a code, even if it isn't definite. We don't fuck around with people we have no business fucking around with. I have spoken to Madam Romanova, and I explained to her that you are just a yúchǔn de yángcōng (stupid onion)! that doesn't know any better — you just landed in Miami, after all. Rule number one: Madam Romanova is the wrong bitch to mess with. Therefore, that being said… it is my responsibility, as founder and executive of the Miagmi Dogma, to break you in."

"Break him in?" Pitt said, suddenly interested. "Today? He just got here! Usually we—"

"For some students, Pitt," Mr. Hehrb said. "you have to strike the first time they make a mistake, or they'll do too much damage in the future."

Nicholas Hehrbenstrautz looked at Fang Lang with respect, but stern scolding. The eyes behind those glasses reminded Fang Lang of the blue sky.

"Mr. Lang, your official initiation ceremony will take place tonight. I will send Benji to fetch you when it is time. It is time for you to become a true member of the Dogma."

[Later That Afternoon]

Fang had moved into his bedroom smoothly, because the only thing he brought with him was the clothes on his back and his gun, which had been returned to him by Benji. Now, he lie motionless on his king size bed, staring up at his lava lamp ceiling. He watched as the colors changed from red, to blue, to green, to purple, and he felt like he might fall asleep.

But before he could even get the chance, his phone dinged. Turning it on, he let out a lighthearted scoff at the message displayed:

Message from Victoria:

'you're not too bad of a fighter, guy. maybe we can go for a few rounds sometime, if ur not too pussy to hit a woman. ;P '

Fang texted back:

'Sure, whatever you say.'

It didn't take long for Victoria to text back. Fang chuckled.

Message from Victoria:

'we should get some coffee sometime. i know a neat place in Miami, if you're down?'

Fang Lang didn't see any reason to decline. Additionally, he was pretty curious about what this girl was doing now that she was on her own. She said she had to get back home… but Mr. Hehrbenstrautz had said she came from Russia. And she was a victim of a sex trafficking ring. Perhaps she'd been in the states for a longer time than he thought. Nevertheless, he wanted to know more about her. He looked at the miniature monitor that served as a calendar on his wall. It was September 4, Tuesday, 2025. He figured Saturday would be a good day. He texted back:

'Sure. Saturday?'

Message from Victoria:

'saturday sounds good! see you then <3'< em>

Pitt suddenly burst through Fang Lang's door, gun drawn and aimed at Fang Lang's head.

"Get up, Kung Fu motherfucker! Let's go sell some coke!" Pitt yelled, a grin on his face.

"Get that out of my face," Fang said, pushing aside the gun's barrel and climbing out of bed.

"Just fuckin' witchu, man," Pitt assured, lacing an arm around Fang's shoulder. "Ay, but Boss said we all gotta help wit the sales, y'know? So let's get to it."

Fang and Pitt went to the mansion's glorious garage, and they were suddenly surrounded by Lamborghinis, Kawasaki's, and Rolls Royce's . Dane greeted them enthusiastically, dapping Pitt up. "Wassup, gang." Dane gave Fang Lang a bro fist, which Fang thought to be pretty awkward.

Jaden, or Dober, his dreads hanging over his face, stood by the busted up old van that Pitt and Fang had taken out on the previous errand; Donny, or Bully, stood beside him.

"Fang's comin' with us on the run," Pitt explained.

"Why have all these expensive cars but never drive them?" Fang Lang asked, smirking.

Dane smiled. "Oh, we drive 'em. You just ain't been here long enough yet."

"Ya'll comin' or what? We got shit to do, homie." Dober said, his tone arrogant. Donny remained silent, watching.

Everyone gathered beside the van. Donny pulled up his jacket and showed the handle of a Glock sticking out of his jeans. "Everybody strapped?"

Fang pulled out his pistol, a Desert Eagle. He made sure it was loaded, and the safety was off. Dane held a pump action shot gun in his hands. For Pitt, a Colt M1911– and Dober held an uzi. He looked at all of them and nodded.

"Load up, let's go hustle these streets."