Back At It Again

Fang Lang awoke to the sound of a gun cocking. It was just Pitt again, barging in to wake up the new recruit. He had a goofy grin on his face.

"Rise and shine, mofo," Pitt said, his face illuminated in the darkness by the glow of the lava lamp ceiling. He nodded at the naked, sleeping woman in Fang's bed. "I see you had too much fun last night."

Fang turned his head and saw Lucy, fast asleep beside him, her face nestled in the pillow. Fang Lang rubbed his face, and the events from the night before began to come back to him.

"Damn, we got fuckin' wasted," Fang said, and Pitt simply responded by bursting into laughter.

"Come on, man. Mr. Hehrb's got a new job for us." Pitt said, walking towards the door. "You know the drill — bring iron." Pitt exited the room and shut the door, leaving Fang and Lucy alone.

Fang climbed out of bed and stretched, then clapped his hands. Suddenly, the ceiling went from a lava lamp view to a giant window, letting the rays of the sun shine through from above. Looking up, Fang could see an expansive, blue sky and a sea of clouds. The room was filled with light, and Lucy woke up, her hand shielding her eyes.

"K-9…?" She murmured sleepily, stretching.

"We crashed out. Take it easy, I'll get Benji to bring you some breakfast," Fang Lang said, nodding at Lucy.

Lucy seemed taken aback by Fang's offer, but she leaned back and smiled. "Thank you, K-9."

Fang gave a wry smile, picking up his clothes off the floor. "Sure, Lucy. Now, uh, I gotta get going."

"Oh, he's a busy man," Lucy said flirtatiously, smirking. "Would you be mad if I was still here when you got back?"

Fang paused for a moment while putting on his shirt and genuinely contemplated what she asked. After a silent breath, he continued getting dressed . "Don't be here when I get back."

Lucy didn't seem to like that answer, but she resigned. She lit a cigarette, leaned back against the bedframe and inhaled the smoke."I was just fuckin' witchu, but okay…"

Fang smirked as he finished getting ready, adjusting his jacket, tucking his dog tag in his shirt, and grabbing his wallet and iron; taking care of hygiene and making sure his hair was presentable. He grabbed his phone and dialed Benji's number.

"Hello?" Benji's voice came on the other end. "Good morning, Mr. Lang."

"Hey, Benji, uh…" Fang stammered for the right words. "Can you bring some breakfast to my room, please? Not for me, for a guest. I'm letting a friend hang out for a while, but please make sure she leaves after she eats."

"Of course, Mr. Lang, I'll get right on it," Benji replied.

"Thanks." Fang hung up the phone, then looked at Lucy. "Breakfast is on its way." He left the room, leaving Lucy watching after him with a smile.

Fang went to Hehrbenstrautz's office, where the rest of the gang was already waiting for him. The six of them huddled around Mr. Hehrb, who sat at his desk with folded hands. He looked at each individual in the room and smiled. "How is everyone?"

"Good," everyone said in unison.

Mr. Hehrb smiled again. "I have a new, very high-stakes job on my radar. You boys remember our dear friend, Carlos Ramirez?"

The boys nodded, except for Fang. He spoke up, "I don't, sir."

Mr. Hehrb nodded. "Yes, you are new, K-9. Allow me to explain: Mr. Ramirez is a ruthless drug lord who controls a significant portion of Miami's drug trade, and he's got all kinds of cartel connections. He's our rival, so to speak. There are some areas that the boys can't go to and sell because they'll be hunted down by his men… but the tables turn today."

Mr. Hehrb continued. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze piercing through the room as he addressed his men. "Gentlemen, listen up," he began, his voice low and commanding. "We've got ourselves a golden opportunity here. Ramirez is planning to transport a large shipment of narcotics through Miami today — a shit ton of heroin."

Fang Lang leaned forward, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. "What's the plan, boss?" he asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Hehrbenstrautz's lips curled into a confident smirk. "Well, what do you think, my boy? You six are going to stop that cargo truck and get those drugs — if people have to die, so be it, shoot them and leave them in the street; I have half the Miami P.D. on my payroll, there won't be any repercussions."

"When are they moving and where?" Shepherd asked, his arms crossed and his expression serious.

"I'm not sure when they're moving, but I do know where they're keeping the drugs — my source told me that much. Ramirez owns an abandoned warehouse right here in lovely Miami."

"So we infiltrate the warehouse, take anything of value, and load it up in the van," Shepherd said resolutely, nodding.

"Mr. Hehrb, sir," Dane spoke up, rubbing the back of his neck. His dourag framed his features nicely, bringing out the concern and the anticipation in his dark eyes. "Ramirez is a powerful and violent man, ain't he? When he hears about this, he's gon' want revenge, fo sho, right? I mean, they call him 'El Diablo.'"

Mr. Hehrbenstrautz smirked. "Don't worry about that, Dane. I have already taken care of that problem." Mr. Hehrb looked at all of his men one by one, his eyes determined and cold. "Now… get your asses out there and show that uppity bastard Ramirez, and this city, that the Miami Dogma is, and always will be, at the top of the food chain."