The Last Heir

2.The Tension Discovery

The gang leader was as tall as me. He always walked as if he'd been injured in a shooting war, but no one knew for sure. The turf war that he was involved in was said to have taken place even before I arrived on the street.

He was a black man who wore a red beret and a big gold chain around his neck. He had a vest on his bare chest that belonged under a suit, on top of an inner white shirt. His trousers were easily recognizable by the soldiers, and he wore black boots that seemed too heavy for his feet.

"Talk! Who stole from me?" He demanded, grabbing a guy and blowing smoke in his face.

The guy remained silent. Of course, he didn't know who it was. But I was wrong. Yes, he knew who it was, and he wasn't ready to become the sacrificial lamb with a bullet to his head.

Slowly, he pointed at Andrew, who was visibly trembling and quivering his body involuntarily.

The gang leader followed the guy''s hand with his eyes. He suddenly smirked. The bag in Andrew's hand, coupled with the fact that he was being pointed at, gave him away.

It was as if I could hear Andrew's heartbeat; he was breathing anxiously, knowing what would happen to him. Quickly, he kneeled and pleaded at the top of his voice.

I felt sorry for him. He was just another guy my age, and when he cried even louder like a baby, I wondered what he was thinking—stealing from the big gang. No one on the street dared to do that. At least not until Andrew pointed it out.

The gang leader laughed out loud at how Andrew behaved like a crybaby. "I thought you were tough," he said, kneeling before Andrew, pulling his hair, and dragging him.

Andrew looked at me with his red and puffy eyes and his mouth wide open, as if he wanted to catch some air. Seeing that I did nothing to help him out of the situation other than stand there and watch how the gang leader was dragging him away, he screamed.

"He forced me to do it!" "He f**king made me do it!"

My heart raced with dread. "What?" I exclaimed.

"He told me where the bags were." He drew the f**king map of the warehouse. Andrew screamed louder.

At this point, I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. "Was it me? Or was it my spirit that had done all those things he accused me of?" I thought.

"He threw away the bag, knowing that you would come." "Take him and let me go," Andrew added.

Although I was completely shocked, it wasn't because a friend had betrayed me. As I've said before, on the street, you don't have friends because those you think are your friends can quickly accuse you so they can save their own lives.

The gang leader paused. He released his grip on Andrew's hair and shot me a suspicious glance. He began walking slowly toward me. "Is it true? Did you tell this moron to steal from me?"

"Answer me!" he bellowed, spitting out saliva from his black, ugly mouth.

"I didn't do it!" I defended. "I know nothing about what he's saying."

"He's lying. Check the bag behind the trash can. Everything's in the bag," Andrew immediately yelled, rising to his feet and rushing toward the trash. He finally laid his hands on the bag and widened its mouth, turning it upside down, so everything inside the bag fell to the ground.

He quickly bent down to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen from the bag and handed it over to the gang leader. My eyes widened with surprise, and I realized Andrew had used me as bait to set me up if things went wrong.

As soon as the gang leader opened the paper, he smirked.

"Pa!" He punched me hard in the face, causing me to fall to the ground. He grabbed me by my shirt and yelled,

"You fool! How dare you lie to me?" He was about to hit me again when he suddenly stopped as if he had received an order from someone inside the truck.

The tinted glass of the truck was lowered, revealing the face of an old man who should be in his 80s, stepped out and walked slowly towards me. He was wearing a hat like an old-fashioned cowboy, and his jeans were from the 1980s.

He had a cigarette in his mouth, which was barely held to his lips, and he puffed out smoke like he had a second lung hidden somewhere in a safe.

I had never seen him in the street before, and I wondered if he had always been sitting in the truck. He asked gently, "The necklace? Where did you find it?" But I had no idea what necklace he was talking about. So I asked, "What necklace, sir?"

He made a sign with his eyes on the gang leader, who released me and stepped behind the old man. The gang leader's reaction clarified that he was not the leader of the gang after all, but an errand boy obeying the command of the old man.

"Stupid henchman," I thought.

"Where did you find the necklace?" The old man asked again as he pulled out the gun, which was tucked into his henchman’s belt. Right in my face, he checked the gun’s chamber and confirmed that the gun was loaded.

"I won’t ask you the third time." He said nonchalantly, and he pulled the gun’s safety off.

Right at this moment, I was scared to my bone marrow, and my heartbeat raced faster like it was on a track. Since I did not want a bullet put into my head, I talked hurriedly. "It had been on me since I was an infant, sir." "My parents died in an accident on the highway from Chicago, and the necklace must have belonged to them."

He came closer to me and touched my necklace. "What is your name, son?" He asked, still staring at the necklace mysteriously.

"Marcus sir," I answered.

"Your last name?" he asked again.

"Taylor. I am Marcus Taylor, sir."

He seemed to recognize the name, as his face showed it all. "What is the son of the wealthy doing living on the street?" He asked suddenly.

I was taken aback by his assumption that I was wealthy. "My father died a really poor man, sir," I said. "I think you mistake me for another person."

"Nonsense!" He refused to believe me, insisting that I was the last heir to my father's inheritance, and he ordered his henchman to give me his phone. “Keep it. I will be in touch.” He said, walking back towards the truck.

"What should I do with this one?” The henchman asked, staring at Andrew with a dangerous look.

"Do what you do best." The old man answered.