GANGSTER

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In those days, even in a place like Florida, the law of the jungle prevailed. A gangster had every right, it seemed, to torment a young woman’s life simply because he could. He would harass her incessantly, and if she dared to protest, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Bobby Blake was one such gangster—a name that evoked terror in the streets. He would block her path in broad daylight and boldly proclaim, “Finish high school, baby, and then you’ll be my wife. If anyone dares to propose to you before that, not only will he lose his life, but I’ll make sure you never graduate either.”

Bobby’s reputation as a symbol of fear extended far and wide. Shopkeepers paid him regular protection money, and those who dared defy him were often found lifeless by the roadside or washed up on the beach, mourning their fate. Even the police avoided crossing him. When she went to the police station with her mother, the officer listened to her plight attentively and then said, “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll talk to him. But honestly, it’s better if you leave this area. He’s a powerful man, and he has the backing of someone even more influential. There’s little we can do.”

The officer’s advice was a clear acknowledgment of the system’s helplessness in dealing with someone like Bobby Blake. If she had been plain or unremarkable, perhaps she wouldn’t have faced such harassment. But her beauty had caught the eye of every troublemaker in the neighborhood. Street boys lingered around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, while classmates at college sighed in silent admiration. And when someone as dangerous as Bobby noticed her, all the others simply stepped aside.

She was a dignified, honorable, and self-respecting girl, oblivious to the wandering eyes and foolish advances of the neighborhood’s miscreants. Her calm indifference and silence forced even the most brazen men to mind their own business. After all, as they say, barking dogs rarely bite. But her misfortune was that she had encountered a rabid one—a predator determined to make her his prey. Bobby Blake was the undisputed king of not just her neighborhood but the surrounding areas as well. People avoided crossing paths with him because neither the police nor the courts could offer justice against someone like him. Paid lawyers, false witnesses, and corrupt judges ensured that the poor remained powerless in the face of his tyranny. Her hatred for Bobby burned like an unquenchable fire, fueled by the memory of her brother’s tragic death. The pain was unbearable, and her sorrow had consumed her to the point where she spent hours with her head in her hands, questioning her fate. At times, she even thought of ending her life, believing that her death might bring some peace to her grieving mother. But then, what would come of it? Giving herself over to despair would solve nothing. Bobby would continue his rampage, targeting another innocent girl without remorse.

She didn’t just want escape—she wanted justice. A part of her longed to see Bobby suffer, to watch him meet a fate so dreadful that it would send shivers through every man like him. But such revenge seemed impossible. The law was too weak to touch him, and she was powerless to fight him alone. Her brother’s absence was a gaping wound, one that refused to heal, but life stops for no one. Slowly, she began returning to her high school, determined to keep moving forward. The school was about a mile or so from her home, and she walked the distance every day because she couldn’t afford bus fare. Things had been manageable when her brother was alive, but now their situation had become dire. Her late father was a retired government employee, could barely make ends meet with his meager pension. After her brother’s untimely death, her mother, Eva, started working in a departmental store to keep the household afloat. She walked past the gates of her college, her thoughts adrift in a sea of yearning and frustration. Her heart had grown weary of studies, and even the bustling streets of Florida could not distract her from the turmoil brewing inside. At her age, most girls dreamed of love—of being cherished and adored, their hearts secretly occupied by an imagined lover who would sweep them into a world of bliss. But for Rabeca Jones, such dreams seemed far out of reach. Her beauty had often drawn admiring glances, enough to fill the heart of any suitor with courage, but none dared approach her. Before love could even knock at her door, a vile, contemptible man had staked his cruel claim on her. Though she was free in the eyes of the world, she felt imprisoned by Bobby Blake, a man whose presence turned her life into an unending nightmare. As she walked quietly along the busy streets, the vibrant life around her seemed a cruel mockery. The world moved on with a vigor that she had long since lost, leaving her behind in a haze of bitterness and hatred. Her one consuming desire, her sole wish, was to see Bobby Blake suffer a humiliating demise. The thought of his downfall was her only comfort, a vision she clung to with all her might. Yet, for all her resolve, Rabeca was no closer to achieving her goal. She had no idea how to bring that monstrous man to his knees.

She wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her through a marketplace, where she paused to admire dresses she could never afford. The sight of elegant shoes filled her with a wistful longing before she moved on, eventually finding herself in the midst of Florida’s towering commercial buildings. Her pace quickened as she passed a grand hotel, where a sleek black car pulled up. A man in a crisp white suit stepped out, the car door held open by a uniformed police officer. The scene spoke of power and influence. Rabeca stopped, a thought flashing through her mind. Could this man help me escape Bobby Blake’s clutches? But before she could raise her hand to flag him down, her attention was drawn to the screeching of tires. A black Mercedes had come to an abrupt stop, blocking the road. Behind it, two open-top Jeeps bristled with armed men. From the Mercedes emerged a man whose very presence commanded attention. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his tailored black suit highlighting a physique that spoke of strength and discipline. As he stepped out, he adjusted his coat, removed his sunglasses, and placed them casually in his pocket. His brown eyes carried a cold, ruthless glint that sent a shiver down Rabeca’s spine. She watched, transfixed, as he approached the man in the white suit, who had now stepped out of his car. His knees visibly trembled as the imposing figure addressed him.

“So, Justice George ,” the man began, his deep voice laced with sarcasm, “we finally meet.” “Frank Colbeck,” Justice George stammered, licking his dry lips. “What brings you here?”

Frank smirked, a predator toying with its prey. “I hear you’ve been delaying the case of one of my men. Planning to sentence him to death, are you?” “N-no, nothing of the sort!” Justice George stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been waiting for... proper evidence of his innocence.”

“Evidence?” Frank’s laugh was a sharp, mocking sound. He leaned against the car, brushing ash from his cigarette onto the hood. “The only evidence you need is that he works for me.”

“Y-yes, of course,” the judge stammered, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the ash from the polished surface. Frank watched him with a mix of amusement and disdain.

“Good,” Frank said finally, turning to leave. “Make sure he walks free, Judge. Oh, and do join me for a little celebration at my place once he’s released”. Without waiting for a reply, Frank gestured for his men to follow. He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over Rabeca. His eyes lingered, unreadable, before he climbed back into his car and was gone.

Rabeca stood frozen, her mind replaying the encounter. Frank Colbeck’s sheer charisma and commanding presence were unlike anything she had ever witnessed. He was a man who inspired both fear and fascination, a figure who could bend even the most powerful to his will.

Could he be the one to bring Bobby Blake to his knees? The thought filled her with a sudden, desperate hope. The Mercedes surged forward with a jolt, its sleek frame vanishing into the horizon. Rebecca’s gaze lingered on the car, her eyes glued to its custom license plate, 302-F. It was such an odd number that it instantly imprinted itself in her memory. She stood there, transfixed, watching until the luxurious vehicle disappeared from sight. Only then did she shift her attention to Bobby Blake, who was settling into his car with a worn, disheartened expression. His bodyguards hadn’t even bothered stepping out of their jeep during the brief encounter. Rebecca’s eyes flitted toward the uniformed men, and their subdued, wary faces sent a shiver through her. The aura of Frank Colbeck, the infamous crime lord, seemed to loom over them like a shadow.

“Would Bobby Blake be just as scared of him?” she wondered, a flicker of hopeful curiosity igniting in her mind. But why would someone like Frank waste his time on a girl like her? She was nothing more than a mere speck in this vast, merciless world. People like her didn’t matter—surely not enough for someone as powerful as Frank to stop in broad daylight and question someone for her sake, the way Frank Colbeck had just been.

Rebecca shook her head, dispelling the thought, and crossed the wide pathway. Frank’s car had disappeared by now, but her thoughts remained tangled in Frank Colbeck’s imposing presence—his towering frame, the way his sharp suit complemented his muscular build, his composed yet commanding demeanor, even the confident way he adjusted his glasses.

She didn’t understand why, but something about him felt so familiar, so magnetic. The shrill blare of a car horn yanked her out of her reverie. Startled, she realized she had wandered off the sidewalk and onto the street. Quickly, she stepped back onto the pavement. But Frank Colbeck’s enigmatic presence lingered in her mind, like the image of a prince straight out of a fairy tale. He was the kind of prince who’d lead an army to victory, returning to his homeland as the city erupted in celebration. Yet there she was, nothing more than a bystander, gazing longingly from a distance, unable to reach him.

The pangs of hunger suddenly jolted her back to reality. Rebecca’s stomach growled audibly, and she glanced around, spotting a park a short distance away. She trudged toward it, her feet dragging with exhaustion. The relentless walking since morning had drained her, but her empty wallet left her no choice. A cab or a ride home was out of the question.She settled onto a stone bench and opened the worn school bag she carried. From inside, she pulled out a small plastic container holding her meager lunch. After finishing the food quickly, she walked to the electric water cooler at the park’s edge and took a long drink. The meal gave her some energy, but the fatigue clung to her like a weight. Despite this, the thought of home pushed her to her feet. She shuffled out of the park and back onto the road leading home.

As she passed by the lavish storefronts and grand buildings, her eyes caught sight of a bed of white roses blooming against the cemented pathway connecting the road to a nearby villa. White roses had always been her weakness. She crouched near one, inhaling its delicate fragrance, letting its soft scent wrap around her senses.

Just then, the screech of brakes shattered her moment of calm. Her eyes darted upward, locking onto a car speeding off the main road onto the villa’s pathway. Her breath hitched. It was his Mercedes—the same one. Trailing behind it were two jeeps. For a moment, the car paused near the gate, allowing her to confirm the license plate: 302-F. Frozen in place, Rebecca watched as the vehicles slipped through the gate and disappeared inside. The lingering fragrance of the white roses was forgotten entirely. The gates clanged shut behind the vehicles, sealing them off from the world outside.

Yet Rebecca Jones remained rooted in place, her eyes fixed on the iron gates as if they held the answers to the storm brewing within her. Then, almost as if driven by an unseen force, she began walking toward them. She had barely covered ten or twelve steps when a guard in a gray uniform emerged from a smaller side gate, his stern face warning her off before he even opened his mouth. “Hey, girl! You’re not allowed to come near the gate,” he barked from a distance.

Rebecca’s voice carried an air of confidence that defied her modest appearance. “I’m not near the gate. Besides, going inside isn’t prohibited, is it?” The guard’s scowl deepened, his tone sharper this time. “Get lost!”

Rebecca stood her ground. “I’m a friend of Frank Colbeck. You really think chasing me away would be in your best interest?” The mention of Frank’s name stopped the guard cold. Suspicion flickered across his face as he scrutinized her. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed after a brief pause. She smirked. “No, I don’t drink or do drugs,” she replied nonchalantly.

Before he could retort, she strode toward the side gate. The guard hesitated but eventually searched her bag and ran a metal detector around her body, ensuring she wasn’t carrying any weapons. Reluctantly, he stepped aside to let her in.

Rebecca stepped into what could only be described as a modern palace. In the center of a sprawling lawn stood a statue of a lion, its mane carved with breathtaking detail. Surrounding the statue were circular fountains, their streams creating an intricate lattice of water over the lion’s head.

“Girl, this adventure might just land you in serious trouble,” the guard muttered, his voice laced with doubt. Rebecca turned to him, her expression steady. “I’m not here for an adventure, nor am I joking. Go inform Frank Colbeck that his friend, Rebecca Jones, is here to see him.”

The guard stared at her, unsure whether to believe her bold claim. When she saw his hesitation, she pressed on.

“Listen,” she said firmly, “if I’m lying, I’ll face the consequences. But if I’m telling the truth, you’ll have to explain to Frank why you sent his guest away. I doubt that would end well for you.” Her calm but pointed threat seemed to do the trick. The guard retreated inside, picking up an intercom to relay her message. After a tense couple of minutes, he returned and motioned for her to proceed.

Rebecca’s heart pounded as she walked further into the estate, the villa looming larger with each step. A sharply dressed young man in a three-piece suit emerged from the building just as she approached. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow him inside.

The drawing room was immaculate, its floors covered in thick carpets that muffled her steps. The walls were adorned with paintings of lions mid-hunt, each frame reinforcing the owner’s apparent fascination with the king of the jungle.

“Miss,” the man began as he motioned for her to sit, his tone polite yet tinged with skepticism. “What business do you have with Mr. Colbeck?” Rebecca swallowed hard but kept her voice steady. “I’m a friend of Frank Colbeck,” she said simply.

The man’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’d do well to drop the pretense and tell the truth,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or perhaps Justice George Cornell sent you?”

“No... I came here on my own,” she stammered, caught off guard by the question.

“Look,” he said, his tone now firm, “this is Mr. Colbeck’s rest time. He doesn’t appreciate interruptions. Lying your way in here won’t just get you in trouble; it’ll land me in hot water too.”

Rebecca straightened her shoulders, drawing every ounce of confidence she could muster. “Then tell Frank that Rebecca Jones is here. If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll leave. But if you send me away without letting him know, you’ll have to answer for it.”

The man hesitated, studying her closely. Her boldness seemed to strike a chord, and after a long moment, he nodded.

Rebecca’s resolve hardened as she waited. She had come too far to turn back now. This was her chance—perhaps her only chance—to bring Bobby Blake to his knees. She knew the risks. Frank Colbeck was dangerous, a man whose polished suits and refined manners masked the ruthless gangster beneath. But her hatred for Bobby had consumed her fears, leaving only a fierce determination to see her mission through. The man eyed her one last time before muttering, “You’re making a big claim, girl. From what I know, Frank doesn’t entertain women for more than a single night.”

Rebecca’s lips tightened, but she said nothing. Let him doubt her. The man sighed and leaned back. “Listen, Frank doesn’t entertain visitors at this hour, especially not strangers. If you’re lying, you’ll get yourself into trouble. And me? I’ll end up on the receiving end of his wrath.” “Just tell him,” Rabeca insisted, regaining her composure, “that Rabeca Jones is here to see him. If he doesn’t wish to meet me, I’ll leave. But if he finds out later that you sent me away...” She let the implication hang in the air, her eyes narrowing meaningfully. The man hesitated, but her determination unsettled him. He finally picked up his phone and dialed a number.

Moments later, the heavy door swung open with a bang. Frank Colbeck appeared, dressed casually in a sleeveless undershirt and slacks, his hair slightly disheveled. His dark eyes scanned Rabeca curiously.

“My friend?” he repeated skeptically, looking first at his aide and then at Rabeca. “She insisted,” the man stammered, his voice faltering under Frank’s glare. Before he could explain further, Frank’s palm lashed out, striking him hard across the face. The man staggered, clutching his cheek in silent agony.

Frank turned to close the door, but Rabeca’s firm voice rang out. “Frank Colbeck! You can’t walk away without hearing me out.”

His hand froze mid-motion. Slowly, he turned back to her, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Let me guess,” he drawled, stepping closer, “George Cornell sent you”.

“No,” she replied, her chin tilting upward as she met his gaze. “I’ve come here for a personal matter”.

Frank smirked, crossing his arms. “Out of the entire city, I’m the one you thought to approach?”

“Just hear me out,” she urged. “You might find there’s something in it for you, too.”

He sighed, glancing at his watch. “Two minutes,” he said. “Start talking.” “I need someone dead,” she said bluntly. “And I need your help. In return, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Frank chuckled, the sound deep and mocking. “You must be joking. Do you have any idea who I am?” “Not fully,” she admitted, “but if you give me time, I can explain everything.”

“Fine,” he said, motioning for his bruised aide to leave. He didn’t invite Rabeca to sit, but she sank into the chair across from him anyway. “I’m an orphan,” she began, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. “There’s a man, Bobby Blake, who won’t leave me alone. He killed my brother, and now he’s threatening to force me into marriage. The police won’t help, and no one else in my neighborhood dares to intervene. You’re my only hope.”

Frank leaned back, arching a brow. “And?”

Rabeca held his gaze, her voice unwavering. “Am I not beautiful?”

Frank’s expression darkened. “What does your beauty have to do with this?”

“Help me take down Bobby Blake,” she said. “In return, I’ll belong to you.”

Frank laughed outright, shaking his head. “So you’re willing to sell yourself to save yourself?”

To be continued..