“_Awake, arise, or be forever fallen_” – Lucifer, Paradise Lost

“ And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole__
No one could steer me right, but Mama tried, Mama tried
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied
That leaves only me to blame 'cause Mama tried.” -Merle Haggard, “Mama Tried”

As dusk approached, each of the six men took their seats at the table across from one another in the warehouse. The mood was tense as they awaited the arrival of their leader.

Dressed mostly in dark polo shirts and camouflage pants, each of them began questioning their decision to join. They each reflected on the opportunities they had forgone in pursuit of lust, power, or revenge. They each thought of the families they could have raised and the peace that could have lived in their hearts. But instead, they had all chosen otherwise. The consequences of that decision had become real to them now. This was their life now and there was no turning back. The six men had chosen to sell drugs.

It was November in Southeast Oklahoma. An early frost had yellowed the grass in the cow pastures surrounding the warehouse lot. This was a high priority meeting. All precautions had to be taken.  Several vehicles were parked in the parking lot and along the surrounding dirt roads, each containing two-to-four armed security personnel.

Further down, a drone hovered high above the intersection to monitor the turnoff for any civilian or police traffic headed toward the warehouse.  Inside the warehouse, the small unit leader for the security attachment monitored the drone through a laptop and also carried out radio checks with each of the team members using encrypted radios.

The guard then noticed two Black Toyota 4Runners escorting a grey Chevrolet Silverado making the turn on to the warehouse road. A separate radio held by the security guard then could be heard.

“Phantom-3, this is Rumrunner-1… requesting permission to enter, over”

“Rumrunner-1 this is Phantom-3… permission granted, over.”, the guard responded over the radio and then notified the group, “Standby”.

A tall figure emerged in the main door of the warehouse escorted by his own separate security detail. He wore a dark grey cotton polo shirt with faded black Wrangler jeans that hung over his brown Justin cowboy boots. His slightly front-spiked brunette hair complemented the stubble of his five-o-clock shadow.

All of the men stood from their seats to give the proper formal greeting to their leader. As the figure walked towards the table, he gave out a strong but humble acknowledgement to the men.

“Thank you all, please be seated.” The man stated.

The man was Hayden Richardson, and the men were his regional commanders. To state and local law enforcement agencies, they were known as “The Southwest Federation”, an illicit narcotic trafficking organization based primarily in Oklahoma, Arkansas, and parts of Kansas. They had acquired a reputation for extreme violence, but also for their sophisticated military-based organizational structure, shrewd business aptitude, and stoic philosophy.

 Each of the men had their own reasons for abandoning normative society, whether it was greed, power, desperation, or just a hatred for the world. They were all well-groomed, and in good physical shape. They were intelligent and well-spoken. Many of them either had prior military service and/or a college education. 

As Hayden made his way towards the seat at the head of the table, another man directly to his right looked up at him. This was Adam Lambert, the organization’s Vice President of Operations who specifically oversaw the regional commanders. Their eyes met and both politely nodded. Adam and Hayden had known each other in school and had forged a friendship through their shared trauma. Across from Adam, sat Hayden’s first cousin, Jason Reza, who was head or “Commandant” of the organization’s military wing. The three men ran the organization at the top. 

The cabinet members all stood to give their leader the proper formal greeting. Hayden took a deep breath and began.

“Good evening, Gentlemen. I just want to start this meeting off by saying “Thank you” all for arriving on short notice for this emergency meeting and more importantly, your continued loyalty.”

As the men took their seats and made themselves comfortable, Hayden, cleared his throat, took a breath, and began his speech with the confident charisma of any high ranking military commander. 

“I will go ahead and address the situation. Last week our North Tulsa Sector was hit hard. We lost 6 men, including our Sector Lieutenant. As we all know, this sector is adjacent to “Lawless Lad” territory.  Our intel has confirmed that this hit was most likely committed by the Lawless Lads Organization. They have made their move. I am here to tell you that, your Vice President and I, along with your Commandant have decided to accept the proposal offered to us by the Lawless Lads. Our opponent has challenged us… and we will respond.

Mind you gentleman, we are not REACTING. We are RESPONDING. Our objective is not to win a battle or to get revenge for our fallen brothers… I am sad to say…… No… it is to exert pressure on the business operations of our opponent, until he loses his ability and will to attack us again… Gaining and maintain market share will ALWAYS be our mission….However…I assure you, gentlemen. Our response to these motherfuckers WILL be….. particularly satisfying… I promise you that.”

The anger amongst the men could be felt. Their desire for revenge was strong. But the competence in their leader was now being questioned. Not only were they each responsible for hundreds of men of their own, but they had put their own lives in the hands of Hayden, Adam, and Jason as their leaders. When committing felonies every day with your comrades, absolute trust is essential, yet somehow always impossible. Despite their leader’s militaristic charisma, with the murder of six of their own, they had all begun to wonder if and just how bad they had fucked themselves. 

Hayden continued, “Most of our competitors have been small inexperienced shitbags that usually trip over themselves and implode. Our approach has always been to wait them out until they have been dismantled by law enforcement.  This is clearly no longer the case. 

What we have seen from intel is that that this organization, “The Lawless Lads, poses a risk that would threaten the profitability and sustainability for the foreseeable future. Believe me, when I tell you this gentlemen, we do not make this decision lightly. Because of our choice tonight, … more men in our organization WILL die. This will bring law enforcement attention to us… Because of our choice tonight,…men in our organization will be apprehended by law enforcement. This WILL happen. That’s, why the Vice President and I, along with the War Council have decided to not only strike back, but to raise the stakes on discipline violations, are gonna start cracking heads… we are not fucking around anymore with rule violations. 

When everyone in this room swore their oaths and were accepted into this organization. I made a promise and an assurance to you all didn’t I? What was that promise? What was that assurance, gentlemen?”

The Fort Smith Regional Commander Eric Miller**, **hesitated and then stated confidently “You told us that YOU work for us…and that you will promise to always put OUR interests before your own.”

Hayden quickly responded “That’s exactly what I said. I looked you dead in the eye when I said it too. And I have not broken that promise with my decision tonight. I firmly believe that a direct violent conflict is as imminent as it is necessary. I would be putting you all at more risk by NOT going to war.

Now, as far as conflict is concerned, our strategy will be to strike key targets (safe houses, key leadership personnel) rapidly, this will disrupt their operations long enough for us to increase our market share in Tulsa and OKC. And we hope that this disruption will cause enough of a power shift and infighting within their own organization, that they crumble after that….that’s our bet. There’s no way for us to guarantee that this will happen.”

The Stillwater Regional Manager, Shane Gentry, held a dip of Skoal under his lip as he slightly scoffed and gave a barely visible eye roll. Adam noticed.

“Now I’m going to let our VP and our Comandante discuss their respective area of operation as always and after that I’ll open up a round of questions with our regional chiefs. Why don’t you go ahead, Commandant.”

Jason, a former reconnaissance Marine, with a large muscular build, placed his arms flat on the table and then brought his hands and fingers together. The cabinet members adjusted their seats as he began. 

“Thank you, sir. As our president has stated, gentlemen we have made this decision with extreme precaution. We have thoroughly scrutinized every variable in play with this situation. We make this decision when there is no other choice.”

Several of the cabinet members could be seen nodding their heads.

“While those of you who are in charge of one of our smaller towns haven’t seen much of them, those of us in Tulsa and Oklahoma City are all too familiar with these Nazi Biker ass-clowns.

Just a summary on these guys for those of you who aren’t too familiar. They are a White Supremacist Motor Cycle Gang that runs a significant portion of the wholesale market between Kansas City and Wichita. We have tried to make diplomatic contact with them in the past through the grapevine of biker bars and strip clubs and other networks but have had no success. 

They are about 300 strong all together. With a fairly centralized structure. Four main lieutenants with their leader at the top. We believe a man by the name of Charles Miller aka “Snake” has taken the reigns of their organization.  The lieutenant that operates in Northeast Oklahoma is Marcus “Chevy” Underwood. We believe he primarily resides in Miami, Oklahoma and the surrounding area. With regular visits from “Snake”.

They also have a series of stash houses in the outskirts of Tulsa, in which they receive regular shipments of inventory. 

Our initial objectives are to first take out “Snake” and “Chevy” during their next meeting in Miami. Once the brain is taken out, we will begin hitting out their stash houses.

With that all being said, unfortunately we still cannot afford to unleash our entire armed force into a brawl for all of the public and law enforcement to witness. Instead, this is gonna be quick, decisive, and concealed. No bodies… 

I’ll now hand it over to the VP. Thank you, Gentlemen.”

Adam nodded and thanked Jason. He took a breath and began. 

“So as far as you are all concerned, the primary focus of our military wing is in fact to support US, however the regions still have to do their do their part. No bonuses will be given during this time. All profits will be used toward our war efforts.

For the time being, inventory turnover quotas will be lowered by 25% for Tulsa and OKC. For Stillwater and Fort Smith, your quotas will be increased by 25%. Prices will be raised 10% in small regions, and lowered 25% in larger regions. This will be a great opportunity for your young salesmen to prove themselves.” Adam instructed. 

Each of the regions’ drug prices were set by Hayden and Adam. They were often set to be the same, unless in some predatory situations where one region was set significantly low, while the other regions raised their prices slightly. This was done to drive out competition and keep new competition from moving in. Considering their business was import wholesale, this was the organization’s primary business move other than murder.

  “Moving on… Let me be FUCKING clear about this. All rules and regulations will be followed during this time. I expect your daily reports to be sent on time. Any stash house personnel WILL BE IN BODY AMOR WHILE ON THE CLOCK. There will be consequences for those that do not.

Proper communication channels will be used for ALL communication outside of one’s own sector or jurisdiction. I don’t know why I have to say it. In this day and age, there are still some people that do not get it. DO NOT DISCUSS BUSINESS ON A FUCKING CELL PHONE. WE WILL NOT PROTECT you if you are popped because of a cell phone tap. You will be on your own.

Everyone is going to get in line with protocol. I told you all if you didn’t maintain protocol, we would end up vulnerable. Some of our won were caught off guard and now they are gone.

 You will do as your are told, or you can die. The Boss and the Commandant are with me on this on this, you put us at risk doing something stupid, I’ll end you myself.” 

The room came to a hushed silence. Most of the men in the room looked directly down at their hands, fearful of locking eyes with Adam. The majority of them were rightfully scared of Adam. 

“Does everyone understand?” Adam. “Yes sir” came back in a strong response from everyone in the room.

“That’s all I have, Sir.” Adam finished.

**“**Thank you. All right What questions do guys have for us?” Hayden said.

Eric, the Fort Smith Regional Manager asked,”Is there any more intel on their style? Are they organized? Or are they just methed out scumbags.

Hayden responded “These guys have been pretty successful here in the Southwest. They got discipline. They’re scumbags, but even cockroaches do evolve sometimes. They have a pretty good lock on the jail’s…the white parts anyway. When the Outlaws went down in the mid 2000s, upstarts all tried to take over their old turf. Only ones to have succeeded were these guys. 

Derek Sanders, the Oklahoma City Region Chief asked,“Who are their suppliers?”

Hayden responded, “Good fucking question. Same as us, but we’re in the clear. Not their fucking problem.”

Shane asked, “So basically, our quotas are going up WHILE our prices are going up too? With all the extra heat this is gonna bring on us?”, Shane asked he raised his crossed arms in the air showing his frustration.

The room got quiet. Adam gritted his teeth while his eyes beamed on Shane. The other cabinet members looked away.

Hayden always encouraged critical thought and open discussion from his people. Although extreme discipline and obedience was exerted on all members of the organization, especially the lower and younger ranks, he knew that balancing obedience and critical thinking was like walking a tight rope. There was a tremendous amount of pressure put on the regional chiefs. They were almost always put in demanding, impossible situations that’s why in an appropriate situation, he would always allow an opposing idea to flourish. 

** “**You have something different? Something better? Or is just too hard for you?”, Hayden asked.

Shane took a breath, as his body language became more respectful. He was a former rancher and nightclub owner. He ran the “Whiskey Dicks” Saloon north of Stillwater. The field outside of the saloon was used to host country music festivals, in which The Federation would often laundry money.  

  “Sir, although I understand what we’re trying to do. I think that’s gonna put a pressure on our salespeople to be carless… or dishonest. And I think that it’ll all be OUR fault when it goes south for some reason…

Adam glared.

** “**Now that’s not what I asked… I didn’t ask what you thought of that plan, I asked you if you had something better.” Hayden said.

Shane stopped as he slightly shook his head. “It’s just the price hikes, I just think it’s a little counter intuitive with the quota increase. I think we can handle a quota increase, but not with the price increase. That’s gonna piss our guys off, especially with the crackdown that coming along with it. 

Hayden pursed his lips as he gave his regional commander’s words consideration. 

“You think one of those should go?”, Hayed questioned.

Shane responded, “Yes sir. I do.

Hayden sought feedback from the rest of the group. “What about you, Fort Smith?”

Eric responded, “Yes sir, while I understand the importance of helping out our sister region, doing that what you said, would probably weaken us. It would erode what we’ve built.”

“Alright, whatcha think, Tulsa? You alright with that? This is gonna affect you the most.”  Hayden asked.

Jamal Lucas, a former gang member from North Tulsa, who somehow managed to pay for and earn an associate’s degree in business from Tulsa community college while serving in the Oklahoma National Guard, thought for a moment, then shook his head as he responded. “I wouldn’t like it if me or my guys had to do that.. wouldn’t be fair.”

Shane nodded in appreciation. The remaining two commanders concurred.

Hayden, looked across the table at his cabinet. He looked to the left at Jason, then to the right at Adam. They all looked back at him waiting for a decision.

“Very well…. No price hike will be added to the smaller regions.” Hayden ruled.

Hayden looked across the table at his cabinet members. They all looked back awaiting guidance. Adam’s eyes locked with Hayden’s, then he nodded.

Hayden looked down at the floor dreadfully as he took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, there’s something we need to discuss. The men waited in suspense as they all noticed Hayden’s regretful tone. 

“Guys I ask a lot of you. You have all put your trust in me. I have put my trust in you.  You know.. this whole thing can burn down at any time by any one person’s betrayal.” Hayden said as he snapped his fingers at the guards. At that moment two guards from outside pulled in a man gagged and bound at his hands and feet and presented him to the group. Jamal recognized the man immediately and drew a look of shock. It was one of his men.

“Alright lose his gag… STATE YOUR NAME., Hayden commanded. 

“Nolan Reed,” the battered young man stated.

“STATE YOUR RANK,” Hayden commanded.

“Sergeant, Sir…”

“WHAT REGION DO YOU BELONG TO”

“Tulsa, Sir”

“WHAT SECTOR?”

“North Tulsa” 

“NORTH TULSA, WHAT?!”, Hayden Shouted

“North Tulsa, SIR!” the young man stated as his voice began to break.

Hayden then pulled out a folder and pulled out three photos and a piece of paper. He held onto the paper and handed the photos to Adam. 

“Here, pass these around” Hayden stated as he walked over to the young man. 

“Grab the chair, put him in it.” Hayden ordered the guards as they already knew what to do. As the men were handed the photos, they observed pictures of Nolan entering a hotel, specifically room 147. 

“What’s the name of that hotel, Sergeant Nolan Reed of North Tulsa?, Hayden questioned. 

Nolan hesitated to answer as he shamefully looked at the floor. His eye’s widened drastically.

“ANSWER HIM!!!”, Adam shouted from across the room.

“Oh what’s wrong Sergeant Nolan Reed of North Tulsa? You can’t remember? It was November 6th. Does that jog your memory?” 

Nolan still hesitated as his body began shaking. His lips began to quiver.

“It’s the Fairview Inn in Muskogee, Oklahoma. You know what’s unique about the Fairview Inn in Muskogee, Oklahoma, Nolan? I’ll answer it for you since you seem to be at a loss of words right now…… You see the Fairview Inn in Muskogee, Oklahoma is one of OUR hotels. Did you know that? And for some reason on November 6th, you were seen entering and leaving room 147. You know what’s special about room 147? Specifically, room 147 on November 6th? Well, I happen to have the folio or the receipt for room 147. I’ll pass this around to the guys and we’ll see if they notice anything special about room 147 on Nov 6th.”

Hayden then handed the folio to Adam. Adam quickly handed the folio to Jamal as he said “Here… I’ve already seen it.” Jamal’s face changed from confusion, to shock, to disappointment as he reread the folio three times to be sure. He then passed it onto Shane.

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Shane said as he shook his head passed it on. Each of the other men showed their disappointment. Hayden collected the folio and then walked back over to Nolan.

He held the folio up to Nolan’s face as he knelt over. 

“What is the guest name of room 147, Nolan? And you better fucking answer me.”, Hayden ordered, but with a much softer but still serious tone.

Nolan finally mustered the courage to raise his head and eyes. “…Mmm.. Marcus Underwood,….. sir”, Nolan stuttered as the truth was revealed.

“There it is…. Marcus… “Chevy”… Underwood…. lieutenant for the Lawless Lads organization….You met him at a hotel the day before six of our men were killed by him. You told him where they were. But you fucked up didn’t you, Nolan?” Hayden said, as he spoke more as a disappointed father rather than as a furious tribal leader.

 “Did they have something on you? Was it money?” Hayden stopped and pondered as he slowly figured out the true reason for the betrayal. “It was a power move wasn’t it, Nolan? You’d first up for promotion huh? YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Everything I taught you. Everything I built. Everything you and your teammates built. You rolled the dice on all of it…. Snake eyes, I guess. Was it worth it?” Hayden asked.

Nolan began to sob as he knew what was about to happen to him. He pondered about his family would no longer be able to raise and the peace that would have brought him. But instead, he had chosen otherwise. The consequences of his decision had become real to him now. This was the end of Nolan’s life, and there was no turning back.

“You know what you’re gonna do, Nolan? You are gonna apologize to everyone of these men. You are gonna look them in the eye when you do it too. I’d make you apologize to everyone in the organization if I could, but we’re crunched for time. Hayden then looked back towards the table and ordered them all to stand up and to come hear the traitor’s apology.

 “FUCKIN SAY IT!!!” Hayden screamed as Derek the Oklahoma City boss, was the first to approach. 

“I’m ….I’m sorry”, Nolan muttered. Derek looked at him, shook his head and walked away.

Shane approached next. Nolan barely uttered the word “I’m” before and entire wad of slobbery wintergreen long cut Skoal hit him in the face. “Fuckin bitch” Shane muttered as he quickly stormed off not even looking Nolan in the eye.

Eric approached next. He could see Shane’s tears mixing with the tobacco spit. As he heard Nolan, scream “I’M SOOORRY!” he was taken back by the terror and sorrow in this young man’s eyes. Eric looked down at the floor and walked away. 

Adam slowly approached. His black dead eyes gazed down at Nolan. He stood calmly with his mouth slightly open, judging the traitor in silence. Nolan looked up at Adam, desperate for a light sentence. 

Nolan attempted to give a quick testimony in the hope that it might save him. “Talk..talk to Diego… he’ll tell you that….” In the middle of Nolan’s final plea, Adam leaned forward and shoved a pencil into Nolan’s left eye. Nolan screamed in terror.

“AHHHHHH!!! AHHHHH FUCK!!! AHHHH!!! I’M SOOOORRY!!!! I’M SORRY!!!

The men were not in shock they had all braced themselves for Adam’s brutal verdict as soon as he had approached. As Nolan continued to scream and wiggle, Hayden handed a Beretta M9 9mm, to Jamal as he was Nolan’s boss. 

“Handle your shit ”, Hayden said as he walked away.

Jamal gripped the pistol and looked down at Nolan, his failed project. He spoke no words, but his eyes gave a long speech on his disappointment and frustration. Jamal placed the pistol in the middle of Nolan’s forehead. The eraser end of the pencil, still lodged in his eyeball, moved up and clicked the barrel of the pistol as Nolan stared at it. The eraser then pointed at Jamal’s face along with his remaining good eye. Nolan had stopped screaming as he had lost his breath at that point. Jamal pulled the hammer back carefully as his thumb was sweaty from the adrenaline. Only the tip of his index finger moved to the trigger. Jamal began to pull the trigger back rather than squeezing. Jamal suddenly blinked as he felt the light recoil in his hand and the loud pop left a slight ringing in his ears. Nolan’s head was thrown back but then fell forward with the rest of his body still held up in the chair by the restraints. A light smoke and smell of burnt gun powder had filled the air around them. The pencil had fallen to the floor. Nolan had paid his dues.

The men all looked at Jamal and Nolan’s lifeless body with silence. Hayden slowly grabbed the pistol from Jamal and put his hand on his shoulder to consol him. 

“It wasn’t your fault” Hayden said in reassurance. Jamal nodded slightly in appreciation. “All right. Get it cleaned up. Everyone go back to your seats for just a second.” Hayden ordered as the guards began to move Nolan’s body. 

“Hey! you two come here.” Hayden pointed at two new guards he had never seen before. They moved with speed and intensity as they had just witnessed a murder ordered by their new drug lord boss. They were young, probably still teenagers.

 “You guys fresh out of the camp?” Hayden asked. 

“Yes, sir”, they both nodded and responded. They were terrified and concentrating hard to not say the wrong thing.

“Listen.. I know that was hard to watch. But this kind of thing has to happen. Trust is all we have ya know. We all swore that oath, myself included. This is our life now. There’s no going back. Now, I don’t really know what was going on in his head where he felt he needed to get his brothers killed just to move up but…” Hayden said as he looked around and threw up his arms in confusion. 

“But look I want you two to know that I did not order that because he betrayed… ME….No… That happened because he betrayed YOU. That mother fucker put YOU TWO at risk…That’s why he got two different types of lead in his fuckin head.” Hayden said as the boys nodded showing their respect and understanding. 

Hayden then pulled out his Berretta and turned it to the side. He forcefully pulled back the slide twice to unload two rounds into the air. As he caught both rounds, he handed one to each of the boys. “Look… Ill make you a deal. If I ever betray you….you put that round in my head. Deal?” The boys looked slightly confused but then nodded in agreement. Hayden shook both of their hands. “Alright… GO AWAY!”, Hayden shouted. 

This is how Hayden held the reigns of a violent trafficking organization that distributed multi-ton loads of Heroin, Cocaine, and Methamphetamine all across the “Sooner State”. He was fierce, strict, but benevolent. It was his job to hold it all together. 

Hayden addressed his cabinet one last time. “All right. We know what needs to happen right? OK. You’ll get your specific instructions in the next day or so. Be ready. Thank you for your loyalty gentlemen.”

The men all stood up as their leader exited the building with his personal security detail. Hayden took his place in the passenger seat of the Chevy Silverado. 

“Phantom-3, this is Rumrunner-1… requesting permission to exit, over”

“Rumrunner-1 this is Phantom-3… permission granted, over.”, the guard responded over the radio and then notified the group, “Standby”.

As Hayden’s security convoy exited the warehouse and made its way toward I-40. He pondered as they passed small town logos of Sonics and Dollar General stores. He ruminated about the upcoming war with the Lawless Lads. He ruminated about how one of his men sacrificed six of his other men just for a promotion. He ruminated on how that could have been HIS fault. What could he have done to prevent that. Was his incentive program he had in place for his Sergeants flawed in some way?  He knew damn well the encrypted email that had the intel on Nolan was sitting in his inbox, but he chose to open it the next day instead because he was tired. Could he have saved them? Would those two young guards snitch in the end?  Those two rounds he gave to those boys were not only traceable, but he had touched them without gloves. If they got popped by the law all they would have to do is cut a deal in exchange for info on the Nolan Reed murder and hand over a 9mm round with Hayden Richardson’s fingerprints on them. They’d probably walk.  Would he one day make a mistake that would send those two rounds flying back towards his head? 

The answer to all those questions was probably, yes, and Hayden knew it. As a drug lord, he knew there was no amount of careful planning, no amount of enforced discipline, or machine gun ammunition that would ensure his victory. Drug lords don’t win. He would fuck up one day if he hadn’t already. What happened to Osama Bin Laden would happen to him and it would be because of his choices. 

This wasn’t Hayden’s flaw, though. Rumination was his flaw. It was a neurotic obsession in which he constantly analyzed every choice, every conversation, every murder. His detailed memories were constantly being shifted and reorganized like blocks until eventually they would all stack up on him like a failed game of Tetris. This was the Achilles Heel of the Southwest Federation’s Leadership. This was his mind. This was his life and there was no turning back.

** **