She was fair and merciful to those who deserved it, but she ruled with an iron fist. We first met when I was nine and she was seven.
She became the gang boss at eight because some of the local drug dealers had decided to break the unspoken rule.
No one messes with the Shinigami, her name for the street, and anything that belongs to the Shinigami, including people and places.
I hadn't even known what the word Shinigami meant till I heard about her. I had looked it up when we got home and found it was a japanese word for death god.
It fit her to a T.
They had decided to use her home, a huge old building that was once a set of apartments, as a hiding place for their drop-offs.
Those, she dealt with quickly and efficiently. My dad, a cop, and I had been on the way home from the grocery store when the call came in that there was a tip-off for drug-trafficking. He had been the closest one to it, so he had decided to check it out.
When we had gotten there, we pulled into an alley beside a building. When my father saw it, he had gone white, I hadn't understood why till later. We had pulled up at the Shinagami's lair. And he was right to fear.
My dad had looked at me and said that if I got out at all he would beat me. I had believed him. He had looked to serious for me not to.
But, like all children after a while the threat lost substance and I got out and followed him anyway. They were piled on the porch in front of the ragged front door.
The bodies that is.
My father was leaning down to check their pulses, when I hid behind a column of the porch. He sighed with relief after checking each one.
Then he looked up when a laugh came floating out of the shadows. It was her, I found out, the Shinigami
"I didn't kill them, so don't worry captain, they will suffer much more in prison," a soft husky voice said in a velvet over iron tone, I should now my mom had one to though not to that degree.