No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Cool, right?
Ashley may have spectacularly failed at the day-to-day
management of Fox Contracting, but boy-howdy, he sure
loved the toys that came with it. Fortunately his father was
now too busy forgetting his own name and shitting in a bag to
see what had become of the family legacy under Ashley’s
leadership. Both specialists unceremoniously laid off, the web
domain expired, the phone still ringing sporadically but going
to voicemail. Sometimes driving the Fox Contracting van with
that peeling cartoon character felt like piloting a big corpse; a
dried-out husk of his father’s dreams and hard work.
See, when Wall Street failed, the feds stepped in and
bailed them out with other people’s money. When your little
Mom-and-Pop outfit fails, well, you have to take the bailout
into your own hands. It’s the American way.
Ashley hefted the Paslode nailer and palmed the muzzle
with his left hand, defeating the nose-safety with an effortless
push. Then a squeeze of the trigger …
THWUMP.
A 16-penny pierced the front tire of Darby’s Honda. The
black rubber deflated with a hiss.
Lars watched.
Ashley kicked the tire, feeling it soften. Then he leaned
and fired another — THWUMP — into the Honda’s rear tire.
“Don’t be nervous, baby brother. We’ll sort this out.”
Ashley circled the car and pierced the other tires as he spoke
— THWUMP, THWUMP. “Just some dirty work tonight, and
then we’ll go see Uncle Kenny. Okay?”
“Okay.”
His voice lowered, like he was sharing a dangerous secret:
“And something else I forgot to mention. Remember his Xbox
One?”
“Yeah?”