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See No Evil: Spit (ch. 16)
🕑 Added 2020-10-07 14:58:37 +0000 UTC“We have to do something about the prisoners, Vergil,” Tifa muttered to me about a week later. A week after our raids on the Blackgaters, hitting dozens of their safehouses and fronts. A week since the stability in East End collapsed. And a week since we took prisoners of the original group that started this entire mess. “We just can’t keep them here forever, you know?”
I nodded absentmindedly, having considered the question myself constantly during the past week. I leaned against the entrance to the train car, looking at the group of prisoners through the transparent door. Tifa stood next to me, giving me a worried look because she had no clue what I wanted to be done with them. Because I didn’t have a clue either.
“The Blackgaters are still too strong,” I told her. A week wasn’t enough to collapse the strongest gang in East End. Plenty of bottom feeders decided to poke them while they were licking their wounds, the cops doing the same, but a week wasn’t enough time. Not enough time to sap them of their strength until they fell under the weight of those bottom feeders, not enough time to spurn every two-bit gang into action, and not enough time to make sure that 7th Heaven was in the clear.
Tifa nodded in acceptance, “But we can’t keep them here. People are starting to talk… about how you might… execute them.”
It would be a lie to say I hadn’t considered it. No, actually, it was hands down our best option. If we let them go now, then at least one of them was going to talk. The Blackgaters would learn that it was us who attacked them, and with whatever strength they could manage, they could come down on 7th Heaven like a ton of bricks. Right now, in the past week, there hasn’t been a peep about 7th Heaven in anyone’s mouths.
People came down in droves from the surface, pushing us to capacity and beyond, but no one knew it was us that attacked the Blackgaters.
If we wanted to keep it that way, then the most simple and effective solution was… murder. To execute them to make sure that they can’t talk. But I was hesitating. I was looking for that better way.
“Would you?” Tifa asked quietly as we both looked outside at 7th Heaven. The gangwar drove dozens more down towards us. If I had to guess, we had over three hundred people living in the station. There was no more room for anyone else. The systems were straining under the increased load, the food rapidly disappeared -- three hundred people didn’t sound like a lot, but it was a hell of a number for one man to provide for.
I was silent for a moment, and that was probably answer enough. But I should say the words. “If I have to,” I told her, tearing my gaze from outside to her. Tifa appeared troubled but unsurprised by the answer. “But I really don’t want to. So, I’m trying to think of something else.” It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but it’s what I had.
What was between me and Tifa was new, thus easy to break. And I really didn’t want it to break.
“Oh. Then…?" Tifa questioned, looking at me for answers. And that never got less weird. A byproduct of my speech that I didn't expect. Before, I was mostly in charge because I put the food on the table. Waylon was in charge because he was the stick to keep everyone in line. Tifa was in charge because everyone looked up to her.
My speech destroyed that balance. I was the one that pulled ahead, firmly confirming that I called the shots. And everyone just kinda went along with it.
I looked away back at the prisoners. "I have an idea, but it's a bad one," I told her honestly. She let out a small laugh, and I guess she saw that coming. Which was fair. My gaze lingered on one of the prisoners specifically -- one that had been ashamed after I made my speech, that had been a hundred percent honest when it came to selling out the Blackgaters.
And that's why it was a risk.
"It's taking too long for the Blackgaters to fall on their own, so we need to trip them," I told her. "We send one of the prisoners to them with false information, the Blackgaters gather up their strength, then we break them. Me, you, Revy and Waylon."
I could feel Tifa's gaze on me, "But that's not something that can be ignored by the police or Batman." And that was another issue with the plan. An attack like that is going to draw attention. The numbers that we would have to hit, the presence of Waylon… "Or… we could lie?"
My attention shifted back to Tifa, prompting her to explain. "We lie and say it was… the Penguin or another rival gang. They focus on them, then we can hit them quietly."
I mulled it over before I reached in my pocket to grab a finalized map of the known Blackgater haunts. Most of them had Xs over them, showing that either we had hit them or someone else had. I…
What was my goal? The preservation and success of 7th Heaven.
How did I achieve that goal? Short term, the elimination of our enemies. Long term, expansion.
What was in the way? The Blackgaters. Various smaller, but manageable gangs. To deal with them would be to earn the ire of Batman and the police. Two goes I could not defeat.
Meaning I could not go through them. How could I go around them?
"Okay," I said, deciding on a plan. "Tell them to bring in Jacob," I said, staring at the prisoner. I didn't trust him. He helped us out, he was honest, he had something resembling a conscious… but above all else, he was a rat. The moment his life was in danger, he listed out every single safe house and front he could think of. That didn't inspire a lot of confidence because I could be sending him into danger. Why wouldn't he flip on me just as easily?
That test with the cops that Mr. Cobblepot put me through made so much sense. Trust was beyond important in this line of work. It was utterly priceless.
Tifa's gaze lingered on me before she nodded and went to get the prisoner. As she walked away, my gaze lingered on her hips for a moment too long before they slid over to another woman. "Revy," I called out, making her look at me before I jerked my head to come inside.
She must have understood my expression because she nodded seriously, throwing down her cards and leaving a makeshift poker table. Walking over, a sly grin appeared on her face, "You have a job for me?" Revy questioned, proving that she had read my expression.
"I do. It's a risky job, so I'll sweeten the pot -- an LMG, fully loaded," I offered, and that sly grin of hers grew until it was nothing but teeth.
"Sounds fun. What's the job?" Revy asked, following my gaze as I watched Tifa retrieve Jacob. He looked scared, while the others looked furious and scared.
"Insurance to make sure that he sticks to the script," I told her the main job. Revy, in the end, I trusted to a degree. So long as she got paid, she would follow through on her end of the deal. Me paying her in weapons was just skipping the middleman.
Revy glanced back at me, "Hm. If he goes off, he dies?" She questioned, but more to make me say it.
"He dies," I confirmed. "But if he does go off script, you'll be in a bad spot. We'll do what we can to pull you out of the fire, but given where you'll be…"
Revy shrugged, "That's my problem to deal with." With that, she let the matter drop as Tifa brought Jacob to us. I stepped away from the door, letting them all inside before I closed the door behind them. I lingered at the door as Tifa let Jacob sit down, being the good cop by virtue of being herself.
I had to stop pussyfooting around. I had to stop hesitating. I had to just do what I had to do. Too much was at stake for my sense of empathy and battered morals to get in the way.
"Jacob," I started, not turning around but I could hear the guy swallow thickly. Slowly, I turned to look at him, staring him in the eyes, "You have a chance to go home. The same for your buddies. But I'm afraid that the ticket isn’t free," I said, taking a seat across from him.
He shifted, all too aware of Tifa and Revy, but he didn't look away from me. "What… what do I have to do?" He asked, realizing that he had nothing to give to pay the toll for freedom.
"I want you to lie to your boss," I answered bluntly. "I want you to tell him that you escaped from captivity and that it was the Jokers that had you. You got away because Revy," I said, gesturing to her, "Was looking to hunt down the Joker for the bounty on his head. It was the Jokers that hit the fronts and safehouses. You don't know why exactly, but they are planning something big. The Joker needed the resources, but he didn't need the heat because he's about to enact his plan." All bullshit, but possible bullshit.
"You convinced Revy that the Blackgaters will make it worth her while to save you with the possibility of her working for them as a gunman." And I would gain a spy in the Blackgaters. "Are you with me so far?"
Jacob offered a slow nod, "I'm with you."
"Good. You say nothing about 7th Heaven. As far as you're concerned, we have absolutely nothing to do with the Blackgaters misfortunes or your captivity," I told him, my tone grave. "Because if you say otherwise, I'm going to kill the rest of the hostages."
Jacob wet his lips, "Look, man, I just run with the Blackgaters because it was my only choice, you know? I'm a felon -- grand theft auto. Nothing violent. I won't say anything. I swear," he said, a quiver in his voice. I stared at him for a few seconds and nodded in acceptance.
"Okay. That's your script. Stick with it," I told him before I glanced at Revy. We shared a nod before Revy hauled Jacob up with a hand.
"Alright damsel in distress, let's bring you home," she decided, leaving the train car with a wave goodbye. I watched her go, wondering if I made the right choice.
Tifa reached out to place a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. It felt like I was walking on a tightrope. Or, rather, I was forced to tread water -- if my head went below water, I would drown but if my head went too far above the waterline, I would get shot. A balancing act to take down the Blackgaters, but to avoid notice.
Taking in a slow breath, I placed a hand on hers and squeezed back. "That's one thing dealt with. What else is on the agenda?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood. Tifa offered me a pity smile before answering.
"Jack and Waylon were wanting to talk to you," She informed, and I realized why she was giving me a pitying smile. I had meant that as a joke. Just how many plates was I juggling here?
Swallowing a sigh, I stood up, "Then I better go see what they want.” Being the boss came with responsibilities, after all. Tifa nodded before she tilted her head back, a silent demand that I wasted no time obeying. I leaned in a pressed my lips against hers, her hands going to wrap around my waist to pull me in closer while my hand went to cup her cheek.
A small moment to savor before going back to work, but it could only be a small moment.
I pulled back and Tifa flashed me a smile before she withdrew. “I’ll go keep tempers from boiling over and organizing the chaos,” Tifa said, going to leave the train car. With so many newcomers, so tightly cramped together with not enough room for everyone, people were bound to butt heads. It was bad enough that Waylon decided to stick around more than he usually did, just to remind everyone the consequences of escalating.
Nodding, we went our separate ways. I found Jack before I found Waylon, oddly enough, but that seemed to because he had an easier range of movement and he knew where to find me. He greeted me with a smile and a wave, showing an arm that was free of a cast. There were a few lingering injuries, but for the most part, he had healed up after about a month and a half.
“Vergil,” he greeted me, smacking me on the shoulder as he jerked his head to the tunnel. I nodded and walked beside him, forced to step between feet since the place was getting so crowded. It was starting to stink -- we had showers, but so many people meant that not everyone could get one every day. So I would have to expand pretty much everything. "I saw Revy leaving with one of the Blackgaters. Is everything okay?"
I snapped out of my thoughts to answer, "We have something in the works." It was going to take time to manifest -- it might take a day or two for the Blackgaters to muster up their strength to crush the Jokers. Meaning that I had a few days to prepare. "But Tifa said that you wanted to talk to me about something?" I asked as we walked down the tunnel. It was absolutely filled with people.
Jack nodded, "Well, it's more a bunch of people have something they wanted to stay. I'm just the spokesperson." He glanced at me as we walked, "It's about what you said last week during your big speech."
I said a lot during that speech. "That this place is ours?" I hazarded a guess, only for Jack to shake his head.
"No. Well, yeah, but it's about what you said -- this place is costing you a pretty penny to fund. And you aren't getting nothing back for it," Jack explained, making me hesitate as we reached the end of the tunnel. There was some spillage of people, but no one wanted to sleep too close to train tracks.
I shook my head, "None of you have to worry about that. I was just talking trash to get out of paying protection money." It was half true but the look Jack gave me showed that I had missed the point.
"Kid, we're homeless but… no one wants to be a bum," He told me quietly as we came to a stop. "Honestly, most of us didn't think too hard about it. We didn't want to think just how much money was being spent on us -- how much you were spending. Or what you were doing to support us. Someone your age should be blowing their cash on video games or a car or that girl of yours. Not playing nanny to hundreds of homeless people."
I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off with a gesture. "We aren't telling you to stop. Honestly, I'm pretty sure you would just ignore us if we did." He was probably right there, "So, we want to do the next best thing. We want the 7th Heaven to turn a profit for you."
Shifting where I stood, I saw a very immediate problem with that plan. Everyone down here was homeless, impoverished, and desperate. How could they generate any money?
However, Jack continued, likely knowing what I was about to say. "We could set up a gambling house, or something. Or do something like a kick up to stay. Or whatever you can think of to busy some hands so we aren't just weighing you down." There was a note of pleading in his voice. And it killed whatever arguments I could make for not wanting to do it. Because I didn't need them to pay me back for anything. I ran the 7th Heaven because I wanted to. And to balance out the scales of karma.
A gambling den sounding promising, but there was a glaring issue.
"We don't have anywhere to put a gambling den," I pointed out.
To answer that, I heard the sounds of footsteps. And the raspy sound of a scaly tail being dragged on the ground. "Not here, at least," Waylon spoke up, rounding a corner to reveal his hulking frame. I looked up at him, instantly understanding what he was getting at.
"You found another place?" I asked hopefully -- Waylon had been searching metro tunnels for another sealed off tunnel like the 7th Heaven. It was my first pick for a second location, they were isolated and rent-free. Option two was going up top, but that carried its own dangers.
"I found three," Waylon confirmed. "There's a small tunnel on 3rd, which is the closest. On 13th, there's another sealed off-platform. But on 26th, there's a large section, but it's pretty bad and old," he said while I pulled out my map to check the locations. Two of them were nearby. That was promising. The 26th tunnel would be pinned for now.
My shoulder sagged with relief, a breath escaping me that I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I was really getting worried that we were going to have to turn people away,” I admitted to them both. We were beyond capacity. The gang war and the first snowfall drove people down towards us, and as both intensified, more was going to come. But I ignored the pitying looks I received from Waylon and Jack to focus on the task at hand.
“Alright. The first order of business is to get station thirteen up and running. We can send some people over with me to clean it up while I’ll set up some utilities. Larger than the ones we have now,” I said more to myself than to them. We had to future proof. There were five hundred people in 7th Heaven at the moment, splitting them in half would take the pressure off for a spell, but it wouldn’t be long before both stations had five hundred people living within them.
A thousand people. That number never seemed so large before.
“Sounds good to me,” Waylon agreed while I continued to stare down my map. I traced an invisible line that marked where we were on the map and connected it to the abandoned platform.
“How far of a walk was it?” I asked, my lips thinning as a secondary problem made itself known. A thousand people. Waylon worked best when he was a constant, looming threat. He was the ‘or else’ of the behave or else to stay in 7th Heaven.
Waylon gave a shrug, “It’s not a straight shot, so… thirty minutes?” Thiry minutes of walking from here to… 13th Heaven? The name was a work in progress. “And some of it was waiting for trains to go by. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I don’t like the idea of being spread out,” I told him. “If the Blackgaters had hit the other platform, it would have been thirty minutes before we heard about it if it had been up and running. And that much distance doesn’t sound like a lot, but how can we keep everyone in line? Right now, it’s just me, you, Tifa, and Revy. The four of us can’t police a thousand people. Or more.”
There had already been some thefts. Some fights. Just tempers running high.
“Vergil,” Jack said, crouching next to me as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “You really need to learn to ask for help,” He told me, his voice serious. His lips were tugged down into a frown as I held his intense gaze. “You’re pretty good at chewing up whatever you bite off, even if it is too much for you, but you’re shooting yourself in the foot by thinking you have to do everything.”
Was I getting a ‘you suck’ speech? “I’m not trying to do everything by myself,” I argued. I was dumping a ton of work on Tifa, Waylon, and others.
“If the four of you aren’t enough then look to us. We aren’t just here to kick our feet up and let you pamper us. Let us help,” Jack said, stressing the word. “We want 7th Heaven to succeed as much as you do. We want to make it our home. So, let us pitch in a bit.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. How many times was I going to have this conversation before it managed to get through to me? First with Tifa, and now with Jack. It didn’t feel like I was sidelining them, but… I was. Not because I believed they were better people than me, but because i didn’t want it to be a case of… them being unable to say no. I didn’t want them to think that they had to say yes to whatever I asked to stay here, or because they felt like they owed me something.
“You’re right,” I decided. I had to be practical. I was juggling too many plates to not be. “The coupe that I gave guns too -- recruit them first into a watch. And put out feelers for others to join. When you have a list, send me their names.” I wanted to do background checks. If I was going to trust them with the safety of 7th Heaven, then I wanted to at least make sure that I wasn’t giving guns to known murderers and the like.
Jack flashed a smile, but Waylon spoke up, “What about the distance issue? From 3rd to 13th is something like a two-hour walk if you go through the tunnels. And a lot of memorization.” To that, I nodded as I looked down at the map again.
The three places were all located in East End, but they were spread out. So, the easiest way to get between them was on the surface. It would work for now, but with the winter setting in, it would become a real problem. I tried to see where the metro lines would run underneath the city grid, trying to find a simple solution. But there wasn’t an easy solution beyond just accepting the problem.
Maybe Jack was right -- I probably did have a problem with biting off more than I could chew, but he was also right that I made it a habit of chewing it up anyway.
Because I wanted 7th Heaven to succeed- actually, no. I didn’t want that. I wanted the 7th Heaven to be great. I wanted it to become something incredible. I wanted it to be something more than a homeless shelter where the desperate turn to. I wanted everyone here to have actual beds, and actual walls, and actual homes. I wanted them to eat better than cheap food. I wanted so damn much that my ambition was choking me.
I glanced behind me to see the tunnel full of people, and dozens of pairs of curious eyes on us as they looked at Waylon with awe and fear. Then I turned my attention to the map.
It wasn’t something I could take on in one bite. So, I wouldn’t.
Tracing an invisible line to connect the three points, I ran my finger over an x. A familiar address -- it was where the fight that Tifa met Revy took place. It had a basement. My cards felt heavy in my pocket, and they would be key in the plan that was slowly forming in my mind. They would be able to leverage most of the problems, but it was a single point of failure. I only had fifty-three cards, I could take care of every problem.
A sigh escaped me, “We make our own tunnel to connect them.” I decided, thinking about what we would need to do. We needed equipment, obviously. But we would need stuff like… oxygen scrubbers. Pipes to carry water, electricity… the amount that we would be using couldn’t go ignored, so we would have to find ways to generate our own. “And we can use that tunnel to help deal with the influx of people. The platforms can act as checkpoints.”
Then I tapped on the x, “But it’s going to be pretty obvious that something is going on, so we use this building. It has a basement -- if we connect it to the tunnel, then we can disguise the comings and goings of people.”
“A building in East End? To buy it? That’s going to cost millions,” Jack pointed out. And he was probably right.
So, I had to find a way to knock the price down, “We burn it down and blame the gang war when I scrounge up a decent amount of cash.” I looked at Jack, “We could make a second company. A construction company. Sainthood Construction?” I muttered, trying to fit the pieces in my head. “See who would be interested in that kind of work. I’m not sure if I can pay, but if we lay the ground work now, no one will question it when I buy the building.”
Sainthood Flowers was off the ground. It was hardly a booming success, but flowers were being sold. A handful of grams of cocaine were being shipped through the flowers to trusted individuals, to prove the concept worked. We had a webpage, we had reviews, and the first step was taken.
Waylon let out a snort, “Trying to start Sainthood Industries?” He joked, but he probably wasn’t too far off the mark.
My attention lingered on the phone that I had taken with me on this trip. The games on it that i could cash in on.
“Sainthood Enterprises sounds better.”
Because that’s how you dealt with a meal. One bite at a time.
…
Money. It all came down to money. Money to support 7th Heaven, money to buy better base materials for my cards, money to go towards my debt. The more I seemed to gain, the more it felt like I was forced to spend. My nest egg wasn't enough for what I had planned. Which was absolutely wild considering I almost had a half-million dollars.
A hand dipped into my pocket to retrieve my deck. I peeked a card up to reveal a multicolored surface, but I knew what the bag contained. Drugs. All kinds of drugs. I had them for a week, hesitating what to do with them because while I had come to accept that I sold cocaine, most of the drugs in the bag weren't cocaine.
But now I needed more money.
"I'm going to end up with gray hair before the end of winter at this rate," I muttered to myself as I strode into the Iceberg Lounge, taking the back entrance. There were just so many things to be stressed about -- my debt, a major gang possibly being out for my blood, 7th Heaven, starting a business, planning to start another, money troubles… I was lucky I had Tifa or I would be chomping at the bit at the moment.
Except girl trouble could be added to that list because I had absolutely no clue what to call me and Tifa. We cared about each other, obviously, but what label fit? Were we dating? Were we lovers? Friends with benefits? None of the above? And I didn't want to ask because if Tifa was certain that we were an item, then it was going to hurt when I come clean about being uncertain. Right now the plan was to stall until Tifa slipped up and revealed what she thought we were and I would just roll with that.
A sigh escaped me while I walked inside. There were a few familiar faces, and they all nodded respectfully at me as I passed. Which was a bit weird, but a good kind of weird? I was being respected. I was technically in management now, even if I did still go on runs. Before I was an associate and now I'm a Clerk.
As I walked up the stairs to the main floor, I saw another familiar face -- a man that had been sitting with Mr. Cobblepot when I brought in the stolen drugs and money. While I was a Clerk, the man before me was an Underboss. He looked the part too -- clean-shaven with not a single hair out of place thanks to a generous amount of hair gel. It would have looked ridiculous but with his suit that probably cost tens of thousands of dollars, it looked good.
"Ah, Vergil," He greeted with a friendly smile and sticking out a hand. The smile didn't reach his eyes, but I shook hands with him all the same.
"Mr. Wake," I returned.
"Off to see Mr. Cobblepot?" He asked, that friendly smile still in place. To that, I shook my head as I let go of his hand.
"No, it's nothing I should be bothering him with -- I just ran into some luck, and found a duffle bag with some odds and ends worth selling. I was about to go put in a request for a meeting with a buyer." I explained, watching his smile grow a fraction. While I was a notch higher on the food chain, I still had to go through basic systems. I would pay a fee, listing what I had to sell, and I would get an address of where to meet a buyer. Not too different from my first successful deal.
Mr. Wake clapped me on the shoulder -- a month ago, that probably would have knocked me over. But thanks to Tifa's fighting lessons and a decent diet, the weight that I was gaining was muscle. I was still scrawny, but not the skin and bones kind anymore. "Say no more, I think I can help you out with that," He said, gesturing downstairs to one of the empty rooms.
"I would appreciate it," I agreed, my gaze sliding over two men standing behind him. His bodyguards. They were meaner looking, but between Tifa, Revy and Waylon? I had him beat.
We walked into one of the rooms for Henching, and I wasted no time unsealing the card and putting it on the table. I unzipped it and pulled it open to reveal the contents. Mr. Wake let out a low whistle, "With all the explosions in East send, I guess drugs really are raining onto the streets," He remarked as he hefted a kilo of cocaine.
Then he grabbed a small bag of cloudy crystals. My time watching Breaking Bad told me that was meth. There was weed, pills, small pellet-like things of tape that I didn't know what they contained. At least not for sure. In the week, I did what research that I could and learned that kind of packaging was commonly used for… a drug I hated most of all.
"Something like that," I hedged. My game face was on because it had to be. I wasn't wearing my mask so I had to swallow my discomfort. I needed the money. That's all there was to it.
"Ah, these little buggers," He said, holding up a bag of pills. Party favors. "These guys go for fifteen bucks a pop. Kids these days, huh? Always willing to burn money for a good time." There were close to fifty pills in the bag, so that was… around seven hundred bucks.
I could only shrug my shoulders. I grew up broke even before I reached dirt poor poverty levels. "It doesn't mean anything to them. They don't learn that every paycheck that they get is but a fraction of what the print says until they start paying bills." A monthly paycheck of a thousand dollars as a sixteen-year-old was a paycheck of a thousand dollars. At eighteen, that paycheck was fifty dollars at most -- utilities, rent, car payments, insurance, phone bill...
"True enough," Mr. Wake agreed, tossing the pills into the duffle bag. "It's a nice goodie bag. Call it… two hundred thousand?" Never in my life would I have ever expected that I could hear an offer of two hundred thousand dollars and think 'not enough.' My lack of a reaction was a telling reaction because Mr. Wake quickly continued, "And a job offer."
"What's the job?" I asked, trying not to show any eagerness. I had done a few jobs for Mr. Wake. They always paid well. And it seemed that despite my efforts, some eagerness slipped through because the edges of his lips curled upwards.
"A big break. I'm partnering up with a drug lord in Brazil -- one of the biggest cocaine dealers in the nation. He's sending a boat of cocaine to the states for me to distribute, but it's a new partnership and I want to make sure nothing goes wrong. Especially since the guy is a total whackjob," He explained before he nodded at me. "And you haven't let me down once so far." That was the bait and butter, it was time for the hook.
"He's shipping a hundred million worth of cocaine to us," Mr. Wake said and I just about went weak at the knees. A hundred million. A hundred million dollars. That was so much cocaine. And so much money. "Because it's a deal that we're buying, I'm afraid you don't get that ten percent," He said, crushing my hopes thoroughly and utterly. "But, as a specialty transporter, that's worth an easy two hundred thousand."
I'm pretty sure he was being generous there, but I didn't care. I would have to go to Brazil, transport a hundred million worth of cocaine… but since I didn't have to go by boat, I would only have to be gone for a few days.
But, I was also a great bastard. "Kick the drugs and the transport fee up another fifty thousand, and you have a deal," I said, sticking out a hand. Mr. Wake hesitated a brief second before shaking, telling me I was getting a good price. Five hundred thousand.
Altogether, I would almost be a millionaire.
"That I can do. You leave in about two weeks. Is that fine with you?" He asked and I nodded. Two weeks was enough time to settle things with the Blackgaters, get started on my various projects, and settle everything.
"Sounds perfect," I confirmed. After that, I was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer with an opportunity to make that much more. Leaving the Lounge, I sent Candy a quick text informing her of when I would be going on a business trip, which she confirmed in a split second. And it was settled.
My feet carried me to a home depot store where I could but the supplies to set up 13th Heaven, and I more or less doubled up on everything since I was going to expand what we already had. Not to mention snagging a few items for useful card combinations. It cost a pretty penny, but I barely felt the loss as I paid.
Though, my good mood swiftly vanished when I stepped into an alleyway on my way home. I felt the familiar feeling of cold steel being pressed into the side of my head, instantly realizing that it was a gun.
"Vergil," A cold voice that I recognized said my name.
I swallowed thickly, "Jeremiah."
Comments
Benjamin Lawton
Maybe call it the "Lucky 13"? It wouldn't even be entirely a pun, given how much of a windfall its presence is under the circumstances.
