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See No Evil: Brutting (ch. 10)
🕑 Added 2020-09-09 15:03:39 +0000 UTCFlowers didn't smell particularly good, I noted as I took the time to smell the flowers. Roses didn’t smell particularly bad either, just not very good. Really made you wonder why you were supposed to stop and smell them. But, all the same, I checked the cut at the end of the stem to see that they were fresh flowers and proceeded to the counter where a girl around my age sat behind. She looked up and gave a practiced retail smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Can I get anything else for you?" She questioned as she accepted the flowers to scan.
"Can I get a vase too? And some of those little packets you toss in the water?" I requested as I pulled out my wallet and pointed to a vase on a shelf large enough to hold a dozen roses. The girl, Jil, grabbed it and scanned it as well. Bringing my total to… Jesus. Why were flowers so expensive? "Thanks," I said, handing her a fifty.
While she was giving me my change, I stuffed the flowers into the vase and grabbed the fertilizer packets. They were square, roughly the same size and thickness of a condom package -- I looked down at it for a moment before I was forced to look up. "Have a nice day," Jil said, giving me a wave as I stuffed my money in my pocket and left the flower shop.
It was a nice little place located on a corner. A glass case filled with pre-arranged flower vases, shelving covered with more flowers and knickknacks. Including cards and things of that nature. It looked like it was doing alright for itself. I was happy for them.
Stepping outside, I let out a small sigh as I sealed away the flowers and vase. I pinched the packet in between my fingers for another moment before sealing it away as well. Having a deck of cards and a phone in my pockets was enough clutter for me. Turning to walk by, I glanced at my reflection on a large glass window -- one of the few that didn’t have bars on it simply because it was a flower shop.
I wore my work suit -- still looking like a kid wearing his dad’s suit, but now I had regained some weight it wasn’t as bad of a look. The only thing stopping me from making a better one was the fact that I would probably look worse in a tighter fitting one. Still, I straightened out my tie to the best of my ability before continuing forward. Tifa waited at the end of the block, leaning against a streetlamp. I had told her to wear clothes that she wouldn’t miss or wear if she had a choice.
Meaning that she wore the rough blue canvas jacket, a loose pair of pants, her leather gloves, and underneath was a simple long-sleeve thermal. So, pretty much everything that had been forced upon her when we had first arrived. She glanced up at me as I approached, her expression momentarily lost in her own thoughts.
“It’s not too late,” I offered. I knew she wouldn’t take the out, but it was there. Tifa shook her head as she pushed herself off the lamp post.
“No, I’m in this all the way,” Tifa confirmed, giving me a firm nod to show that she wasn’t having second doubts. I didn’t believe her. Because I was having second doubts. "It's almost time to meet them," she added, making me painfully aware of the time. I pulled out my phone to see that she was right.
Drug deals were apparently a bit like dates -- you wanted to arrive around the agreed-upon time. Arrive too early, and it looks sketchy. Arrive late and it makes you look unreliable. Arriving right on time was ideal -- you didn’t have time to, say, plant a listening device or something, and it made you seem punctual.
I nodded, shoving my phone into a card and let out a small breath as I nodded. Tifa offered me a thin smile, looking forward to this about as much as I was, but we had to follow through. Mr. Cobblepot already arranged the deal -- if I flaked out, then that was going to make me look really bad. Part of the reason why he liked me was that I had more balls than brains, and he thought I was losing my nerve…
“Let’s go,” I agreed and started walking. Tifa followed in step as I led us down the streets. The nice-looking shops and stores slowly started to grow rougher the further we walked. It was midday, so the sun was shining overhead and people were out. But, much like the stores and road, the people grew rougher as we entered a rough neighborhood. Street workers started appearing at corners, all of them grouped up together, and thugs wearing gang colors became more common.
They eyed me in my nice suit, but they didn’t stop us. If I was wearing a suit in this neighborhood then I was either very lost, which I clearly wasn’t, or I was a member of the mob. And two-bit gangs stayed out of the mobs business. Over the past month, I learned that there was something of a hierarchy in Gotham.
Gangs were at the bottom, mobs and cartels were the middle pieces, then supervillains were at the top. And each tier knew not to mess with the tier above it.
I spotted our destination -- a rundown looking house down in the middle of the Bowery. And despite what the name implied, Crime Alley was somehow a better neighborhood. The row of houses all looked like they were a stray breeze from collapsing and… by the look of it, someone had stolen a house’s front porch. That’s the kind of place it was.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a card. I emptied the contents into my hand and passed a mask similar to the one I wore with Jeremiah to Tifa. “Put that on. Just in case,” I ordered as we neared the house while I put mine on. Now that my face was in the shape that it should be, the mask fit a lot better. I hooked it around my ears and sealed the eye part around my eyes. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Tifa wearing hers and… huh. Didn’t realize it before, they were very mortal combat-y.
Then I pulled out the duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder as we approached the house. The front door was unlocked, letting me push it open with little difficulty. The interior was an absolute mess -- trash covered the floor, graffiti-covered the busted up walls, and it looked like a place that even squatters turned their nose up at. Even still, I walked forward to the kitchen to see that there was a set up on the busted up counter.
A money counter was hooked into a portable battery along with a simple scale. The kitchen itself was a wreck. The cabinets were busted up if they weren't flat out on the ground, holes were punched in the drywall and the refrigerator was so busted that I didn't bother snagging it. I leaned against a sink that looked like it was growing mold that was two evolutionary jumps from gaining sentience and crossed my arms.
Tifa stood next to me, her mask covering her face but it was easy to tell she was nervous. She shifted from foot to foot, glancing between the windows and entrances to the kitchen. I knew I should say something, but I didn't. In this kind of situation, when I was feeling the pressure, my response was to shut up and dig in.
Right at two o'clock in the afternoon, I heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps entered the house, revealing themselves to be two bulky men dressed in suits that looked nicer than mine. One of them carried a duffle bag similar to mine and he set it down on the counter. Unzipping it, he revealed money. So much money.
Wordlessly, I stepped forward and put my own duffle bag on the table and unzipped it. With a gloved hand, I handed over a brick and passed it to the guy. And, wordlessly, he accepted it. He cautiously made a show of taking out a knife, waiting for a nod on my part to continue. Then he dug the knife in and tasted the product. He nodded to his associate, who wore matching black sunglasses.
The guy that tasted the product then grabbed a bundle of cash and placed it in the money counter. It flared to life, sorting through the stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills. It only took a moment for the screen to display a number that made me weak at the knees.
Ten thousand dollars.
Then he put another one. Then another one. Then another one and another and another and another.
The counter kept going again and again as he continuously fed it stacks of cash. But the number remained the same each time. Ten thousand dollars. He fed bundles into the machine fifty times and I did the math. Five hundred thousand dollars.
All the while he worked counting the money, I took out bricks of product and weighed them on the scale to show that it was the agreed-upon weight. And when we were both satisfied both ends of the bargain was upheld, I began packing up the product and he layered the money back into the duffle bag. Once both were zipped back up, I grabbed the money and he grabbed the bag of product.
I nodded at him, giving him the confirmation that the deal was done. He nodded in return before both men left the building. The door closed behind them. Not a single word had been uttered throughout the entire deal for the past fifteen minutes.
"Holy shit,'" I swore, sagging against the counter as I held onto the money like it was my firstborn child. "I think I'm going to puke." I slapped a card into the duffle bag and sealed it away. Half a million dollars. Half a million. Five hundred thousand dollars. That was half of a million dollars. And it was mine. Sort of.
"That was good right?" Tifa d questioned, sounding unsure given my reaction. I nodded, holding myself up out of sheer force of will. The tension of the deal, once it was over, cut the strings that were keeping me up and I just wanted to collapse out of pure relief. “Who were they?”
“I have no clue,” I answered honestly. “And I don’t think that I want to know. All I care about is that this deal went down infinitely better than the other one.” I didn’t get shot, I didn’t get the crap kicked out of me, and I had half a million dollars. Never in my life did I ever expect to see so much money in one place.
Tifa let out a small chuckle, prompting me to look at her. I couldn’t see her face, but her body language screamed tense and uncomfortable. She… really stepped out of her comfort zone for me, hadn’t she? We both had, but… this had been my idea. My plan. She was here to make sure that I didn’t meet a bad end.
“Probably because of you,” I said, pulling myself together. “If I had been by myself, then they would have rag-dolled me. Wouldn’t stand a chance. So, thanks for being here, Bodyguard,” I said, knowing that this was something that neither of us could take back or undo, but… if I could make that bitter pill easier for her to swallow, then I would.
I could feel Tifa’s grateful look hidden behind the mask. It was like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She was here to protect me rather than to sell drugs.
I was the rotten apple here.
“We should go,” I continued. The card filled with money was shoved in my pocket, melding with my deck. Tifa nodded as we left the building, and only once we left the terrible neighborhood behind did we take off the masks. When Tifa tried to pass it off to me, I shook my head, “You should keep it. Just in case.”
Tifa accepted the mask and put it in her jacket. "What do we do now?" Tifa questioned and that was a good question. The deck in my pocket felt like it weighed half a million pounds.
"Now… we get something to eat," I decided. Tifa blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. "We've eaten nothing but ramen noodles and canned ravioli for a month." Longer for me, but the point still stood. "Before… all of this, I told myself when I made it and I got money in the bank, the first thing I would do was go to a fancy-ass restaurant and order myself a fancy-ass meal."
A giggle escaped Tifa before a smile tugged at the edge of her lips, "Should we though?"
"We should," I decided. The hard part was over. The deal was done. I had half a million dollars in my pocket and it was going to become more by the time I'm done. I could afford an overpriced meal for two. "So, what do you say? Lunch for two? Overpriced food, smooth jazz, and a room full of snobby rich people?" I asked with a smile. Tifa hesitated, all too aware of where the money came from.
"With an offer like that, how can I refuse?" Tifa decided with a pleased smile. "But if we're going to be in a room full of snobs, then I really need to change," she noted, gesturing down to herself.
"Do you-" I started, going to offer money to buy a dress or something for her. I was certain that she would still look better than everyone else in the room, no matter who was in it, dressed as she was but I understood girls well enough to know that occasionally dressing up was fun for them. For some reason. I didn't get it, but I didn't need to.
"I have it covered," Tifa swiftly interrupted. "I'll see you in a bit. Pick me up at the tunnel?"
Actually… “I could just make you one, you know?” I offered. “With my power. It’s sorta influenced by what I want to make, so with the right fabrics, I can just combine them into a dress.” I said, still choosing not to ask where Tifa was getting her money from.
Tifa seemed to consider that before she grabbed me by the arm. “Let’s go then!” She exclaimed, sounding oddly excited at the idea. And it was only after that I realized what I had just signed my self up for.
A shopping trip.
…
“Well… I guess I know your tastes,” Tifa remarked, looking down at the deep blue, almost violet dress she wore. It was made of silk that was… liberated by various pillows and pajamas for the valuable fabric. It was some kind of cocktail dress -- sleeveless with a deep cleavage line and without the sports bra that she wore… Tifa’s breasts practically spilled out from the dress. Not to mention just how short the skirt was.
“Er-” There was absolutely no safe answer to that, so I wasn’t going to say anything. “I think it’s partly because there wasn’t enough fabric-” I started to defend myself, but Tifa cut me off with a giggle and a smile as stepped out of the elevator once we reached the top floor. She did a small twirl, making the somewhat loose and dangerously short skirt fan out a bit. I was impressed she could do that in high heels.
“I never would have guessed that we have the same taste in dresses,” She teased. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she liked it given her outfit of choice was a micro-skirt and a tank top. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
I’m pretty sure she meant to imply that I was a crossdresser, but instead I went with, “You look amazing.” I said at last because I had been too tongue-tied to say it before. In comparison, I looked that much worse with my hacked at haircut that was growing back out and my dirt-cheap suit that barely fit.
Tifa flashed me a dazzling smile as I stepped out of the elevator. True to my word, I heard smooth jazz playing over the speakers. Looking to my right, I saw the Tin Roof Club. A place that was upscale without a reservation list extending months in advance, making it the perfect fit. Even better, as much as it was a club, it was a damn good restaurant according to everyone.
“Thank you,” Tifa said, a pleased smile on her face as we approached the club. I smiled back in response and opened the door to make the music louder. As far as clubs go, it wasn’t the rave and dance kind. More of a lounge, like the Iceberg. There was an open bar on one wall, a stage, and seating around the stage while windows revealed the city skyline.
I flashed a two at the hostess and she nodded, leading us through a rather full club. A band played smooth jazz on the stage while various people listened as they spoke and ate. Tifa and I were seated by a window just close enough to the stage that we could hear the music without having to shout to speak to each other.
“So... Vergil… do you… have to- I mean, with the money,” Tifa started, sounding like she was unsure how to phrase the question. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at the serious topic, though I was hoping to avoid it. I looked down at my menu for a long moment, my gaze lingering on a steak.
“You could buy ingredients with it -- like what you did with my dress, and you could sell them. It might not be five million, but you could…” Tifa started, trailing off when I sighed.
“Mr. Cobblepot doesn’t know about the combine aspect of my powers,” I told her, making her eyes widen. “As far as I’m aware, the only thing he’s seen is that my cards can store stuff. The only people that have seen me combine anything are you and a woman named Carla back when I was getting back what was stolen.”
“And you don’t want him to know,” Tifa ventured, earning a nod from me.
I was walking a tightrope with damnation underneath me. I had to be useful to Mr. Cobblepot and I had to pay what I owed him. But if I was too useful then he wasn’t going to let me go. No matter what he said, or how he dangled the bait of pure freedom in front of my face. If I could prove that I could turn half a million into five? Or ten? Or more? He’d dig his claws into me so deep that I was never going to leave the mob.
He’d own me until my dying day.
Likewise, I had some level of his attention and protection -- not contributing enough would lose me that. What I needed was to find a middle ground. Useful but not so useful that he never let’s go.
The simplest way to do it was to convince him that he was better off letting me be a freelancer. Then once he gave me an ounce of rope, I would take a mile.
“I don’t. I don’t want anyone to know. So, if I suddenly start dropping huge amounts of money towards my debt, then he’s going to get suspicious. He’ll investigate and find out that I can do more than I’ve been letting on, so I’ll lose whatever trust I’ve built up with him on top of him refusing to let me go,” I explained, thankful for the music that helped keep what we talked about hidden. “So, I find ways to justify how much I’m bringing in. He might be suspicious of something, but I doubt he’ll jump to the possibility that I can combine things with my cards.”
Meaning that this half a million would become something that could justify me making five million over the months.
Tifa clammed up when a waitress arrived and we both ordered. When the waitress left, she continued in a quiet tone, “If you’re sure…” She trailed off, a guilty expression passing over her face before she let out a small sigh that was nearly lost in the sound of the music. “I might be able to help. A bit.”
I’m not exactly sure how she would be able to help, and upon seeing my confusion, she clarified. “You know how there’s… kinda a gang war going down in the East End?” Tifa questioned, and I had heard something about that. As it was, gangs fought all the time. However, when the gangs were large enough and fought consistently, then it was called a war.
“Yeahhhh…?” I knew exactly where this was going.
“Well, I kinda go there. Just walk around. And then someone stops me to do… something to me, and I beat them up and take their money,” Tifa admitted and that was such a fucking relief that I could only compare it to the relief I felt when I gained half a million dollars. Now the guilt melted away into confusion because I couldn’t keep my relief off my face. “What? What did you think I was doing to get the money?”
There was absolutely no way in hell I was answering that question. “I’m glad you’re kicking ass, but how is that going to help?” I questioned, changing the subject. But, judging by how Tifa’s eyes narrowed, she suspected what I had suspected. And, thankfully, unlike me, she was right.
“Sometimes the guys, they have drugs on them. I usually just throw them in the trash can, but… if we’re doing this… I could bring them to you.” She explained, and I saw what she meant. And I saw a path of opportunity open up before me. My eyes drank in Tifa -- her dress looked professionally made. I made it out of cheap pillows and rolls of fabric.
What would happen if I mixed cocaine with… crack? Or heroin? Or any one of a thousand drugs that I could easily get my hands on in this festering city? I could create a super drug. A drug that could make the highest of highs and sell for thousands of dollars. With it, I could pay off my debt in a month.
And… I wouldn’t.
I was rotten. I don’t know if I’ve always been rotten, but doing that deal just proved it to me. But I had lines. Creating drugs was one I would step over. No matter what. I’d rather die.
“Vergil? I’m about to get the wrong impression if you don’t stop looking at my chest,” Tifa remarked. That was enough to jolt me out of my thoughts. I quickly looked up to Tifa’s eyes and saw that she had a thoroughly unimpressed expression on her face with an eyebrow cocked in my direction. And… fair. “I’ll just take it as a compliment.”
I nodded, “I was thinking about what you said. If you bring the drugs to me, I could combine similar versions and increase the purity. They’ll sell for more that way and it wouldn’t have a chunk bitten out of it by Mr. Cobblepot.” Understanding flooded Tifa’s gaze. She bit her lip in thought, her gaze drifting down as she wrapped her head around the idea.
“Okay. That’s what we’ll do… and your lesson are back on,” Tifa decided. “Your leg seems pretty healed up, so we’re going back to sparring. You’ll need it.” To that, I nodded. I didn’t particularly care for fighting, but that was before my life could possibly depend on how well I could throw a punch. Now I was going to learn everything that I could.
“Sounds good to me. Maybe now I can actually spend some time on it now that I won’t be running myself ragged,” I remarked, and Tifa nodded sagely. What I had been able to learn in a spar was greatly limited by my endurance. And two weeks ago, I had been in a perpetual state of exhaustion.
“It’ll take you a long time to get really good, so don’t go picking fights,” Tifa warned, not for the first time. I swallowed a remark at what she just admitted to being the source of her income. The difference was that she could actually fight.
“I hear you. I’ll turn tail and run when I see Batman instead of throwing hands at him,” I agreed with a nod of my head. Actually, now that I thought about it… “Have you seen Batman? I figured a gang war would be right up his alley.”
Tifa shook her head, and I felt… disappointed. But before I could dwell on it, she continued. “I haven’t, but I’ve seen evidence of him. I’ll walk by an alley and there are a dozen people in it unconscious, stuff like that.” Huh.
“Has he seen you?” I questioned, feeling odd. Last I heard, Batman was hunting for Waylon. And judging by how I had seen Waylon earlier this morning, he hadn’t found him. Now Tifa was walking by his work in alleyways. For a lack of a better way to say it, it felt like Batman was circling around me. I wasn’t in his sights yet, but I would be eventually. And…
Before I could think any deeper on, a plate was set before me. I looked down at it, blinking, and saw the most delicious looking steak I had ever seen. I mean, I knew I was looking at it with rose-tinted glasses given my current diet, but…
I didn't even say anything. I just dug in and it tasted absolutely divine. Tears stung at my eyes as the juices of the steak flooded over my tongue. The meat was tough and poorly seasoned but it was the best thing that I had ever eaten. It was almost like the tea that Mr. Cobblepot gave me.
"Jack," I started after a long minute of just devouring the steak like it was the last meal I would ever have. "And the others… the next time I have the money, I'm taking them all here." They deserved to eat more than cheap trash food.
That would be the start. When I was rich -- Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Oliver Queen combined levels of fuck you money -- I was going to put the DC version of Gordon Ramsey in the 7th Heaven. And every day everyone there would eat like kings. I wouldn't accept anything less.
"I think they'll like that," Tifa said, giving me a smile I couldn't quite describe with a gentle look in her eyes. Her own food was similarly devoured, so naturally, she started picking at my fries. I would be upset, but my stomach had shrunk to the size of a peanut so I was absolutely stuffed. "I was talking to them, you know? Most of them are saying that 7th Heaven is the best place they've stayed. The shelters… apparently they aren't safe."
I wasn't surprised. This was Gotham city.
"I'm sure having Waylon helps a lot," I remarked, watching balefully as Tifa stole another fry. As brief as his visits were, Waylon made an impression. And the threat of being eaten by him if you broke the rules -- no steal, no fighting and so on -- was one hell of a deterrent to not break the rules. Enough so that we haven't had any problems. To that point, Tifa nodded.
"When I'm walking around… I see other homeless people on the streets," Tifa started, a sad look in her eyes. "They don't have anywhere to go. Vergil… it's… it's like they're just waiting to die when winter comes."
"Then bring them to 7th Heaven," I said with a nod of my head, knowing what Tifa wanted to ask. If anything, I was caught off guard she was asking. I figured the new faces were her doing.
"...Thank you… do you think we could do something like spreading the word? I know we can't help everyone, but I want to help the ones that we can." That was a sad fact. Gotham had an utterly insane homeless population. Out of the ten million people that lived in this hellhole of a city, for some reason, it was estimated about two hundred thousand of them were homeless.
That was more than twice the runner up.
"Yeah. Winter is going to be rough. We'll do what we can." I had money. I was going to make more. I was in a position to help, so I was going to. I could see it in how Tifa was looking at me -- a gentle pride that I didn't deserve. I was doing it to soothe my conscious. To balance the karma scales.
Because when it can right down to it… selling drugs to help the homeless? No matter how I looked at it, that sounded like some bullshit someone used to justify doing something they knew was wrong. So they wouldn't feel bad about it. So they could lie to themselves that they were a good person.
I was a lot of things, but I wasn't a good person. I refused to delude myself. Good intentions don't justify evil.
I helped Jack and the others because they had helped me and they were depending on me. That didn't make me good. It didn't wash away the blood on my hands or make up for the lives the drugs I sold would destroy.
"Would you care for dessert, or should I bring the check?" A young waitress asked, smiling at both of us. Strawberry blonde hair pinned up, a black uniform with the nametag marked with Holly.
"Lava cake," I decided, making Tifa send me a Look. But that didn't stop her from ordering beignyays.
"You look like you're about to burst. Do you even have room for dessert?" She questioned, much to the amusement of Holly.
"There's always room for dessert." It was a human evolutionary trait -- a secondary stomach meant for desert. Holly walked off to grab them, leaving us alone.
"You're like a child," Tifa teased. I cocked an eyebrow.
"Alright then. I'll eat both deserts." I'd do it too. That got a laugh out of her. I was glad to hear it. The tension eased out of her as we left heavier topics behind. “How has everyone been at 7th Heaven? Only Jack and Tony really talk to me.” And I had been an absolute ass when I was recovering because I was cooped up for days.
“They’re doing good -- Darla has been helping me out with managing everyone and they’re wanting to do a communal pot instead of keeping their cash to themselves. I think you’ve inspired a lot of them with just how much you donate to make sure everything is working,” Tifa said, her eyes sparkling when she started to talk about the 7th Heaven. “Stuff like food or clothes. Since not everyone would be able to provide for themselves.”
“That’s good… I guess since more people are coming, I should look into expanding the water reservoirs.” Calling them that made them sound a lot nicer than they were. It was a few barrel drums liberated from back alleys, some tarp, and a filtration system that was connected to the pipes. It was more complicated than it needed to be considering I could just hook them up to the city water system, but the Joker and Scarecrow have both poisoned the city's water system before. Several times. “Maybe we should look into finding some other places. I’m sure Waylon knows a few.”
“I’d like that. We could set up a couple of different shelters -- the official ones do what they can, but we can help the people that slip through the cracks.” Tifa agreed, latching onto the idea. Then she blinked at me. “Why are you smiling like that?”
I hadn’t realized that I was smiling at all. “You like helping people,” I said with a small shrug of my shoulders, a simple observation.
Tifa looked down at her beignyays for a moment, “I like making a difference.” Tifa agreed before she glanced up at me, “don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure about that, but I liked that I was able to pay back Jack and the others for helping me out. “I’m happy that they’re happy.” That answer seemed to satisfy Tifa. Unlike her, I wasn’t driven by some mission to do good for goodness sake, or to leave the world a better place than when I found it.
I just wanted me and mine to be safe and happy.
“Are you ready?” I asked, mopping up a bit of fudge with my finger and licking it off. Both of my plates were polished to a shine. Same with Tifa’s. She nodded and I put down money for the meal.
“I just have to use the ladies’ room real quick,” Tifa said, suddenly getting up and moving towards the bathroom. I nodded in acceptance, content to listen to the music until my phone started ringing. Blinking in surprise, I looked down to see that the caller ID read Unknown. But given only a very select few had my phone number, I was pretty sure I knew who it was.
"I'm calling in the favor," Jeremiah informed the moment I accepted the call. "Just one. Then we'll be even." Meaning that the one favor was worth half a mil in cash and half a mil in cocaine. That was a worrying sign.
"When?" I asked, my tone business.
"Tomorrow. We'll take a trip to Bludhaven and back. You'll be moving some serious weight," Jeremiah informed with a note of excitement in his tone. "Guns. Big guns. We're going to rule these streets when we're done," he said, making me take in a sharp breath.
Guns.
"I don't want to know. Just tell me where to be," I said, keeping my voice level. Jeremiah rattled off his answer and time, then I abruptly ended the call. I really didn't need to know what I was transporting.
Guns. I had known that there was a gang war going on, but I didn't think Jeremiah was involved. Or did I get him involved when we hit the LL to get the money and drugs back?
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was his favor. This, and I owed him nothing. And we would be done. Whatever he did with the guns after was on him.
"Are you ready?" Tifa asked as she returned, a smile on her face. I gave her a wooden one in response and hoped that she didn't notice. She didn't. I stood up and nodded. Tifa hummed contently to herself, hooking one arm around mine and leading us out of the restaurant. Our waitress, Holly, waved at us as she spoke to a dark-haired woman. Tifa smiled and waved back before we continued, re-entering the elevator and taking us to the ground floor.
"That was nice," Tifa decided. "So much better than cups of noodles. That might have been the best meal I've ever had," she continued. But that bar probably wasn't all that high in the first place considering she lived in the slums, so I didn't let that go to my head. "Do you think we could come back sometime?"
I hoped so. "Yeah… if things go well, then I won't have to worry so much about money. I'll have a nice steady stream of it that I can kick up to Mr. Cobblepot, so I won't have to with the side stuff," I hoped.
"Good. I'll pay next time," Tifa informed. And fair enough. Equality and all of that. Now that I knew where she got her money, I was a lot less leery of her spending it.
We walked out of the building into a bust street where I flagged down a taxi. I offered Tifa a smile, "Thanks for today," I said, holding the door for her. She blinked at me, a faintly disappointed expression passing over her face.
"You're not coming home?" She asked, making me shake my head.
"I have to speak with Mr. Cobblepot," I told her, making her frown. She knew why, though. But that wasn't how I wanted to end the night. So, with a bit of flourish, I pulled a rose from my deck and handed it to her. That wiped away the frown fast enough as she let out a small laugh.
"Only one?" She teased, accepting that I had to leave. And that she couldn't come with me. "Should I be jealous?"
"Search Mr. Cobblepot on Lex, and you'll find your answer," I returned with a scoff, much to her amusement. "I'll try to get back by tonight. Take care of everyone for me," I said as Tifa stepped by me to enter the cab, twirling the flower pinched between her fingers. As she passed me by, I felt her lips press against my cheek before she flashed me a smile that did downright dangerous things to me.
"Be careful, Vergil," Tifa said, sliding into the car.
"I will," I responded, somewhat stupified. And, with that, Tifa drives off. And judging by the look she gave as she left from the other side of the window, she was fully aware of what that peck on the cheek just did to me. I watched as her taxi left me behind, heading towards the entrance to 7th Heaven.
I… shouldn't be happy about that. Regardless of what Tifa did in the past, she was a kind person. She deserved a hell of a lot better than me. Not to mention that she was totally out of my league. I shouldn't be happy about that.
But the smile on my face never faltered until I reached the Iceberg Lounge.
…
"How's it feel?" Mr. Cobblepot questioned as I sat before him, the money on his desk while Candy counted it out to prove that it was all there.
"Not sure. Hasn't sunk in yet, and I'm about to spend most of it," I answered, sitting before him. The chair was the one worth a million dollars. And I had confirmed it was worth a million dollars. I was so terrified of scuffing the thing, I was hardly sitting on it at all.
Mr. Cobblepot chuckled, "That's how it feels at the start. It won't sink in until you see something that you want that costs enough zeroes that it makes your head spin, but then you realize that you can afford it. He'll, you can afford to but five of them and smash four just because you can." He said, and that sounded like personal experience. "But enough about that. Make your pitch, kid."
In response to that, I pulled out the flowers and vase. Placing them on his desk, I then showed him the fertilizer packets that were meant to go into the water. Mr. Cobblepot rose an eyebrow at me, waiting for an explanation.
"I want to turn a flower shop into a front," I explained. "Flowers have a variety of things that markup the price -- the type of flower, the person making them, the vase, the things that go in it, and brand name. Depending on everything, the price could be as little as twelve dollars to over six hundred." I held up the packet, "a gram of cocaine goes for about thirty to fifty bucks depending on whose dealing it and purity."
Mr. Cobblepot chuckled, a smile growing on his face, but he let me continue. "We replace the fertilizer with cocaine, and attribute the price markup to the skill of the one making the arrangement, the flowers, and the vase or what time of year it is." I swallowed thickly and continued, "It also offers an opportunity for out of city markets. Flowers are given preferential treatment because the cost will be on the distributor for any damages suffered in transit. That includes the quality of the flowers. So, they're pushed through as quickly as possible to avoid eating that cost."
I had done my research. I considered various fronts, but this was the one I settled on. I wasn't sure if the laws matched with my old world, and I would need a second look with a lawyer, but I was confident with my research. Confident enough that I was bringing it to Mr. Cobblepot.
"Given the imprecise nature of flowers -- water, the amounts, the kinds of vases and so on, moving weight becomes a possibility. Considerable weight," I added. Pounds. And depending on how things went, if we reached the level of success needed, we could buy our own trucks needed to move more. "Given my lack of identity, and the capital it would take to purchase an established store -- I believe the most efficient option would be to hire a trained florist, purchase the necessary equipment for them, and progress slowly in expanding our customer base to not arouse suspicion."
We couldn't come right out of the gate selling bouquets that cost hundreds of dollars. That would look way too suspicious. But selling bouquets worth twenty bucks for sixty or eighty here and there? Expanding from there? Then moving into catering or something to justify outrageous amounts of weight? It would take time, but we had time.
"A month into the job, and you want to move into management?" He questioned, amusement coloring his tone. His gaze bore a hole into me.
"I do," I confirmed. There was more money in it, and the odds of me getting my legs broken by Batman diminished considerably. "I'll still take jobs. Especially request ones. But I would like to move into a management role."
I had a plan. Use the flower company to justify the amount that I kicked up. Expand it and use part of the income to fuel other projects or for materials that I could then turn into things for Jack and the others. Then, once my debt was paid, I sold the company to Mr. Cobblepot for millions.
Then I was set. With my powers, I could do what I wanted. I could use those millions to become a billionaire. I could use the money to bury my past and become a hero. I could do or be whatever I wanted.
Not only did money buy happiness, but it bought freedom as well.
"Alright, Vergil St. Jude," Mr. Cobblepot said before he stuck out a hand for me to shake. "Welcome to the big leagues."
"Thanks for having me," I lied as I shook his hand.
Comments
Sean patrick
>somebody stole a front porch Can't have shit in Gotham
