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See No Evil: Cleaving(ch. 9)
🕑 Added 2020-09-02 14:17:53 +0000 UTCI awoke with a start, flinching bad enough I lost my tedious balance on the edge of my bed and came crashing to the ground. I landed with a thump and a groan, the impact enough to firmly wake me up. My eyes fluttered, my eyelids feeling like sandpaper, telling me that I desperately needed more sleep. But I wasn't going to get any. I could never fall back asleep once I woke up.
Laying on the ground, I looked up at the ceiling for a minute as I laid tangled in my blanket. The train car metal roof had been scrubbed and cleaned of cobwebs, revealing a metallic color that lacked a shine. My bed itself was two back seats connected with a bucket and some cardboard, comfortable enough to sleep on but that was the kindest thing I could say about it.
I closed my eyes, recalling the snippets of the nightmare that had woke me up. I couldn't remember all of it. Just enough and the overpowering sense of dread that had woken me up.
A sigh escaped me as I pushed myself off the floor and pulled myself into a sitting position on my bed. Dragging a hand down my face, I sighed again before pulling up my pants leg to check on my wounds. Where I was shot was still tender and it ached -- I had really pushed myself way too far getting the drugs and money back. It had been two weeks since the deal that went wrong, and my body still hadn't recovered.
But, according to Dr. Thompkins, I only had about a week left before I was back to normal. So long as I did my exercises and used my crutch when I felt any pain.
"Time to start the day," I decided as I pushed myself up. The train car had been trained into a small living house and each room was marked with curtains. It didn't do anything to keep the noise out, but it gave the illusion of privacy. And that was enough for me to get undressed even though I was surrounded by people.
Shrugging on a black and white wool sweater jacket thing that lacked a hood-- I had found it in a bargain bin and repaired it with other clothes. The same with a pair of charcoal black pants and a pair of boots liberated from the dump. There was some pain in my side and leg, but I knew from experience once I limbered up, I would be fine. With the final touch, I grabbed a hairband and gathered what was left on my hair on the back of my head and tied them off into a short ponytail, or whatever it was called.
The myth that all girls could cut hair was exactly that -- a myth. Tifa had attempted to clean up my hair, but apparently she had never used clippers before. Which she neglected to mention. So now I could either shave my head, or I could deal with a slightly ridiculous hairstyle for a bit until my hair grew back in.
Pushing my curtain to the side, I saw a long hallway marked with curtains hung up on the handrails. A few were open to reveal beds like mine on the chairs while others were still closed, people softly snoring. I started to walk, only to hesitate for a moment before I turned back to look into my room. On the bed were two cards that I had stared at until I fell asleep.
Murder Weapon. Cursed Series.
Kilos of Cocaine. A-Rank item.
I recalled both of them to my deck before I started walking. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I stepped out of the train car and took in the steadily changing appearance of 7th Heaven. There were more people, dozens of them now. The platform was mostly used as a service area for food with the bathrooms being repurposed to be a shower thanks to my powers and an illegal line into the water system. The makeshift tents were replaced with cardboard to make makeshift homes.
It looked good. Vastly better than sleeping in a sewer.
"Vergil," I heard Jack say, waving me over towards a barlike structure. It was a long table with various stools that were refurbished by me or stolen from someone somewhere. He held up a cup with the arm that wasn't in a cast. After a month, he looked better. He had a scar that clipped his eyebrow, and one on his lip making his beard split noticeably, but the bruising had faded and the swelling was gone. He looked a lot better.
"Jack," I greeted as I took a seat before he passed me a cup with a familiar black liquid. I wasted no time taking a sip and sighed in relief as the bitter taste of coffee washed over my tongue. It was good. Not just because I needed it, but because I had grinded away at the coffee tier to end up with a B-Rank light roast grind. "Thanks."
"You look better," he remarked, giving me a sideways glance as we turned to face a wall that was slowly being turned into shelving. Various items, like a coffee pot, were resting on it for public use. I think Tifa's goal was to turn it into a restaurant-like place in terms of appearance. "Still don't look good, but better."
"You of all people don't get to say that to me," I said with a smile as I shot him a look. Jack chuckled as he took a sip of his own coffee.
"Eh, fair enough I guess," he agreed. "But you look like you have a lot on your mind. Worried about going back to work?" He asked with some hesitation. I gripped my coffee and looked down at it for a moment. The area around my eye was still a blackish yellow, but my lip had healed.
It was an open secret that I was working for the Penguin. No one had said anything about it, other than thank yous for when I brought in money or supplies. But beyond those thank yous, most people avoided me. And I couldn't really blame them for it. I was a member of the mob and the Penguin's Mob was utterly ruthless.
"Yeah… I am," I admitted before I took a slow sip of my coffee. "I'm not a hundred percent, but I'm good enough to return to the job." If anything, I was surprised that Mr. Cobblepot gave me two weeks to recover. It might have been because I was kicking up money because of my side job, but I half expected for the mob to come kicking my metaphorical door down to drag me back to work for the past couple of days.
"Worried enough you're losing sleep over it?" Jack questioned. I lowered my cup, considering what had kept me up at night.
"No… had a nightmare," I told him, still recalling snippets.
"About what, kid?" Jack asked, not bothering to disguise his worry.
"I… well… I don't really remember most of it. But what I do remember was… I was standing in Mr. Cobblepot's office, and there was this guy sitting in a chair across from me with a bag over his head. Mr. Cobblepot told me to shoot him… and I did," I said, and I could still feel the buck from the gun when I had committed cold-blooded murder. That moment had wormed its way into my nightmares more than once. "He died. But when the mask was removed… I was the one sitting in the chair. And, like, my perception changed or whatever, so I was looking at myself with the gun. And…" and I felt myself die. "And that's when I woke up."
There was a beat of silence from Jack as before he muttered a quiet curse. "It was just a dream, kid. The stress getting to you. Nothing like that is going to happen -- you're dealing pot and selling junk. He's not going to murder you for messing up a deal like that." He was assuming the best of me. He shouldn't. I kept telling him, everyone, that they shouldn't but they kept thinking that I was a good person.
"Maybe… but I think he gave me a test a couple of weeks ago. Not the one to see if I would talk to the cops. A… well… to see what I would do with an opportunity," I said, taking a deep sip of my coffee and drained what was left of it in one go. "I have about… half a million in cocaine on me at the moment… and I have absolutely no clue what I should do with it," I said, making Jack choke on his own coffee.
"Half a- in cocaine?" Jack whispered lowly, knowing better than to shout something like that. I nodded slowly.
"Yup," I confirmed with a slow nod. "I know what he wants me to do, but… I mean… cocaine is like, a real drug, you know? It's not like pot. It's… it's a real drug. It can ruin your life, get you addicted, and… yeah," I trailed off, wishing that I had more coffee. "He wants me to sell it. He wants me to get addicted to success and money."
And it was working. That tea tasted awful but it was the single most delicious thing I had ever tasted before.
"Selling it is the smart option. It's a real chance to make some headway into my debt. It's a way to improve this place because people are going to keep coming. That five thousand I brought is already gone," I continued grimly. "It's… it's the smart option."
Jack let out a small sigh, "It sounds like you know what you want to do, but you need some convincing to actually do it. So, kid, is that what you want me to say? That you should sell it?" He asked, making me clench my jaw.
"Drugs ruined my dad's life. And I hate them. I'd rather die than do them. And I'm thinking about selling them. I… am I doing the right thing? Because I don't know." I told him quietly. Then I shook my head. “No, that’s bullshit. I know it’s wrong. I hate drugs but whenever I look at that bag, all I see is… opportunity." I saw money. I saw opportunity to drastically make more money. I could buy items to resell and drastically increase how much I was making. I could…
I could do so much with half a million dollars.
Jack was silent for a long moment, considering that. "Right or wrong… left or right, it doesn't matter, kid," Jack decided. "What matters is what you do and what you have in your heart. And you don't have evil in your heart. And selling drugs… it isn’t on you if someone buys them. You aren't responsible for their actions. So… do what you have to do to settle up with Penguin. You don’t have any choice."
There was a lengthy silence after that as I mulled over what he said. It was a justification, but… I couldn't buy it. I just couldn't. Maybe I wasn't responsible for other people's actions, but I was responsible for mine.
My back wasn't against the wall. I had a choice. I had choices. I could destroy the drugs. I could hand them over to the police. I could just dump them somewhere. Or I could hand them back to Mr. Cobblepot and arrange for someone else to deal them for a diminished cut. But… I had two weeks to think on the question of what I should do with the drugs. And I had so many ways to turn that half a million into a million.
"No. I have choices. Bad choices. But I have them," I decided. "If I'm going to do this I'm not going to hide behind excuses. I'm selling the drugs because I want the money." It was the ugly truth, but I'd pick it over the pretty lie any day.
Jack looked at me for a moment before he nodded. "Can't say I would do any different, kid. Or anyone. That's a life-changing amount of money, and when you're as deep in the hole as you… anyone who'd say they do different is a liar," He reassured. I was thankful for it, but it wasn't necessary.
Before we could fall into another lengthy silence, I saw a hand carrying the coffee pot refill my cup. Looking up, I saw Tifa giving me a smirk. "I don't know how you drink it like that," she remarked, not for the first time. Her warm reddish-brown eyes lingered on my face, "Your bruises look better."
"I don't know why you bother with coffee at all with how much chocolate syrup you put in yours. Just put a straw in the bottle and skip the middleman," I shot back. Tifa's smile grew as she gestured to Jack before topping him off as well.
"Because I have taste buds that weren't burnt off," Tifa returned. "Are you going out today?" She fished for information. Just like it wasn't a secret that I was working for the Penguin, it wasn't a secret that Tifa didn't like that I was. As my bruises faded and as my wounds healed, her concerns grew. Worse, given how I collapsed in her arms a few weeks ago, I couldn't blame her for being apprehensive.
"I am. Not for Mr. Cobblepot, but I have some deals for today. After them, I'll probably go scavaging for stuff to refurbish," I reassured once I saw the look of worry.
"I'll go with you," Tifa decided and I heard Jack chuckle into his cup. "With you looking how you do, someone's going to try to rob you for sure."
I cocked an eyebrow, "What happened to me looking better?" I did look better. Two weeks wasn't enough to replace all the weight I had lost or repair the damage done to my body, but I didn't look like a skeleton anymore. 7th Heaven had a growing population, but there was enough that no one went to bed hungry.
"You do have a very muggable face," Jack observed, saving Tifa from having to answer. "Especially with whatever the hell that is," he continued, flicking the small lock of hair hitting out from the back of my head. To that Tifa looked embarrassed.
"Sorry," she muttered, and not for the first time.
"It's fine. Hair grows back," I dismissed, also not for the first time. I took a long sip of my coffee, draining it dry before I stood up. Other than a pang of soreness in my leg, I was fine. "I'm about to head out, are you ready?"
"Just a second," Tifa said, rushing off to get changed in something other than a skirt and a tank top. Jack chuckled again into his coffee before he let out a sigh.
"Do what you have to, Vergil. No one here will blame you for it," he said after a moment.
And out of everything so far, that did make me feel a bit better about what I was going to do.
…
Tifa wore a white turtleneck sweater, leggings, and her usual miniskirt over them. Compared to about a month ago when we were both dressed in clothes unfit for winter and reaking of shit and the dump, it was a clear step up.
I let out a small sigh as I checked my phone, for the fifth time in about a minute. It was ten minutes after I was scheduled to meet a buyer, but he hadn't sent anything about him being late. Or responded to a text telling him that I was in the spot where we agreed to meet. As I sighed, a cloud of fog formed -- a month since I arrived in Gotham and winter was creeping up. It hadn't snowed yet, but it was cold enough to at night.
"I don't think they're coming," I commented, turning to Tifa.
"It's early. They could just be sleeping in," Tifa argued. It was eight in the morning, so it was a possibility.
"Then why schedule this time if you were just going to miss it by sleeping in?" I grumbled as I crossed my arms. If you make an appointment, stick with it. If you can't for whatever reason, then call ahead to let people know you were going to be late. Just not showing up wasn't acceptable.
Tifa chuckled, "You would say that. I don't think I've seen you get more than eight hours," she remarked. To that, I could only shrug.
"I'm a creature of habit," I agreed. And getting up at six-thirty was one of those habits.
Tifa let out a noise of amusement, then one of contentment as we people watched for a moment. The sidewalks were busy, the roads were packed -- despite the chill in the air, Gotham was very much awake and alive. Looking at it, I could almost pretend that Gotham wasn't a festering shithole of a city.
"You know," Tifa decided, taking a sip of her chocolate and salted caramel latte. "This isn’t so bad," she continued.
"The latte?" It had better taste good. The thing was like ten bucks.
"No- well, yes, but I meant this," Tifa clarified, giving me a mock glare. "7th Heaven is really coming together, and everyone is really happy and grateful. Especially to you," she added and I resisted the urge to shrug. "None of them had anywhere else to go, and they're making a home for themselves. We're not on the run anymore, and you can actually walk… so, this. This is nice."
I glanced at Tifa for a moment before I settled into my uncomfortable seat. "Yeah, it is," I agreed. With that, we fell into a comfortable silence as we waited for the buyer to show up. But, as the half-hour mark rolled by with nothing to show for it other than some small talk, I came to the only conclusion that I could.
"They're not coming," I said, standing up. Tifa let out a small sigh as she was forced to come to the same conclusion. Taking out my phone, I shot them a short text informing them that I was leaving and if they still wanted the game console, they had a small window before I contacted the next buyer. "We have some time to kill before the next meeting. We should-"
I started, only to cut myself off as I looked out at the street in search of something to help kill the time. My gaze landed on a familiar face despite the few faces I actually knew. But his was one I swore to memorize despite how briefly we had seen each other.
"We should what?" Tifa questioned, giving me an odd look.
"Uh, just one sec," I said, looking both ways before I crossed the street. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the card that I kept my money in. So much of it went into buying items for 7th Heaven, but more of it went towards my debt. Out of the five thousand dollars that I was given by Mr. Cobblepot, I only had about a hundred left. I had to spend money to make money with my power.
I made my way to the guy, "Hey, excuse me?" I called out, getting his attention. He looked faintly confused and there wasn't a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. But it was him. His face was seared into my brain. "You probably don't recognize me, but about a month ago, you gave me twenty bucks when I asked for directions."
"Oh," he muttered, blinking at me, "Yeah, I remember that. You look like you're doing a lot better, sort of," he said with a friendly smile, his gaze lingering on the fading bruises.
"Yeah, I am," I agreed with a smile, "black eye aside. And sorry for stopping you, but I wanted to thank you and I wanted to pay you back." I pulled out my money, all of it, and held it out to the guy. And my only regret was that the buyer was a no show so I couldn't give him more.
"You don't-" he started, waving the gesture off, but I interrupted.
"That twenty bucks probably saved my life," I interjected. "And ever since I got my feet underneath me, I've promised I was going to pay you back even if I had to hunt you down to the ends of the earth. I… a good turn deserves another, and all of that. So, please," I said, holding the folded bills out to him.
"It's not going to cause you any problems?" He questioned and when I shook my head, he smiled broadly. "I'm glad you didn't spend it on beer and you're doing better for yourself."
"Thank you," I said, not just for the kind words, and offered a handshake. "Vergil St. Jude."
"That's a hell of a name. Uh, Preston Smith," he said with a laugh as he shook my hand. "I have to get to work, but I walk this way pretty much every day, so if you ever need to find me for anything, you know where I'll be."
I nodded, letting go of his hand. "I guess I'll see you when I see you, then. Thank you again," I said, and got a friendly smile and a nod before Preston walked off. I watched him go and felt good when I stuffed my hands into my pockets and went to return to Tifa, who had watched the entire interaction from across the street.
I was officially dirt broke, but I felt content. I had the opportunity to follow through, and I did regardless of it being more convenient to pretend I didn't see him and wait until I was flushed with cash to pay him back. All things considered, I probably shouldn't, but I felt proud of myself.
"Who was that?" Tifa asked as I neared, glancing at the direction Preston had left in.
"When I first arrived here, he had helped me out a bit. I went up to him for directions to a pawnshop, he gave me a twenty." I explained, making Tifa perk up. "I was paying him back and thanking him."
Tifa gave me a soft but proud smile. While I could tell that she wanted to make a comment, she didn’t since she knew I would get embarrassed about it. I was thankful for it. Instead, she asked, “Why did you need to go to a pawnshop?”
“I had my phone when I arrived and I sold it. I used the money to buy beer and snacks for Jack, which is how I met them,” I explained before I gave Tifa a look. I had my phone and my clothes, but she didn’t have any kind of materia or anything like that? Either it hadn’t made the trip, which seemed a little arbitrary, or it had been taken from her before she was stuffed in that box.
Then I looked around, recognizing the streets. They looked a lot different in the morning. “Actually, the pawnshop is pretty close.”
“Do you want to go check to see if they still have your phone?” Tifa asked, looking up at me. “If it’s yours, and what you have left from home…” She trailed off, putting far more sentimental value on the phone than I had for it. She must have seen my hesitance, because she jumped to her feet, “Let’s go check at least. You did say we had some time to kill,” she pointed out.
“I don’t have any money,” I admitted a bit weakly.
“I do,” Tifa responded, grabbing my hand and pretty much drug me behind her. Only to realize that she had no clue where to go. A question weighed on my lips, but I swallowed it down. I knew how I was making money, and Tifa had waved off my offers to share the split with her. Even when I had been bedridden and she was the one selling items in my place.
So, I had absolutely no clue where she was getting her money from. And since I didn’t know, the deal we had made on the rooftop of Dr. Thomkins’ clinic had worrying implications -- that I wasn’t allowed to question or comment on how she helped.
"It's over there," I said, pointing at Blake's, which appeared unchanged since the last time I saw it. They were open too. As much as I wanted to ask where Tifa was getting her money from, I had made the deal, and Tifa more than capable of looking after herself. More so than me, at any rate.
Tifa dragged me into Blake's and I saw the same guy that had bought my phone was behind the counter. "Welcome to Blake's," he greeted with a much friendlier smile than when he had greeted me a month ago. It could be because it was the start of the day rather than the end, but I had my doubts about that. "Can I help you find anything? We have a great selection of TVs for better prices."
Tifa looked at me and I stepped forward, "I had sold a phone to you about a month ago -- here's the receipt," I said, sliding over the slightly crumpled paper, "and I was wondering if you still had it?" I asked as Blake checked the receipt. He blinked at it, then he looked up at me.
"Yeah, I do actually," he confirmed to my surprise. "I was about to just eat the loss and toss the thing since no one would even look at it."
Huh. Honestly, I expected the phone to be long gone by now.
"How much would it be to get it back?" I asked, knowing better than to think that it would be returned for forty bucks.
"Call it eighty for the time spent on my shelf and the time I spent advertising it," Blake offered. Doubling the price was a bit steep.
"Six-" I started to negotiate, only for Tifa to step forward and slid over eight dollars in crinkled twenties. Looking down at them, I saw… was that blood splatter? A few drops of a brown splashed onto the surface of the bills -- something that Blake had no trouble accepting. He counted them out and nodded, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Just one second," he said before he retrieved my phone. I took it from him, looking down at it. In a way, it didn't feel real. I had fully accepted that I was never going to see it again, but now I held it in my hands once again. "Come again," Blake said as we left the building.
"Thank you," I told Tifa, who simply smiled in response. "I'll-"
"You don't have to pay me back," Tifa dismissed. "I'm just glad you were able to recover a piece of home. Does it still work?" She asked, trying to change the subject and I let her. I pressed the power button to see that it wouldn't turn on, but given that the charger needed for it was different than any other I had come across, that wasn't very surprising.
"I just need to power it up," I said, stepping into an alley before taking out my cards. I took out the battery to my current phone before I combined it with my old phone. This time when I booted it up, I saw a familiar logo appear, then a home screen covered with apps. "It works," I said, sending Tifa a smile that she returned.
I had my old phone and more time waster apps than I knew what to do with. I'm surprised that they didn't factory reset the phone, but given that he had to retrieve it from a drawer, I don't think there were any serious attempts at selling it. At the very least, it was good to have it back since it was evidence than I was from a different universe.
"Hey, Vergil," Tifa started, making me lookup. Her expression was serious, prompting me to give her my full attention. "I… overheard what you're planning to do," she informed, and there was no mistaking what she was talking about. I felt my heart go still in my chest, and it was all I could do to not stare at her with wide eyes.
I guess she had hovered around me and Jack before she announced herself with coffee.
I was silent, trying to work out what I should say, and Tifa continued, "I… Vergil, you were half dead the last time you came back from a… a drug deal. I thought you were going to die," she stated.
"I'm sorry," I said, apologizing for a lot more than scaring her. Was buying the phone, going out, some kind of goodbye, or something? I couldn't see her walking away from 7th Heaven, especially when everyone there adored her, but walking away from me was a different story. I had made the offer a month ago. Had she finally wisened up?
Her lips thinned as she gave me an almost angry glare. "If you're going to do that deal, then I'm coming with you," she decided, and that caught me so off guard I could only blurt out a single word.
"What?"
"I'm going with you," Tifa repeated. "You were supposed to be learning how to take care of yourself, but because of your injuries, you haven't been able to. And I don't want to lose you. Everyone in 7th Heaven is depending on you. So, I'm coming with you. Until you can defend yourself at the very least."
"What?" I blurted again before I shook my head, "No, Tifa-" before I could tell her what a horribly bad idea that was, Tifa cut me off.
"We made the deal before you almost died. It's been two weeks, and you still haven't recovered. And now you're doing the same thing -- what if you don't get so lucky the next time?" She pressed, her lips twisting down into a frown. "I agreed because you were right -- Jack and the others need a helping hand, but if something happens to you then the 7th Heaven will crumble. They need you more than they need me."
I shook my head, "Tifa, I appreciate that you want to protect me, but… I'm going to be dealing drugs. I'm going to be ruining people's lives for money."
"Are you planning on leaving everyone in the 7th Heaven to live in a mansion or something?" Tifa questioned and I knew exactly where she was taking the argument, but I could argue the point. Because I wasn't. "What are you going to do with that money?"
I told her.
A brief expression of pain passed over her face, and I knew I had my opening to argue my point. "I told you before Tifa, I was going to become a lot worse than a murder before I was done with Mr. Cobblepot. You don't have to be involved in any of it."
"Drug dealing isn’t as bad as murder," she pointed out.
"That's a matter of opinion," I shot back, leaning against the wall next to her. There was a small beat of silence. "I'm glad you want to look out for me. I am. But you're better off not getting involved in anything that I do."
Tifa glanced at me, a frown tugging at her lips and a determined look in her eyes. "I'm not a saint, Vergil. Before I came here, back in Midgar… I was a member of a terrorist organization," she informed to drive the point home. "Shinra was an electric company that used a substance called Mako to power everything. Except Mako was the blood of the planet. With every flick of a light switch, the planet died just a little bit. So, a group called Avalanche decided to stop them."
Tifa looked away. "Well, I say I was a member of Avalanche, but the cell that I was a part of was disavowed for being too extreme. I… it was never our goal to hurt people. At least it wasn't mine, but people got hurt in our fight for the planet. People got killed. Innocent people that were just living their lives and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it wasn't like every member of Shinra was evil. Most of them were just doing their jobs so they could provide for their families."
Her shoulders slumped as if the confession was deflating her, "Our fight was with those in charge, but we never came close to them. So, we had a plan to destroy a Mako reactor. But… I… I'm honestly not sure if it would have solved anything. Shinra could easily afford to repair the reactor so it would have only delayed things by a month at best. The only people that would be really affected were the people just doing their jobs and their families."
"It sounds like you were having doubts," I commented, earning a breathless laugh from Tifa as she nodded.
“A couple,” She agreed, looking down at her feet with shame.
“If you were having doubts, then-” I started, processing the information. She wasn’t wrong in thinking it would change how I viewed her. By her own words, she was a terrorist that got innocent people killed. I was a murderer, but everyone that I had killed… it was because it was them or me. And I always picked me. Yet, judging her for it rang a little hollow given that I was about to become a drug dealer.
“Why would I go through with it?” Tifa finished for me. She fell silent for a second before she continued, “When I came to Midgar, I… had just lost everything. I was alone, scared, and so very angry with Shinra. Barret, the leader of the cell and a good friend, he took me in. He recruited me, and… at first, it was just a way to get back at Shinra. Then as the anger faded, I saw what Barett kept talking about -- how Shinra was killing the planet, and…” She trailed off for a few seconds.
“It felt like… no matter how bad the choices were… doing nothing was worse,” Tifa finished.
I considered that, resting the back of my head against the brick wall. I hadn’t realized it, but I really had been pushing my expectations on her, hadn’t I? I had labeled her as good, as a hero, so doing what I did -- murder and dealing drugs, it felt like she should be above it. And if she did something wrong, it was because I was dragging her down to a level she didn’t deserve to be on. Like I was making her a worse person just by associating with her.
“Okay,” I gave in. She was right. “If you’re certain… then okay. We’re in this together,” I said, earning a smile from Tifa. It wasn’t a happy one, but a grateful one. For what, I didn’t know.
“We’re in this together,” Tifa agreed. “When are we going to sell the… the drugs?” Tifa questioned, betraying that for all of her talk, she wasn’t quite comfortable with it. And, to be fair, neither was I.
“Don’t know yet,” I said, looking down at my phone. I popped my battery out and put it into my normal phone before I decided to make a call. Pressing the phone to my ear, the ringer managed to get one off before someone picked up on the other end.
"Cobblepot Enterprises, this is Candy," Candy greeted, her voice professional despite her name.
"This is Vergil, I was calling about my sick leave. I think I'm ready to get back to work and do something with the care package Mr. Cobblepot gave me," I said, figuring that I should use code. One thing that I had learned in the past weeks was that while everyone knew Me. Cobblepot was a mobster, he had never gone to jail for it.
It was kinda like Al Capone -- everyone knew, but getting the evidence necessary to prove it was a whole different beast.
"Mr. Cobblepot will be very happy to hear that. Would you like me to patch you through to him?" Candy asked, catching me flat-footed. I shouldn't be, but it still felt like I should be completely beneath Mr. Cobblepot's notice.
"If it wouldn't be any trouble. I wouldn't want to bother him if he's busy," I said.
"It won't be. Mr. Cobblepot has been expecting your call," Candy informed before I heard the line go on hold for a few seconds. I used that time to gather my wits.
"Vergil St. Jude," Mr. Cobblepot greeted me, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”
I swallowed thickly, “I was hoping that you would be able to arrange a deal for the care package you gave me before my accident.” As annoying as it would be kicking up a share to him, Mr. Cobbelpott was undoubtedly my best option when it came to finding a buyer. My second option was Jeremiah, and asking him to help me sell the drugs that he was meant to buy before I had settled up with him would be… awkward.
“Of course I can. I’ll even waive my middleman fee for you, kid, as a welcome back to work. Will you be needing any muscle for the deal?” Mr. Cobblepot questioned, making me glance at Tifa, who looked at me with an apprehensive expression. Having three or four beefy guys was probably the more intimidating option, which is what I imagine would be what you wanted in a drug deal. But given Tifa would be able to wipe the floor with those four beefy dudes, that tipped the scales.
“No, sir. I have that covered,” I said, hearing him chuckle on the other end.
“If you’re sure,” He said before my phone buzzed with a text. “Just sent a location and a time. Be there and don’t be late,” he said, and before he could hang up the phone, I spoke up.
“And if it wouldn’t be any trouble, I was hoping to run something by you? About what I could do with the money?” I said, hearing Mr. Cobblepot pause on the other end.
“What do you have in mind?” Mr. Cobblepot asked. And I told him.
He couldn’t stop laughing, but that was good because it meant that he loved the idea.
I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.
Comments
Blair Shirley
I love the fact that its hinted that Tifa has been going around kicking people's asses, probably thugs, to get her own money. Its a small little touch, but a good one.
Darkarma
Let me guess, a chop shop.
