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See No Evil: Diamonds (ch. 8)
🕑 Added 2020-08-12 14:56:43 +0000 UTC
While Jeremiah gathered up his guys, I looked down at my cards. I had eight refrigerators but five of them were up for sale. I had a game console, three TVs, four dishwashers, two washing machines, and three dryers. All of which were up for sale, meaning that I wasn’t willing to use them for the upcoming fight. Not only would I lose out on money, but they would leave a trail right to me.
That left me with two silenced 9mm pistols, one of which was pristine and half-empty, Murder Weapon, a half-empty can of pepper spray and that was it. Murder Weapon was out simply because if I got into a physical confrontation, then I lost. My face felt battered to hell and back, my side was absolutely killing me and I couldn’t put any weight on my leg. So, that left my guns and pepper spray.
That was twenty-seven filled cards counting my pills. Twenty-five empty cards.
I looked down at the three cards for a long moment, thinking on how to best leverage them. I probably had enough bullets for the raid, especially counting everyone else that was going. However, there was also a really big issue with starting a gang fight at night. A rather obvious one.
Batman might not be able to bust ever drug deal, but a gang shootout? That was right up his alley.
The real issue was that I didn’t have enough silencers to make sure that we could go in quite. So, unless I thought of something, I was going to have to seriously worry about Batman swooping in and beating the hell out of me. Whatever hell I had left in me, at least. And that wasn’t a worry that I needed. Or wanted.
My gaze lingered on the half-empty can of pepper spray.
Then an idea struck me.
“Do you have a fire extinguisher in this place?” I asked the nurse, who was inspecting my bandages to make sure I hadn’t reopened my wounds. She blinked at me, caught off guard by the question. A moment later, she nodded.
“Si,” She confirmed in Spanish before she got up. She gestured me to stay where I was but quickly gave up the endeavor when I pushed myself onto my feet. If I stayed down for too long, then I wasn’t going to get up. I had to keep moving until this was done. Then I could drop. The nurse led me down the stairs, into the kitchen, where the party was still raging. People paid us no mind, too busy smoking reefer and I was glad as hell that my nose was busted so I didn’t have to smell it.
She reached underneath the kitchen sink and handed me a small fire extinguisher, some confusion on her face. Shifting away, so the majority of the people couldn’t see, I slapped a card onto the fire extinguisher.
Nearly Expired Fire Extinguisher. F-rank
I looked at my Half-Empty Pepper Spray. Taking in a slow breath, I combined the two. The cards fused together, and my eyes shot up when I saw a bronze background. The card itself was labeled: Pepper Spray Infused Fire Extinguisher. C-rank. Meaning that I had just turned my half-empty can of pepper spray into a tank of it. I’m guessing that the concentration would be pretty weak, but that didn’t matter. Once it got in people’s eyes, they were done.
The nurse gave me a wide-eyed look before she shook her head, muttering to herself so lowly that I couldn’t make out what she said because of the music. I’m guessing it wasn’t any particularly flattering. But I looked at her all the same, really wishing I had bothered to pay attention in high school Spanish. I covered my face and nose with a hand, mimicking a mask, then did the same for my eyes.
She gave me a thoroughly unimpressed look, but she nodded all the same. She led me into the bathroom where she pulled out a facemask. It was a black fabric one that looked surprisingly nice. There were two black plastic disks jutted out a bit, serving as filters and hooks around the ears. Then she handed me a domino mask.
Which was, you know, a little weird to keep in your medicine cabinet. Somehow, she must have seen my confusion because she quickly explained. Or tried to in Spanish. When she realized I couldn’t follow, she tried again in English.
“Scarecrow. Joker. Protect eyes and lungs. Robin inspiring,” She explained and realization flooded me. Really said it all, didn’t it? Face masks and eye protection were common items to protect them from the respective gasses of those monsters. I nodded, showing that I understood. She gestured for me to do my thing, and I did.
Makeshift Gasmask. D-rank.
I went to show her the card before I remembered that she wouldn’t be able to see it. So, I took out the mask and showed her. The domino mask was attached to the mask at the ridge of the nose, some kind of sticky substance around the mask to secure it in place. It looked like it would work, so I held it up and asked, “More?”
The nurse smiled brightly at me, realizing I wanted to make more for the others. There were enough supplies to make ten in total, which seemed like a good amount.
“What are you doing with Carla?” I heard Jeremiah announce his presence behind us. I looked over my shoulder and held up my makeshift masks.
Carla smiled brightly at him before she continued on her way before I could thank her. Jeremiah gave me a stern look, but it faded when he took the mask. Then I pulled out the freshly made weapon to explain. “What are you doing with my fire extinguisher?”
“I combined it with pepper spray. I’m thinking that we bust in, spray down whoever we can, and we make this as silent as possible,” I said, making him nod as he looked at the fire extinguisher. He nodded slowly as he sent me a critical look, likely mulling over that bit of information that I gave him. I could combine things. And, more than that, he had no clue what else I had on me.
A little power play. Jeremiah seemed like a decent enough guy and he was smart, but a million dollars was a million dollars.
“You run up with this thing, and blind or not, they’ll fill you with holes," he pointed out. I looked down at the red tube of pain and figured that he had a point. To use it on those inside the hideout, I would already have to be inside the house. Unless we managed to get in quietly, then the element of surprise wouldn't be on our side. And we couldn't do anything like tossing it through a window then shooting it or something to get it to blow up and gas everyone.
Though, it did give me an idea.
I took out a blank card and set it down on the ground before I pressed the sprayer onto it. Taking in a deep breath, I pressed down and I saw a red-tinged smoke flood into the card, wisps of smoke curling upward but hardly anything. The fire extinguisher emptied itself out after about a minute, leaving behind a C-ranked card.
Pepper Spray Infused Smoke Bomb.
Perfect.
"I toss this underneath the door or through a window, we rush in, and we hit them hard before they know what's happening to them," I said, picking up the card. Looking up at Jeremiah, he was giving me a leveled look.
"Are you trying to call the shots here?" He questioned, his gaze sharp. He didn't make a threat. The dangerous edge in his tone did that for him.
"Feel free to ignore me, but I want to get busted by Batman or the cops about as much as you do. If you have a better way, then I'm all for it," I responded, realizing that I had probably overstepped, but I couldn't back down on this. Not when an ass-kicking by Batman was on the line.
Jeremiah's jaw clenched for a moment, but he nodded all the same. "Point. My guys will wrap towels over our guns to keep things quiet," he informed before he jerked his head. "Come on. We're heading out now."
I followed Jeremiah through the crowd that seemed to part ways for him so both of us could slip by. The living room was utterly packed, but no one came close to touching any of us, even as they danced and ground away. So that's what respect felt like.
Walking on to the street, I saw seven others. Each carrying a towel in one hand and a familiar bulge at their pants line. Then they started to snap on the masks and flipping their hoods up.
As soon as I started putting mine on, I knew I looked like an idiot. The domino mask didn't fit in my swollen shut eye, the mask felt like pure hell on my nose and it didn't fit because of the swelling. I wore it all the same -- sealing the domino mask over my good eye and taking deep breaths through my mouth. Once everyone was ready, I flipped my hood up and started walking with the others.
Or I tried to at least. My muscles in my legs were tightening up, long since pushed past their limits before I got shot. Every ache and pain stacked on top of each other until everything just hurt. Even still, I forced myself to keep up with them and ignored their looks hidden behind masks.
Spite and desperation fueled me to keep moving. And the certainty that if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to move an inch.
The two blocks we walked felt like I had run across the country, but Jeremiah tapped on my shoulder and pointed at a run-down, nearly abandoned-looking house that was in questionably in the bad part of town. I said almost because two guys sat on the steps, wearing yellow and green. I'm guessing that they were members of the LL. There was more loud music playing, coming from inside the building.
Jeremiah sent two guys up while we walked out of view. I peeked out, expecting the two guys to jump up, point at the two guys that made their way towards them with pillows in hand, but there was none of that. The guys barely looked up before the two guys fell on them, pressing the pillows down in their faces to muffle the shouting before they started wailing on them. All the while, the others moved up towards the house.
One of the guys that had choked out the guards passed Jeremiah a key to a suspiciously heavy-looking front door. I looked at the two unconscious guys, thumbing my card for a moment.
That was coordinated. And that was probably Batman's fault. He forced the gangs to adapt to survive, even if he was only one man. To survive, they got quieter, more efficient, and deadlier. Looking at the two guys getting dragged away and tied up, I couldn't help but wonder if those ungrateful idiots had a point about superheroes -- that they were just as much as part of the problem as they were the solution.
Jeremiah slid the door key in and opened it, gesturing to me. I limped forward into a house and saw that the interior was just as run down as the exterior. Mold and mildew growing on the faded yellow walls, the wood floors scuffed to hell and back while garbage was littered all over the place. I heard music blasting, but I didn't hear that many voices.
Shuffling inside, I hugged the wall and the other guys followed me in. I swallowed thickly as I looked down at my card.
I was so totally in over my head.
All the same, I flicked the card around the corner, and instantly the reddish-white smoke within the card exploded outward, filling the room. In that same instant, I heard panicked shouts then cries of pain as the pepper spray did its work. I stood at the doorway as the others rushed in, leaving me behind for a split second. Then I rounded the corner.
The six guys had been in the living room, sitting on run-down looking couches. Jeremiah’s guys slammed into them as they coughed and gagged and shouted before they were gagged, the pepper spray smoke bomb doing its work. The room itself was filled with the red-tinged smoke, not so thick that I couldn’t see anything, but heavy in the air.
My gaze swept over the chaos, searching for the money and the drugs like a bloodhound. I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. Through the smoke, I saw a guy sling a bag over his shoulder as he rapidly backed up. The only reason why I saw him was that he tripped over his own feet. The bag itself was one that I recognized.
With my heart jumping to my throat, I moved. Any pain my body was forgotten as pure adrenaline flooded my veins, buying me precious seconds of free movement. Faster than I had ever moved in my entire life, I crossed the living room as he scrambled out of the house through a back door. I sprinted after him, jumping down the steps that he fell down.
He glanced over his shoulder as he rounded the house, one bag over his shoulder and another in his arms. The money and the drugs. We caught them before they could move them. There was an expression of pure panic on his face before he booked it, running away from me as fast as he possibly could.
I ran after him, chasing him through the narrow alleyway. He knocked over a trashcan to slow me down, but I jumped over it. Despite all the adrenaline in my system, I felt an intense flash of pain as I came down on my injured leg, but I ignored it. The guy ran down the street, but not so far that I couldn’t catch him.
Taking in a sharp breath, I sprinted down the street, hoping that Jeremiah had everything else handled. The guy really was booking it, rounding the corner to the block a few seconds before me. At the very least, no one was outside to block my way. I nearly fell down I turned the corner with so much speed, my heart beating at speeds that would make a hummingbird jealous.
As soon as I did, I heard a harsh pop, a sound that I learned that belonged to a gun. If I was hit, then I couldn’t afford to know. The guy continued to run, but he aimed a gun behind him, pulling the trigger and the muzzle flash of his snub pistol was probably the brightest thing I had seen in my entire life.
My mind was locked in fight mode, so I kept running. The distance between us shrank and an expression of extreme fear passed over the guy’s face when his six-shooter clicked empty. He lobbed it at me, trying to drive me away, but I was going to chase him down to the end of the earth if that’s what it took. Sheer desperation drove me forward and it drove me to move that much faster, my legs moving in blurs.
The guy kept running, so distracted by me chasing him down, that he completely missed a street lamp right up until he practically wrapped himself around it. The street lamp shook with the impact and the guy went down like a sack of potatoes. He struggled to breathe by the time I reached him, either because of the impact or the run. But it didn’t matter. I took out two cards and slammed them onto the bags that he was carrying.
Half a million dollars and over ten kilos of cocaine. It was little surprise when both cards were ranked A.
I looked down at the guy, my own chest heaving, the mask giving me some difficulty when getting enough air. He looked up at me, clutching his chest pathetically, prompting me to pat myself down to find that I had no extra gunshot wounds. He missed all six shots. Good. Because I wasn’t sure how I would explain that one to Dr. Thompkins.
"The deal," I rasped out, "God's you know about the deal?" I demanded to know. It took the guy a second to answer, but mostly because of his sputtering gasps of air kept interrupting him rather than an unwillingness to talk.
"I don't know! A guy hit us up just before the deal went down and me and a couple of my guys thought it'd be worth the risk," he explained, his chest heaving."Didn't give his name or anything. Just a time and a place and a price for the info. Ten percent of what we stole."
I saw Vinny talking on his phone as we left, but that was hardly damning evidence. Though, that was suspicious and given that he was already on the list of suspects…
“Stay there,” I told him, backing up to avoid showing him my back. The back of my feet hit the gun that he threw at me and I picked it up, if only because I didn’t want him to run up and grab it again when I turned the corner. I stuffed it in its own card and kept walking away from him, keeping an eye on him. And once I was out of sight, I nearly puked in my mask.
I swallowed it down, my heart still hammering away at my ribs, but I didn’t feel any pain yet. I heard footsteps running towards me, prompting me to pull out my gun, only to find that it was Jeremiah. He slowed to a stop, looking at me with a guarded expression. “Did you get the drugs and money?” He asked, his voice level, not betraying if he had planned on stabbing me in the back or not.
“I have them,” I confirmed, trying to gather myself as I continued to walk forward. “They’re sealed in my cards. They aren’t coming out even if I do kick it,” I added, having no idea if that was true or not, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
Jeremiah got the hint that I trusted him about as much as he trusted me. “I thought you were shot?”
“I was. In the leg and torso. I’m going to be feeling that when I can feel anything again,” I explained, making a gesture of putting my gun away. Though, to my surprise, Jeremiah let out a small huff of laughter and cracked a smile.
“Yeah, you will. The deal is still on. We’re loading up whatever was in the LL hideout. I’ll find you when I want to cash in on that favor,” he informed before he started to back peddle. “You should go to Penguin before he sends someone for you. And maybe toss in a good word for us,” he added before I heard him rushing off.
He was right about that, I thought as I jogged down the streets after peeling off my mask, trying to make the most of the adrenaline that was still in my system. And that had gone about as well as I had hoped it would. I got the money and the drugs. I was only five million dollars still in debt. But, not only that, I had proven that I wouldn’t flip to the cops.
I was hesitant to call it a net win. Especially with the whole, you know, being shot thing and Micky, Joseph and Darren were dead. I had covered my tracks about as well as I could have -- I didn’t leave behind any kind of fingerprints and since I wasn’t in any kind of system, they won’t be able to track me down by DNA. The only real concern if someone in Jeremiah’s gang was going to flip on me, but if the deal was still on, then I doubted it.
My legs started to flare with pain as I made my way down the streets. Looking forward, I saw a bus pulling into a stop, and despite my penny pincher judgment, I got on it after checking out the route. It wouldn’t take me straight to the Lounge, but it would close enough. I handed over the toll and took a seat located by no one else.
Worriedly, I pulled up my pants leg and saw a small spot where blood had soaked through the bandage. About the size of a dime, though I knew that was just where it had soaked through. The other side of the bandage was going to be a lot worse. I resisted the urge to check it and simply rolled my pants leg back down to cover the bandage. The bandage on my side was still white on the entry and exit wound, so I was hopefully good on that.
The pain started to creep in as the bus moved through its stops, some people getting on while others getting off. I gripped the seat with white knuckles, keeping my breathing even as I looked out the window to distract myself. I watched as the buildings slowly grew nicer, moving away from run-down, graffiti-covered slums to run down small businesses. Then to nicer businesses that were located along the water. Those businesses turned into clubs, fancy restaurants, and so on.
In a dozen blocks, it was like I was in a completely different city.
Eventually, I reached my stop. I got some odd looks as I hobbled out of the bus, and when I stole a glance at the dashboard I saw that it was four in the morning. Was Mr. Cobblepot even going to be up? Eh, it didn’t matter. So long as I got him the drugs and the money.
Though, as I stumbled towards the Lounge, paying no mind to the looks I was getting from the few fancy dressed people. What did I do about Vinny? Confront him? Go to Mr. Cobblepot? Try to investigate on my own?
I had no clue.
Stumbling forward, I reached the back door and knocked. The door swung open, revealing a guy that I had seen briefly. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of me, but before he could ask, I spoke first. "Is Mr. Cobblepot in?" I asked, limping through the door. It closed behind me and, to my relief, I didn't see Vinny anywhere. Still was sure what I should do or if I should do anything at all.
"He's in his office in a meeting, but he said if you turned up, you're to be sent there," he informed, making me blink in surprise. I nodded, starting to limp forward while the guy kinda hovered around me. "Do you need some help?" He asked, his hands ready to grab me if I suddenly started to fall.
I did. But I didn't want to show weakness of any kind. Guys like Mr. Cobblepot respected strength and ability, and getting dragged into his office would send the message of strength that I wanted. Limping into his office was bad enough, but it was better than being carried.
"I'm good," I dismissed as I kept the pain off the little of my face that wasn't swollen. "Thanks for the offer," I said, continuing forward. Each step to the ground floor was a step of pure torture but I moved up them all the same. By the time I reached the top, my legs trembled with exertion, thoroughly tapped out of all their strength.
I turned to another set of stairs that would take me to the second floor and started walking up them. I dragged myself up using the handrail, leaning on it for support. Beads of sweat formed on my brow with the simple action and a not so small part of me wanted to just give up and lay there for an eternity.
In the end, my anger had faded. Desperation was gone because I had vastly fewer things to be desperate about. Unlike the last time, I wasn't walking into my potential execution.
Want was kept me moving up the stupidly unreasonable number of steps. Desire. I wasn't even sure what it was exactly I wanted, but that's what fueled each step that I took up the steps. The desire to be seen as strong. To be seen as powerful.
The desire to be at the top.
I reached it, huffing and puffing, sweat soaking through my undershirt. My legs shook like a newborn deer, but I walked forward all the same and reached Mr. Cobblepot's office. Three small stairs were in my way. I paused for a moment before I raised my foot and hauled myself up to the very top.
Then I opened the doors.
Mr. Cobblepot's office changed a bit since the last time I was here. A long table was placed between the stretch of distance between the door and his desk. The table itself was about three times the size it needed to be with more empty chairs than filled. Six men sat at the sides of the table with the seventh being Mr. Cobblepot at the head of the table. His two secretaries stood next to him.
Mr. Cobblepot had a slight grin on his lips and it grew as I walked forward. I felt everyone's gaze on me as I tried to move with as much strength and confidence as I could muster. "Vergil," he greeted, still smiling broadly, like a kid that was told that Christmas came early. "Do you have something for me?"
"I do, sir," I said, placing the two cards on the table and two bags emerged from them. Mr. Cobblepot slapped the secretary with white hair on the ass, a gesture to go grab the bags. I stepped back as she inspected them.
"I'll have to do a count, but it looks like it's all here," she informed, turning to me and giving me a copy smile. Any other time, I probably would have gone weak at the knees, but right now it took all that I had not to collapse in pure relief.
"Most of you probably recognize Vergil here from running low-risk jobs nonstop the past two weeks," Mr. Cobblepot started, speaking to the six men. "Real go-getter. Cases people down over five bucks so there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he would run down. Whoever stole money from me. Even got the drugs to top it off." I saw the six finely dressed men look at me with new eyes, reevaluating me in light of the new information. "Even better, tested his mettle. He won't flip to the cops."
He paused before he took out a cigar from a case and took in a deep drag when his other secretary lit it with a match. "And you just saw his talents. Keep him in mind when you have a job that needs doing," he ordered. That seemed to be some kind of dismissal because the six men nodded before standing. They walked by me, one of which offered a firm nod.
Once the doors closed behind me, Mr. Cobblepot let out a low chuckle as he looked at me. "You look like hell, kid."
"I feel like hell, sir," I admitted. The white-haired secretary grabbed the bags and brought them over to Mr. Cobblepot.
"Tell me what happened at the deal," he ordered me. Then he held up a hand when I swayed dangerously. "Candy, pull up a chair for him. Tracy, be a dear and pour us a cup of tea the good stuff," he ordered. Both women obeyed the orders and I did my best not to completely collapse into the chair that was offered.
"Now, take it from the top. Tell me everything," Mr. Cobblepot ordered and I began right from the beginning. From getting the job to getting food, what happened at the deal, what happened after, and what it took to get the drugs and money back. He listened in silence, occasionally puffing from his cigar. It was only when I had finished that a cup of steaming tea was placed in front of me.
"You think Vinny set you up?" He asked, leaning back in his chair as he took a sip. "Don't hum and haw over it. Tell me what your gut says."
I hesitated for a brief moment before I nodded slowly, "Maybe not me specifically, but I don't know who else could have done it."
"Your gut is right. Vinny did set up for the deal to be ambushed," he informed lightly. "Try your tea. It's best served hot," he said, the words coming out like an order. I looked down at the cup for a moment, briefly wondering if it was poisoned before I realized that if Mr. Cobblepot wanted me dead then there was nothing I could do about it.
I took a sip. The tea was alright.
"Under your orders, sir?" I asked, wondering if it had been a test. Just because Roman didn't know didn't mean Mr. Cobblepot hadn't.
"Can't blame you for thinking that, but no, it wasn't. Vinny was trying to move up the ranks. He was going to pull the same stunt that you pulled -- chasing down the gang that stole the money and drugs, then take them back. All action hero-like." Mr. Cobblepot informed as he looked at me above the rim of his teacup. "The deal you made with the Lost Souls was rather amateurish, but given the circumstances, you couldn't have managed much better. Wouldn't have gotten them back otherwise. B minus. But you get an A+ for effort."
I took another sip of tea, "Can I ask what's going to happen with Vinny?" I questioned, sorting out my feelings about the guy rather quickly. I was fairly ambivalent to the guy in the first place, but getting me shot twice and Micky, Joseph, and Darren killed? I'll just say I wasn't his biggest fan at the moment.
"Currently being dissolved in a tank of acid," Mr. Cobblepot informed with unnerving ease. He took a long drag of his cigar before he started chuckling again at a joke only he knew.
"You know something, kid?" He asked, not pausing to give me a chance to answer. "You remind me of me back when I was your age." I stiffened slightly, pausing my cup of tea halfway to my lips. That got a chuckle out of him. "You're hungry. I saw it two weeks ago when you strolled into my office and I see it now. You aren't hungry for food or water… you're hungry for money. For power."
I was silent, looking at my reflection in the tea. I couldn't recognize myself. The right half of my face was swollen and bruised, my one good eye looked like it was sunken in with a black bag underneath so dark it looked like I had another black eye. My cheeks were gaunt, my hair an absolute greasy mess… my beard was scruffy and uneven in a way it hadn't been since I was sixteen.
But I couldn't argue.
"I was the same way. I am the same way. Born a billionaire but the moment my parents died, I was kicked onto the streets when I was a couple of years younger than you. Didn't have anything to me except for my name and my business sense. It wasn't long before I was running a two-bit gang peddling party favors," he told his story, sounding thoughtful and almost wistful. "Except that wasn't enough for me. I decided I wouldn't stop until I had every penny that was stolen from me and then some. I moved into dealing harder drugs, then weapons, then smuggling and so on. Didn't matter what it took, if it meant that I got what was mine, then I would do it. No questions asked."
Mr. Cobblepot smiled at me, "Any of that sound familiar to you?" He asked. And it did. Like he had ripped a script right out of my head.
"It does," I admitted, finally finishing the sip of my tea. I… the Penguin was supposed to be a bad guy. He was hardly the worst of Batman's enemies, but he was a thoroughly horrible person that cared only for himself and his wealth. There were times he was the borderline comedy relief villain.
And it was deeply unsettling to find out I had so much in common with him.
"Not judging you for it. The exact opposite, actually. I want to harness that hunger in you," Mr. Cobblepot informed, leaning forward. "You're still in deep debt with me, but I know you won't be forever. Five million is an insane amount of money for most people. Damn near impossible to pay back. You? There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you're going to be able to pay me back in full."
He was buttering me up. Flattery.
Oddly enough, it was working. The sheer amount of shit that I went through was being acknowledged and appreciated. Validated. From a guy that looked like Mr. Cobbelpot or a smoking hot woman, that was a great feeling.
“I’d give it a year before you pay me back in full. After that though? Pretty girls, fast cars and more money than you’ll know what to do with. More than enough to keep those bums of yours flush with enough cash that they’ll be set when they can get off the streets,” Mr. Cobbelpot stated, taking a deep puff of his cigar. He was buttering me up while he dropped the knowledge that he did know about Jack and the others. Unsurprising, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“You have that tape. I’m in whether I want to or not,” I replied evenly, keeping my cool.
“True, but if you want loyalty, I’ve learned that the carrot serves better than the stick,” Mr. Cobblepot responded easily, not denying it. “I’ll sweeten the pot for you, kid. When you pay me back, you get the tape of you killing whatshisface.” I swallowed thickly at that, knowing that tape could be the thing that completely sinks my life.
But I considered what he was offering. After I paid up the five million, then I would be free to go my own way. Theoretically, at least. What would I do then? What came after I kicked up five mill? I keep selling refurbished junk? I try to become a hero and hope no one finds out about this part of my life?
Or did I stick with the mob and make incredible amounts of money?
“You have time to think about it,” Mr. Cobblepot informed, realizing that I was giving the idea some serious thought. “As I said, you have about a year if you keep up the hustle. But, let me ask you this, kid… did you like the tea?” He questioned, catching me off guard with the sudden change in topic.
“I… yes, sir?” I said, not exactly wanting to admit it had been rather meh, especially in front of the woman that served it.
“That cup of tea? Worth about half a million,” he informed with a grin in his voice. “The cup your drinking from? Worth about two million. The chair? Another half million. The table? A million and a half. The carpet? Five million,” he informed before he very slowly, very purposely went to thumb off the cigar in his hands directly onto the carpet. A carpet worth the entire debt that I had to him.
Ash fell from the cigar before that cigar was snuffed out directly onto the table. Mr. Cobblepot’s smile grew at my growing abject horror at what I was witnessing. He followed up the action by tossing his cup over his shoulder, the harsh sound of breaking glass nearly drowned out Candy’s sigh.
“You get it, kid?” Mr. Cobblepot questioned after a display of power that I was never going to forget because I believed him. He just ruined near ten million dollars worth of items to prove a point. Because, to him, ten million was a drop in the bucket. He cared as much about ten million dollars as most people would care about a dime. That’s the level of utterly insane amounts of wealth that he had.
And it was that kind of wealth that I wanted.
I looked down at my tea. My half a million dollar cup of tea. I took a slow sip and drained what was left.
It tasted absolutely fucking delicious.
Swallowing it down and feeling it settle in my stomach, I nodded, “Yeah… I got it,” I confirmed. Mr. Cobblepot smiled a broad smile, like a cat that had just caught the canary. I couldn’t blame him for that, I suppose.
“Good,” Mr. Cobblepot said before he opened up the bag with the money. He tossed a couple of rolls into the bag with the cocaine. “And, since I’m feeling generous, I have a finders fee for you.” With that, he pushed the bag filled with cocaine across the table and over towards me. It slid to a stop directly in front of me. “That’s yours. Do what you want with it. Snort it, sell it, burn it -- doesn’t matter. It’s yours to do what you will with.”
I… I looked down at the half-million dollars in cocaine… and I saw nothing but opportunity.
“Get well, kid. I’ll see you when you’re back on your feet.”
…
I stumbled down a familiar tunnel at six in the afternoon, my legs feeling like they had been hollowed out and filled with lead for how heavy they felt. Each step was a task worthy of Hercules himself, but I walked forward all the same as my body screamed for rest. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel and it was 7th Heaven.
It had changed a great deal in the past two weeks. It was cleaned, Christmas lights illuminated the platform that was covered in makeshift homes made of cloth and cardboard. People walked about, all looking rough but relaxed and happy. Most noticeably was the sign that Tifa had sent me a picture of that hung above a small meal area on the platform near the train car.
Tifa walked into view, and it was as if her eyes were drawn to me by a magnet. She blinked once, then twice, then gasped in horror as she saw me shambling my way forward, the only thing keeping me up at this point was sheer stubbornness and my desire to pass out in a bed. “Vergil!” She shouted, sprinting forward and closing the distance between us in a second.
My strength gave out before she reached me, everything going dark.
But I knew Tifa didn’t let me hit the ground.
