A Car in Chicago - 02.15.01
My pager's sizzling on the dashboard. I'm rounding a corner so I can't get to it right away but as soon as I look at the number, I've got a good idea who just paged me. Drunk fucker... Probably stumbled into trouble. Alright, let's play this pony, sweetcheeks.
I hit a redlight, so I pull out my cell and call him back. Gunshots, along with a loud "Fucking Shit Motherfucker! You had to call back now?"
Cute.
"You called me, wonder-dick, remember?" He launches into some spiel I'm only half-listening to. Greenlight. Motherfucker went to settle the job after all. Not drunk. Not lost. Fucking great. He needs some juice and a ride. I remind him that I asked about this shit back in the bar. No head for planning. How the hell is this asshat even still alive? He's gotta be damn good at something or the world's best actor. Fuck it. I'll go get him.
I pull up and there's no-one in sight. I've left him a spare juice box in the garbage can so I'm expecting him out of the alley to my right. That's when I hear his warning shout from above. I spring that shit, thinking something is about to go down. I hit the ground and roll with it, tucking in and springing up, ready for anything. A bloody mass goes soaring overhead into the dumpster on the other side of my car... Motherfucker... He's laughing like it's the best damn joke in the world and then tosses the rest, climbing down the wall like a goddamned spider. The coin's just inside my pocket, an easy grab and then I can have that wall bucking under him slicker than KY... but I didn't just drive across town to kill the cocksucker. There's a profit in this and I intend to expend that to the fullest. Entrepreneur always.
Which kills me, because I've had people ask me why I ever even work when I can just transmute my fortune and be done with it. Heh. I suppose it's just that I like a good challenge and transmuting isn't one unless you fuck up and then there's hell to pay. You botch it even one step and there's usually hell to pay.
He's down now, done playing hero for the night. We burn the bodies and then we burn some tracks. He's admiring my tricks and it's getting to me. I can feel the river swelling around my ears, ready to drag me under again, but I keep driving. I ask Captain Obvious why the hell he's not prepared and he hands me a song and dance about his dick. I gather enough to know he's hitting me up for digs. Alright, I'll bite, always a price though.
We pull up to my side of town. It's dark and low, the cement highrisers spreading up like a bony spine into the sky. It's home for me. One of those places where the big city death's are common. The ones you never know about until days later when the smell hits the hallway. It's alive with mourning, and that rings just fine with me.
Before I show him up, I name my price. I admit, I lead him on a bit into thinking it's going to be sexual. This is too easy with him. His mind's in his dick before I even open my mouth. The guns. I need to expand my trade and that's one area of crafting I've yet to go into. He's panting like a bitch in heat. I know his answer. Excellent. A valuable investment indeed. I can see why they keep him around. He does have his uses, and he's not half-bad to look at either. Business first regardless.
I'm cautious coming up to the door. I've been jumped here before and it wasn't anything on this side. I'm scenting my way down the hall, flipping the bone disk over my knuckles and into my palm. Everything seems fine. Sweetcheeks is sporting blood on his back under that jacket and that will draw them like junkies to blow if they scent it. All's clear. I show him in.
The wound's not that bad. It's missed the vital points so I have him take a seat and give it a good clean. I'm not cruel, but I am vindictive and this fucker made me look a fool about a half-hour ago. I'm not gentle with the wound. I cover it with this sick shit I got from my first mentor years ago. Smells like crusty, week-old, stale sex, but it does the trick. He puts his shit back on while I clean up and show him the couch that will be his bed for the night, then I show him the door that means seven kinds of death if he walks through it without my permission.
Well now, dime tour's over. I'm thinking he might want to sleep it off but he's watching me expectantly like I'm going to launch into a fucking free-for-all. Then it catches me, the price. I haven't worked it out yet. So I set some questions down on the table and he's all for starting this shit now.
Fine. It's not like I was going to fucking sleep anyway.
Smoke's side...
I hit a redlight, so I pull out my cell and call him back. Gunshots, along with a loud "Fucking Shit Motherfucker! You had to call back now?"
Cute.
"You called me, wonder-dick, remember?" He launches into some spiel I'm only half-listening to. Greenlight. Motherfucker went to settle the job after all. Not drunk. Not lost. Fucking great. He needs some juice and a ride. I remind him that I asked about this shit back in the bar. No head for planning. How the hell is this asshat even still alive? He's gotta be damn good at something or the world's best actor. Fuck it. I'll go get him.
I pull up and there's no-one in sight. I've left him a spare juice box in the garbage can so I'm expecting him out of the alley to my right. That's when I hear his warning shout from above. I spring that shit, thinking something is about to go down. I hit the ground and roll with it, tucking in and springing up, ready for anything. A bloody mass goes soaring overhead into the dumpster on the other side of my car... Motherfucker... He's laughing like it's the best damn joke in the world and then tosses the rest, climbing down the wall like a goddamned spider. The coin's just inside my pocket, an easy grab and then I can have that wall bucking under him slicker than KY... but I didn't just drive across town to kill the cocksucker. There's a profit in this and I intend to expend that to the fullest. Entrepreneur always.
Which kills me, because I've had people ask me why I ever even work when I can just transmute my fortune and be done with it. Heh. I suppose it's just that I like a good challenge and transmuting isn't one unless you fuck up and then there's hell to pay. You botch it even one step and there's usually hell to pay.
He's down now, done playing hero for the night. We burn the bodies and then we burn some tracks. He's admiring my tricks and it's getting to me. I can feel the river swelling around my ears, ready to drag me under again, but I keep driving. I ask Captain Obvious why the hell he's not prepared and he hands me a song and dance about his dick. I gather enough to know he's hitting me up for digs. Alright, I'll bite, always a price though.
We pull up to my side of town. It's dark and low, the cement highrisers spreading up like a bony spine into the sky. It's home for me. One of those places where the big city death's are common. The ones you never know about until days later when the smell hits the hallway. It's alive with mourning, and that rings just fine with me.
Before I show him up, I name my price. I admit, I lead him on a bit into thinking it's going to be sexual. This is too easy with him. His mind's in his dick before I even open my mouth. The guns. I need to expand my trade and that's one area of crafting I've yet to go into. He's panting like a bitch in heat. I know his answer. Excellent. A valuable investment indeed. I can see why they keep him around. He does have his uses, and he's not half-bad to look at either. Business first regardless.
I'm cautious coming up to the door. I've been jumped here before and it wasn't anything on this side. I'm scenting my way down the hall, flipping the bone disk over my knuckles and into my palm. Everything seems fine. Sweetcheeks is sporting blood on his back under that jacket and that will draw them like junkies to blow if they scent it. All's clear. I show him in.
The wound's not that bad. It's missed the vital points so I have him take a seat and give it a good clean. I'm not cruel, but I am vindictive and this fucker made me look a fool about a half-hour ago. I'm not gentle with the wound. I cover it with this sick shit I got from my first mentor years ago. Smells like crusty, week-old, stale sex, but it does the trick. He puts his shit back on while I clean up and show him the couch that will be his bed for the night, then I show him the door that means seven kinds of death if he walks through it without my permission.
Well now, dime tour's over. I'm thinking he might want to sleep it off but he's watching me expectantly like I'm going to launch into a fucking free-for-all. Then it catches me, the price. I haven't worked it out yet. So I set some questions down on the table and he's all for starting this shit now.
Fine. It's not like I was going to fucking sleep anyway.
Smoke's side...