snorting (snorting) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-09-30 00:03:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | cocaine |
Who: Cocaine
What: Taking care of business
When: Wednesday Morning
Where: One of Coke's brothels
Warnings: Death, Language, Drugs
"What's going on here?" Adjusting a cuff that was starched within an inch of it's life, Coke stepped through the doorway. His presence was like a beacon in the small dim and smelly room. A stark white button down shirt stood out against his darker skin and a slim gold chain shown around his neck. The sleeves of his shirt covered the full sleeves of tattoos that he had on both arms, but even the starched collar couldn't hide the ironic angel wings that crept up the back of his neck. He wore khaki pants with crisp creases and cuffs and dress shoes shined to perfection. If not for the small detail of the black handgun holstered to his shoulder Coke might have looked every inch the normal businessman, Clark von Wöhler, whom he passed himself off to be.
Coke wasn't playing pretend today. As much as it generally entertained him to fool mortals on a daily basis, there wasn't any point in that now. These men were seasoned in their professions and Coke was well known in their circles. He was a business man, that was no question, but it wasn't in exactly the most legal of activities.
There were three people in the room other than himself, two men and one girl who couldn't have been more than nineteen if she was a day. Covered in dirt and dressed in oversized clothing, the Colombian girl looked younger than her age, but Coke had a mule type and they were rarely out of their teens. They were best; not so old and streetwise that they could leave his grasp after bringing his drugs into the country. They were forced to stay on with him and Coke put them to work in one of his many brothels if they didn't give him any trouble from the get-go.
This one was trouble.
"She won't give up the bags."
Coke turned and looked at the burly Hispanic man incredulously. "So make her give them to you. That coke's worth more than she'll make in half a year where she's going." The man was hired muscle and they'd worked together before. When a girl tried to keep the supply she was beat, pure and simple. There was no reason for him to be called down into the 'dungeon' for something so trivial.
"Nah, boss, I mean it ain't comin' out," the man said, jerking his finger at the girl. There was a bucket in the corner filled with what Coke had to assume accounted for the unpleasant smell in the room. "We've had her shittin' down here for hours. Ain't no more Pepto left."
Well, that made far more sense. It didn't do any good to beat her if the drugs simply weren't coming back. There was a solution though, an easy one.
The motion was slick, cool, and practiced. Hand to holster, gun in hand, and one single shot fired. The bullet pierced the girl between her eyes and she fell lifeless to the floor. Coke holstered the weapon. "Cut my coke out of the bitch. Two bags are going to the address I gave you this morning. Make sure they get there."
The hired muscle nodded, giving an ensemble, "Yes, sir."
Coke turned around and headed back out of the room.