Who: Cocaine [Open to replies] What: Short musings on Coke and MJ's Excellent Adventure and Heroin When: Saturday afternoon Where: Think Coffee, NYU Warnings: N/A
On the days Die Droge practically ran itself, Coke attempted to remove himself from the equation. He worked too much. Everyone said it, and those who lacked the cajones to say it to his face were at least thinking it each time he collapsed onto the cot in the cellar. There was the apartment gifted to him by his bruder, but he rarely went there. Not unless he was desperate for a good sulking session complete with shooting up speedball after speedball. That happened about once every other month, and generally not while the sun was still in the sky as it was that afternoon. Instead, Cocaine turned over the running of Die Droge to his current second in command and headed to a small coffee place outside of his territory.
He didn’t need caffeine. It did nothing for him, what with the enormous amount of energy he had on a daily basis and so he didn’t bother ordering anything from the menu. Coke made himself at home without paying and opened up his laptop at a table in the back of the room. He wanted privacy and had no desire for others to see what he was looking at. If he and his younger brother were going to leave by next weekend then he had things to do, research to finish. Bringing down a rival drug cartel wasn’t as easy as it sounded, even for two gods.
The pictures Coke pulled up on his screen were similar to those he’d shown Marijuana at their dinner the other evening. Bloodied and beaten mortals lying in fleshy dog piles appeared in front of him. When his fingers moved across the keyboard again the image of a snarling Mexican man holding a machine gun jumped up in front of him. Despite the intense urge to snarl back, Coke maintained his composure and stared at the picture while he drummed his knuckles on the table. “You’re forcing me to take a prolonged excursion with my younger brother, Ruis. There may not be time for torture, but you can be sure that in the short time we spend together, I’m going to make you pay for each hour I have to spend in the Green Giant’s presence because of your idiocy.”
It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone in their extended family that Marijuana and Coke did not get along. The surprise, in fact, would more likely be the idea that they were accompanying each other out of the city on business, even if it was only for a weekend. Coke could hardly believe he’d asked himself, but looking through the pictures and double checking the tally of his losses reminded him that it was absolutely necessary. Based in New York, they had no presence in the borderland drug trade. There was no face to back up any story of threats or retribution for stealing from them. Coke hated to say it, but they were weak in the South West and with most of their product coming across that border it was an unacceptable situation. As far as he was concerned, it was a perfectly logical reason for going and inviting Marijuana to accompany him. Still, there was one person he wanted to make sure understood what he was doing, and that he wasn’t just inviting his baby brother out into the desert so that he could shoot him, bury him up to his neck in hard packed sand, and leave him to endure slow death by the elements.
Though, really, the scenario did sound somewhat appealing and had he not been missing one hundred and fifty kilos of pure Colombian, Coke might have considered it. But for now he forced it from his mind so that when he next opened an email window and started typing out a message to Heroin he would not be lying to him. He had a hunch that his bruder would be less than pleased to be lied to about such a topic, and perhaps less pleased if he really did leave Marijuana to perish (for as long as any god could perish, at least) by insect and vulture in the middle of the New Mexican desert.
“Maybe next year…” he muttered before leaning back in his chair to start banging out an explanation to his favorite sibling.