Jason Pinter - The Darkness

The one man who was unarmed was dressed in a simple track suit, and wore enough gold chains to bring down a hot air balloon. He was thirty-two years old, and worth nearly twenty million dollars. The woman looked around the place, slightly disappointed that there was no evidence of his successful rap career in the building. No platinum albums, no framed magazine covers. For what she had in mind, those trinkets would have made the ensuing story that much more vivid.

The chains clinked together as the man twitched involuntarily. He constantly licked at his lips and rubbed his hands together. His eyes were wide, the whites almost eerie in the gloom. He smiled broadly when they entered.

“Mr. Culvert,” Malloy said. “Good to see you again.”

LeRoy Culvert stood up. He gripped Malloy’s hand with both of his and shook them energetically. He looked warily at the two people Malloy was with. The other man he viewed with skepticism. The woman he eyed with fear.

“Mr. Culvert,” the woman said. “Let’s talk about the future.”

“Absolutely,” LeRoy Culvert said, sitting back down.

The four bodyguards watched, guns at the ready. “Here, take a seat.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “We’d prefer to keep this short.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Culvert said with a laugh.

The man was stoned out of his mind. That was clear. And the woman knew exactly what drugs he had taken.

“So?” she said. “You’ve clearly sampled our product.

What do you think?”

LeRoy Culvert leaned back, his head tilted toward the ceiling. Then he whipped it forward.

“See, normally I’d lie to y’all. I’d tell you your

‘product’ is shit, and that you should feel lucky if I’d sell it to the poorest crackheads who live in the subway. See, that way I’d bargain you down, get you to sell it to me at a discount, and I’d keep the profits for my own.”

“Smart business strategy,” the woman said.

“But I ain’t gonna do that to you. You’re good peo-38

Jason Pinter ple. Listen, this be the finest product I have ever tried in my whole life. Fact is, if you hadn’t come on time today I’d have to get my man Buttercup to track you down and get some more down here because my stash is out. ”

“Buttercup?” Malloy said.

The massive, milky-white bodyguard nodded. “That’s what people call me.”

“Intimidating,” the woman said.

“Listen, lady,” Buttercup said, “I will break your bony ass over my knee.”

“Hey, my man Cup, there’s no need for that,” Culvert said. “These people are our friends. They’re going to double your salary, because I’m gonna be worth twice as much.”

“At least,” the woman said.

“So look, I want in. I’ll start with a million worth of the rock. I have enough dealers on the streets that we’ll probably be sold out in a month. Then we’ll re-up, and go from there. Everybody makes money. You have the product, I have the distribution. Together, we’ll blanket the city. Every two-bit street demon with a habit and a ten-dollar bill will be aching for a taste of this.”

“You do have the streets,” the woman said. “And that is commendable. Very nineteen eighties. But to be honest,

I’m thinking a little higher than street level.”

“What you mean?” Culvert said. “Higher, where?”

“That’s not important. I’m just glad you enjoyed the product.”

“Enjoyed?” Culvert said. “Man, I’m gonna buy ten grand worth just for my own personal enjoyment. What do you say to that?”

Malloy shrugged. The woman did not move. The other man stayed quiet. He looked uncomfortable.

“Who is this dude?” Culvert said, nodding to the quiet man.

“This,” the woman replied, “is Detective Sevag Makhoulian of the NYPD. He’s our liaison inside the department. He will keep us apprised of any police awareness of our operation.”

“Smart bitch, you is,” Culvert said. “So, let’s make a deal.”

“Sorry,” the woman said. “No deal.”

Culvert looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“What do you mean, no deal? You gave me the product to test, I tested it, and now I want to take it to the streets.

We all make money.”

“ We make money,” she said. “You don’t.”

LeRoy Culvert jumped from the couch, his chains clinking, baggy pants fluttering. “Listen, bitch, I want my stash. Business or not, I got to have more of that stuff.

Those rocks are life, man.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied with our product,” she said, “but that does not change the fact that this transaction is done.”

“Man, fuck y’all,” Culvert said. “You gonna be like this, I’m gonna have to take over your operation. Buttercup, gut this bitch.”

Buttercup went for the gun in his waistband, but before his hand ever got there the woman ripped a blade from inside her coat and ripped it through the soft meat of Buttercup’s throat. The wound yawned open a ghastly red, and Buttercup made a choking sound as he dropped to the ground, flailing. Blood poured from the severed veins.

The woman wiped her hand on the couch.

LeRoy Culvert stared at the bloody mess. “What the hell are you doing?” he said. “We’re partners!”

“Yes, we are,” the woman said. “You’re going to help us get the word out about our product. I’m just sorry that your corpse is going to be the vehicle for delivering the message.”

Suddenly Malloy pulled two machine pistols from his coat, and in less than two seconds shredded Culvert’s bodyguards in a hail of bullets. Blood and pillow feathers spattered the apartment, which was lit brightly by the gunfire.

When Malloy had stopped firing, he paused and saw

LeRoy Culvert cowering behind one of the couches. He was muttering sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus over and over again as he rubbed a gold cross hanging around his neck.

“Jesus won’t save you,” the woman said, walking over to the cowering man. “But give him my best.”

With one thrust, she buried her knife up to the hilt just under LeRoy Culvert’s jaw. He tried to open it, instead aspirating a cloud of blood. When Culvert’s eyes rolled back in his head, the woman pulled the knife free.

Culvert’s body toppled to the ground.

The woman looked at the bloody knife in her hand.

“Three days,” the woman said to her associates. “Once

Paulina Cole does her job, and the police tie this into it, we’ll have enough product on the street to saturate the entire city in less than a week.”

Malloy stood there, staring at the bodies. He made the sign of the cross. The woman turned to Malloy and put her arm across his shoulder.

“I know you’re thinking about him,” she said. “But I promise you, he won’t have died in vain.”

“Thursday,” Malloy said. “I’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Now come on, we have some new recruits coming in. I want this room to look like something out of Stephen King’s nightmares.”

The woman took the knife and drew it across the wall, leaving a bloody smear. Just a few strokes later, the F was visible. When she completed the rest of the word, and the apartment was sufficiently coated, they left the building and waited for Detective Sevag Makhoulian to report the crime.

Amanda Davies arrived home at eight o’clock. She called it home even though it was anything but. The reality was it was the home of her friend and coworker

Darcy Lapore, and Darcy was campaigning for most altruistic human being on the planet by allowing Amanda to stay there.

Living here wasn’t what she’d expected after coming to New York for law school. She figured she’d graduate from NYU near the top of her class, which she did, then find a cushy job in some high-profile firm and become one of those high-powered career women who had brassy blond hair (hers was auburn, so this would be tricky), wear smart Hillary Clinton pantsuits, get married at thirty-six, kids at thirty-nine, realize by fifty that you never really spent much time with your family, sixty before you realized you were never really happy in your marriage and my, didn’t life go by fast?