Charlie Huston - Every Last Drop

I hold up my hand.

— No, never mind, I totally fucking forgot that your whole fucked-up Clan is based on trying to do something that's going to get everyone killed. -They have it, Joe.

I look at Amanda. -You already said that.

She turns in place, holding her drink over her head, rattling the ice cubes. -OK, OK, I know it's this total secret hush-hush thing. I know we're not supposed to talk about the hundred-pound pink poodle in the room.

She stops turning and spreads her arms. -But the whole point is that were seriously trying to change things.

She takes a sip.

— And you don't change things by doing what everyone has always done before.

She comes over and perches on the edge of her desk.

— So here's the deal: We need more blood. Plain and simple. I can get a lot through the lab, from medical supply houses, but not as much as you d think. They mostly deal in plasma and other blood components. And the Vyrus only feeds on whole blood. Did you know that? Tried it. Tried using plasma. Tried using platelet serum. Not what it wants. So we need more blood.

She blows out her cheeks.

— But the Coalition wont deal with us. We could pay like way over market price, but they won't even open a fucking dialogue. Which is super funny considering how they kissed my parents' and my asses for so many years before I started Cure.

She empties her glass. -So the thing is, we have to do something.

Sela steps forward. -If you tell anyone about any of this, Pitt.

I look at her.

— Sela, if I decide to commit suicide, III do it with a gun like normal people. I won't do it by telling people about little chats I'm having to plot a raid on the Coalitions fucking reservoir.

Amanda shakes her head.

— It's not a raid. Were not even talking about that kind of thing. I'm talking about just some surveillance. Intelligence. That's all.

She taps her own forehead.

— I mean, think about it. They have to get it from somewhere. They cant just make it. They have to have a supplier. Maybe they have a bunch of them. I know that's, like, the most reasonable possibility. They've been around forever. So they've, like, built up these weird relationships. Totally backdoor stuff that no one can get in on at this point. They must get it from dozens of places. Hospitals. EMT workers. Blood banks. They bring it into a central warehouse or something. All we know is that when it comes in, it comes in from Queens.

She leans.

— What we need to know is, who some of those suppliers are. If we know, like, who to talk to, we can totally outbid the Coalition. Or we can force a deal. Tell the Coalition that they can either sell to us or they can face some competition in the market. See what they do when I throw some real cash into the supply

and demand equation and their suppliers start driving their trucks to our door. That's all.

That's all.

Just go to Queens. Just leave the Island right after I got back. Just go poke around the Coalitions biggest secret. The biggest secret.

Just leave again.

Just leave.

Gravity pulls. Pulls at the center of me. Pulls at a part that I didn't know was there till I took it off the Island.

If I pull too hard in the opposite direction, will it snap?

Jesus. Who am I?

I move the girls hand from my knee, I look at her. -Its going to cost.

She does the eyeroll, letting me know again that I shouldn’t bother talking about things that she doesn't give a shit about.

I nod, stand up. -OK. Maybe we should start by asking some people some questions.

I look at Sela.

— And then making them dead.

Amanda slips off the edge of the desk. -See, baby, I told you he was the man for the job.

Sela turns away.

When the math is done, it's not two people I get dead, its three people I get dead. Amanda suggesting, not unreasonably, that maybe I could deal with the slob in the basement who caused all the problems for them the other night.

One more. Sure. Why not? Who's counting at this point?

Terry's mole, he cops to it. I don't have to touch him or even threaten to tear up his back issues of Amazing Spider-Man to get him to cop to it. I just let him watch while I deal with the others. Then I tell him I'll do him different, more easy, if he tells me if he's the one been making calls to Terry.

He says he is.

Could he be lying?

Sure. Why not? I watched someone do what I do to Predo's mole, and / got given a chance to say something might let me avoid the same discomfort, I might lie myself.

But I don't think he was lying.

And if he was?

If he was, then I guess it makes what I did to him that much worse. And if there's someone watching the things I do, watching and judging, that's one that will go against me. Assuming there's any more room in the AGAINST column.

Doesn't matter, I couldn't let him live no matter what. Not after he watched. Not after he heard the questions I asked Predo's pawn.

Far as that guy goes, mostly it's too bad he didn't know anything. Makes life that much harder for me. Certainly made death that much harder for him.

But I'm not worried about it. Because no one is watching me. No one is judging me. No one is weighing my actions and making book on where my soul is gonna finish when the race is over.

I'm the only one watching these things I do. I'm the only one counting. I know the number.

And I've known for a long time what I've got coming someday.

I'm not trying to get out of anything.

I kill the guys. And I don't make it easy for them on the way out. Because I got no doubts they deserve it.

Only maybe not as much as I do.

Tough luck how that works out sometimes.

— Hey. -Who? — It's Joe Pitt.

I hear salsa music doppler in and out of the background. -What? — Joe Pitt. -Yeah? — Yeah. -And?

I clear my throat.

— Remember how you said you d rather I owe you one for when you need someone to have your back? — Yeah. -How d you like to make it two?

I hear catcalls in Puerto Rican-accented Spanish, and her own retort: something about someone's dick and a knife and their throat. But my Spanish

isn't good enough to get the subtler nuances.

The catcalls fall silent. -You still there?

I nod, even though she cant see it. -I'm here.

The phone carries the sound of a train crashing and screeching on overhead tracks. -You ask a lot, Pitt. -Yeah.

— I got ex-boyfriends, kind of guys never have a fucking job, you know? — Sure.

— Kind of guys, they let a girl pick up every check, pay for their new Nikes, give them walking-around cash they're gonna use to take their shorty out later. Know what I mean? — Sure. -But you. You I never even broke off a piece, and you got them all beat.

I shift the phone to my other hand so I can get at my smokes easier. -Yeah, I like to go that extra mile.

— Yes, you do.

— Yeah. So, not to waste anyone's time, I don't have anything to add to the

pot. You want to help out or not?

Esperanza grunts.

— Girl likes maybe just a little sweet talk sometimes. -How bout that. -Yeah. OK. What is it?

I get a cigarette in my mouth.

— What it is, is it's funny you brought up ex-boyfriends. -How's that funny? — Funny like maybe I'd want to meet one of them.

Silence. I look at the screen of the phone Amanda gave me to make my call, making sure the connection hasn't been broken. It hasn't.

I put it back to my ear. -Hear me?

— I heard you, Pitt. I'm just trying to figure out how to say ha-ha without it sounding too sarcastic.

Getting me out is also on the tricky side.

Seeing as the Cure house is smack in the middle of Coalition turf, getting anyone out is a trick.

Figure that under normal circumstances the Coalition would weed out anyone tried to put roots in their turf. But there's nothing normal about Amanda Horde. Nothing normal about her or her big brain or her money or the Horde family name. She was right about the way Predo used to kiss her and her parents' asses.