13. Buddy

Quinn could always hear the sound of the market before he actually saw it. Next would come the smell of the spices, and there it was. Merchants, scavengers, salesmen, from all over hustled and bustled, shoulder to shoulder. It had been a few years since Quinn had stepped foot in the Black Market, though it seemed like nothing changed. Between the heat of the both the sun and bodies, Quinn began to sweat. Aligned on his left and right were rows of small make-shift shops.
Tables of good-luck trinkets, exotic plants, clothes, fabrics, animals, and weapons were lined up perfectly.
As Quinn walked by he could here two men arguing over the price of some goods.

"You trying to tip me off?!"

"Rip you off?! This is top of the line leather! My cousin made it himself from his own livestock!"

"This stuff is made from pig, you lying b*****d! And you are trying to sell it at this price?!"

Quinn passed just in time to watch the patron jump over the table in attempt to strangle the merchant. A short, heavy set man with a large wooden stick on his lap had been sitting quietly watching from a few yards away. Slowly, he stood up and made his way over to the stand. While the patron tried getting a grip around the merchants neck, the short man swung the wooden stick as hard as he could over the patron's head from behind. The patron went limp instantly. The short man then pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew. A sharp, shrill noise carried through the air. Nothing seemed to happen until a few other men came jogging in it's direction. The short man pointed at the patron with his stick and they carried him off by the limbs. The merchant got to his feet and straightened his shirt.

"Crazy idiot." Said the Merchant as he rubbed his neck.

Quinn's feet began to hurt as he continued walking. The gravel underneath his sneakers were lumpy and annoying. His mind tried finding an excuse to turn back and leave. Thinking of Harrison, the shard and Shirley, he realized this had to be done. Trekking forward, the small tables came to an end. Quinn was now entering no-mans-land, Squid's territory.

On the farthest end of the market there was a small abandoned house. This was where Squid lived. Quinn deduced this by the large painted letters covering his house. SQUID. The windows had been boarded up, it must have been a hundred degrees inside. Squid didn't mind hot weather but his henchmen hated it. Every step Quinn took towards Squid's house caused a surge of electricity to flow throughout his entire body. He wanted to bolt as far away as he could. Fighting against his own body, Quinn approached two men standing outside the front door.

"I m here to speak with Squid."

Both men looked at each other, then back at Quinn.

One man had to be at least six foot five, weighing over two hundred pounds. Approaching Quinn, he pulled his shirt forward in an attempt to hide the firearm in his waistband but Quinn still noticed.

"What's your name? How do you know Squid?"

"Quinn. Squid and I go way back."

The man squinted his eyes trying to detect a possible lie.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Ask him yourself."

The Goon pursed his lips and nodded his head.

"Ok... Hey Carl! Go tell Squid his old buddy Quinn is here to see him!"

Without delay, the other man standing at the door took a key from around his neck. He began unlocking several deadbolts. Once opened he vanished somewhere inside.

The big man crossed his arms and looked Quinn in the eyes, sizing him up. Quinn tried to stare back feeling his palms begin to sweat.

A few minutes passed and the door opened again and Carl stepped out.

"Squid says, bring him in!"

Instantly the Goon grabbed a hold of Quinn's collar and began to pull him toward the door.

"Hey. Man. Let Go!"

Quinn could hear his t shirt beginning to tear.

"Shut up, punk. Carl, hold the door."

Carl did as he was told as the large man threw Quinn inside.

Quinn landing on his side, felt all the air get knocked out of him. He took a moment to try and breathe again. The wooden floor boards began to creak due to movement.

"Hey, buddy! Sorry, about the hospitality. Some of these guys are savages, you know."

Quinn turned onto his stomach. The voice sounded familiar. He slowly got to his knees when he heard a click.

"Hey, relax, Quinn. It's been a while."

Then the smell hit his noise, Quinn knew. Holding the same rusty gun from all those years ago, Squid towered over him baring his signature yellow and brown smile.