Goblins and Hate

Chapter 23

“Sup?” Trent asked.

“You got bidness here?” The large bouncer growled. He was cloaked in the shadows of the little stairwell, and Trent wondered if it was contrived to give the appearance of danger. He thought it worked pretty well. His intentions of walking through the guy evaporated quickly.

“Yeah. Crazy Pete wanted me, so I'm here.” Trent stared grimly at the guard, and hoped he wouldn't take it into his head to beat him up. The smaller man gathered his courage; he would need it to outrun the big goon.

The guy shrugged, as if it wasn't really important after all. With a hand thrust behind him he pushed the door open and motioned Trent through.

A familiar wall of sound exploded from the room beyond. The same neon lights spun wildly across the ceiling, and a throng of people writhed in the glow. He could already feel the air in his lungs vibrating with the beat.

Trent smiled at the man guarding the door and stepped through, immediately finding peace in the mind-numbing music. It didn't seem as bad as last time.

Walking quickly, he evaded the reaching arms of the dancers that tried to lure him into the oblivion they had found. He made it to the next set of stairs without incident, if not without temptation.

The floor full of junkies was much as he remembered. No one made a move to stop him, and he wondered which floor was actually worse for causing a person to be detained on his way to see the kingpin. Heaven and hell, Trent thought with a quiet smile. Heaven may have been the more dangerous. Trent had to knock loudly on the door leading to Crazy Pete's penthouse before the slat slid back.

The guard took one look at him and closed the slat. A lock clicked and the door opened. It was less work than the first door had been.

“Boss said you'd be here.”

Trent made his way up the stairs without replying. There wasn't much he could say to such a simple statement, and he didn't think it was necessary to stop and talk to the guy. The fact that he was already recognized surprised him, though.

Trent strode quickly across the room, only slightly more comfortable than the first time he had made the walk.

“I'm here.”

“So I see,” Crazy Pete smiled at him. “I was worried Lex'd talk you outta this.” The dealer stood and walked back toward his hallway.

They entered the same room as the night before, and Trent stopped when he saw Kevin standing just inside.

“Kevin,” he said. He didn't know whether Kevin's being there was a good thing or not. The guy wasn't useful as anything more than an enforcer, and there wasn't any reason for him to be in Crazy Pete's inner sanctum unless he was going to enforce something.

“Hey,” Kevin mumbled back. His voice was the same oddly quiet tone that Trent couldn't figure out. There was something timid about it, which didn't make any sense whatsoever. He appeared to be nothing short of a crazy Russian bent on killing anything and everything that moved within arms reach, but his demeanor was all wrong.

“Trent.” Crazy Pete had walked to the back of the room, and his arm held up the lid of one of he trunks stacked against the wall. Trent hadn't seen him lift the heavy lid while worrying about Kevin.

Cubes of white powder filled the interior of the trunk like the building blocks of a drug addict's fondest dream. A stack of smaller baggies had been dumped in place of one of the bricks, making the dream slightly more manageable. What he could see must have cost an obscene amount of money, and there were at least another dozen trunks. He couldn't speak when he tore his gaze away.

“Ya probly won't be able to sell everything I give you off the bat. I'll give ya enough to make nearly a grand every night, though. The good thing is, I only want four hundred.” Crazy Pete looked at him critically. “You know how to price this s**t?”

Trent nodded, knowing he had enough to flip more than a grand with a little creative measuring. But there were too many unknowns considering the personalities in the drug game, and Crazy Pete knew that the less he asked for, the more his dealers would want to continue working for him. It was good business plan.

“Good, I ain't got time to sit down and take anyone to drug school, no matter whose friend you are. Get out there, and whenever you got enough money to come back, or you just don't wanna sit out there anymore, come back and enjoy yourself.” Crazy Pete grinned at him, “It's that simple.”

Kevin laughed, and Trent shook his head with a tight grin. Nothing was ever that simple, especially in a game like this one. The instant you thought it was, the game beat the idea out of your head with a crowbar and stole what you had in your pockets.

Trent stood to leave, but Crazy Pete stopped him before the second step.

“Also, I'm sendin' Kevin with ya. Just in case you get in trouble on your first few nights. Sometimes s**t gets rough out there. Fiends don't care whether they got money or not, they want their fix. No one's gonna mess with Kevin, though.” Kevin shrugged innocently, as if it was something he didn't completely understand.

Kevin opened the door for them. Trent knew that he was coming along for more than just watching his back. Kevin was there to make sure Trent didn't have some sneaky little plan to steal something. The suspicion was understandable, though, and Trent wasn't really upset about it. The business that didn't exactly inspire confidence in people.

The pair of them exited the building without any problems. Kevin was the unofficial bodyguard of Crazy Pete, who was going to mess with him? Even more importantly, the guy was 300 pounds of intimidation, impeding his progress would be bad for their health.

The two of them walked down the silent streets of Houston, nothing more than two more shadows passing through. They saw a few other dealers leaning against walls in well traveled areas, and each nodded to Kevin in recognition. Trent found a likely looking corner that was well within Crazy Pete's domain and stopped on the cracked sidewalk. Kevin disappeared into a doorway and stayed mostly hidden, but anyone planning to rob Trent would immediately spot the shape of an enormous man just a few feet behind him. Kevin was too big to disappear completely, but that was the idea.

Trent tried to start a conversation with Kevin over the next half hour, but he quickly realized why Kevin was less a bodyguard and more a weapon. Bodyguards had to be capable of recognizing danger before the person they were guarding could. Kevin would have to be pointed in the right direction and given a little push to get him going.

His answers to Trent's questions were one or two words at most, when they were anything more than a grunt. Trent gave up the prospect of spending his time on the corner talking, and took to watching the streets like a hawk. There was no telling how long he was going to be out in the humid night air, so he decided to get comfortable. In no time he found himself an old trash can that he turned upside down and used for a stool. There was no question what he was doing, and he didn't want there to be. He would only make money if his potential customers knew what he was.

Just fifteen minutes after he turned the trash can over, a man crept out of an alley across the street. The guy was nothing more than a shadow in the light of one flickering bulb, but Trent could tell by the way he hunkered down like some kind of goblin that this would be his first customer. It took five minutes for the guy to make his way across the street, and by the time he was close enough Trent still couldn't make out any details. His hands were covered by a bundle of ragged gloves, and his face was shadowed by the dubious cover of a hoodie thinner than toilet paper. The twenty dollars stuck to one of the glove's palms told Trent everything he needed to know about the guy, though. He made the deal, and the sub-human took the only slice of heaven he knew.

Trent jumped when the junkie flat out ran away from him. Quick, lurching steps that reminded Trent of Frogger. Only, the cars trying to hit this guy were all in his mind. Trent cringed at the fact that he was really sitting on a street corner selling drugs. Who would have thought his life would have come to this five years before? He couldn't believe he was doing it, but wouldn't admit to himself just how disappointed he was.

He had to make a living somehow. His dream of becoming a writer was long dead, and that had been the only thing he had ever been halfway decent at. He had loved doing it, but he couldn't think of it now.

In the meantime, he let his mind wander to the problems he had considered so serious. He was still upset at Lex for the way he was acting. The guy had done the same thing himself, how could he judge Trent for it?

He felt his jaw clench as he sat back on his rusty trash can and glared into the night, his thoughts spiraling downhill. His life was changing, no denying it, but the influx of money could keep him going. That he had to sit on a corner for a few hours every night was unfortunate, but it was unavoidable. It would carry him through. Lex didn't know what he was talking about. The guy was just scared of getting caught, when there weren't any cops within twenty blocks at any given time. That's why he didn't like dealers, he was too scared to do what they did, but he couldn't admit it. Trent's fists clenched hard enough to make him forget about his gritted teeth, grimly happy at the thought of how angry Erin would be that he was out there. How angry they would all be. Maybe they would learn they couldn't control what he did. Even without the motivation of the money pulling him onward, Trent thought he would have stayed on that corner just to piss everyone off.

He could feel his anger getting away from him, but for once he was in a situation where his anger didn't matter one way or the other. If anything he was safer allowing it out. People avoided an angry drug dealer. Everyone but those that had business with him, anyway, and he didn't want to deal with anyone else.

“Screw Erin, screw Lex, screw Penny...Screw college,” Trent considered who else deserved a good cussing. None of them really mattered in the grand scheme of things. Even Lex. His best friend, but if the guy didn't want anything to do with him, who was Trent to fight him on the issue? He didn't want to be around someone that didn't want to be around him.

His thoughts brightened dramatically as they turned to Sandy. She was already so much better than Erin had ever been. She didn't bother him about what he was doing no matter how bad an idea it was. Sandy wouldn't b***h and moan about every little thing he did wrong. She was with him for him, as odd as that was. She may not have the most respectable job in the world, but he didn't either.

Erin, Lex, and Penny. The three of them managed to make Trent's life hell when they were around. What did the broke b******s know about life, anyway? What could they know that he didn't? Trent had lived on both sides of the tracks, he had seen the different shades of society. There was more freedom to be had while you were poor and unattached. Much more than when you were rich and thought you had the world in the palm of your hand.

His thoughts went on in the same strain for six hours, until junkies stopped creeping carefully up to the man that snarled and snapped short words at them when they lingered too long in his sight. Some of them were hoping for freebies. With a new dealer it was customary to lure in regular customers. Trent gave away nothing.

Kevin watched the guy on the barrel transform before his eyes. He seemed to shrink in on himself and swell at the same time. His anger made him larger, and his misery made him smaller.